SERMONS

Just after Caleb was born I was surprised to hear from a friend that she never allowed the news to play on the television or radio when her children were present. They were older-probably four and six or so. I thought this was way past over-protective. The truth was I had never listened to the radio with the ears of a parent. It wasn't very much later that I caught myself turning the radio down in the car when a particular story came on.

Just last year John and I had a shock when Caleb asked us about Slobadon Milosevich. They do listen. I explained what I could to Caleb about Milosevich and the bombing. Some weeks later he said he was glad that Slobadon Milosevich was letting the people in Kosovo come back home. I think it is very important for Caleb to know that the peace we enjoy is not shared by all people. That we live in privilege.

However, I have become much more sympathetic to my friend's protectiveness. Which is why, I have to admit, I was glad to see that the Sunday I was planning to address the question of the death penalty was a Sunday without a children's story. I talked with Emily Green about this. Fortunately for all of us, she is more comfortable being open with children about difficult issues than I am. I don't want Caleb to know that the United States permits the killing of people for their crimes. I don't want him to know that our judges and lawyers and governors advocate for this killing. And that our doctors and nurses carry it out. I don't want to try to explain any of this to him. He is four years old. Surely he does not have to know this now.

Of course, when I asked John if he thought it would be okay to talk in my sermon about Caleb in this way, he told me that he couldn't be sure, but he seemed to remember talking with Caleb about the death penalty. I know I cannot (and should not) protect Caleb forever (not even in my own house). Like John and Emily, I understand that it wouldn't be good for him to be naïve about the world. But he is four years old.

I guess the real confession here (as is often the case when I find myself trying to protect Caleb) is that I would like to protect myself from this reality of the world I live in. I am utterly devastated by knowledge of the death penalty. The very thought of killing sanctioned by the state and by much of the population of our country saddens me tremendously. The impulse for vengeance, the glee with which some (few) meet executions, the politicized nature of crime and punishment reveal nothing worthy in our corporate nature. I believe that the flip of the switch tells so much more about us as a people than it tells about the person who is killed.

I understand that not all of you will agree with me about the death penalty. And even if you do agree with me you may well not give this issue the importance it has for me. But I appreciate my freedom to speak openly about my convictions from this pulpit. And I acknowledge and respect your freedom to hold and act on your convictions as well. I felt it was important, though, as we are highlighting our social concerns and action to speak from my heart about something that is very important to me. I hope that that is exactly what each of us will do in response to this call to action-whether we are moved to work for environmental, social, or economic justice. In my life right now I feel a compelling call to work for social justice by advocating the abolition of the death penalty.

I was surprised to learn when I moved from Georgia to Tennessee that this state has not executed anyone since the High Court ruled in 1976 that capital punishment is not necessarily cruel and unusual. Having moved from one of several states that has executed children, this was a relief. But now the political tide seems to indicate that it will not be long. Our governor came into office hopeful that he would have the opportunity to kill someone. The appeals are running out quite soon for two men on death row. One convicted of killing a police officer, the other convicted of raping and killing a little girl.

You can learn more about these particular cases in this week's issue of the Nashville Scene. There are many details of evidence and claims of inadequate defense that come into play for these two. That is the top layer of an argument against the death penalty in particular cases. These are interesting cases, with some compelling questions. But that has no real bearing on my topic. Neither, even, do the second layer of arguments. You've probably heard them: the death penalty is not a deterrent for a significant number of people; the death penalty actually costs more than life in prison; when given an option of life in prison without the possibility of parole the majority of people in this country no longer approve of the death penalty; and the death penalty is executed in a discriminatory manner, unfairly targeting racial minorities and people who are poor. All of these things are important and true. But again, they have no real bearing on my topic.

I am more concerned about what the death penalty says about our humanity. And our understanding of humanity. Last week, in speaking of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement (reconciliation) in the Jewish year, I connected our own affirmation of the inherent worth and dignity of every person with this faith in the possibility of atonement. Last week my point was that inherent worth and dignity points to each of us-even though it is sometimes difficult to accept our own worth. This week I would like to expand that point and suggest that inherent worth and dignity points to each of us-including every man, woman, and child on death row in this country.

This does not mean that we do not hold each other accountable. Of course we must. We must demand respect for human life, in particular, and respond decisively when such respect is not upheld. In fact, that is a way we affirm the inherent worth and dignity of every person. We are an intricate web of relationships. It is impossible to understand a person's right to dignity apart from the communities in which we live. So we can only understand one person's rights in relation to the rights of others.

But the real question for me is what are we hoping to gain? Is our goal "justice, equity and compassion in human relations"? Is it safety for our communities? It seems to me that neither of these goals is met when a person is killed for his or her crime. Which leads me to two goals that I believe are at play. The first is revenge. The horribly irresponsible political rhetoric about the death penalty is like a rallying cry for people to get even. Secondly, it comes down to a much-needed scapegoat, someone (or some category of people) to blame, for so much that has gone wrong.

I believe these are our two primary motivations for the death penalty. As I've already said, it is pretty clear that it is not a deterrent, that it is not a least costly alternative, it isn't executed with equity, and that given the option of life in prison without the option of parole it isn't even the will of a majority of the people. We hear those arguments in the rhetoric of politicians, but we also hear cries for revenge and someone to blame.

I can surely identify with the second of these: the need for someone to blame. I will never forget this moment I had a number of years ago when I was doing a clinical internship in a public hospital. I heard a child screaming and crying down the hall. I hurried to see if I could help and realized he was with his mother. I followed them to the hospital clinic. I was growing more and more angry as I watched, because the mother was clearly being neglectful, at best, of her distressed child. The next thing I knew she hit him so hard he fell down. I positioned myself so that I could confront her. I was full of righteousness and blame. "May I help you?" I asked with little real desire to help. "Yes, I hope so," she answered me.

You won't be surprised to hear that she proceeded to tell me the story of her own abuse. She showed me scars from stab wounds and burns that her boyfriend had inflicted. I shifted quickly from blaming this woman to blaming her boyfriend. But as I reflected on this whole tragic cycle, I knew that the only thing gained by my blaming was a little relief for myself.

Of course both this woman and her boyfriend were responsible for their actions. But as I said, my urge to find someone to blame had a great deal more to do with my own comfort than with any idea of accountability or finding a way to make things better. After I recovered somewhat from my arrogance, I was able to spend the afternoon counseling the woman about programs and opportunities for her to get some help. She left the hospital with a promise to make a call. I hope she did it.

I can identify somewhat less with the first motivation I've identified: a desire for revenge. There have been fleeting moments of it in my life. In a frivolous sense I think of sports matches. For years (when I was quite young) I rooted against the Miami Dolphins because they beat the Washington Redskins in the Superbowl one year. And I can remember being hurt and fantasizing about some bad result in the life to the person who hurt me. Or perhaps more often simply harboring a small secret delight when some small hurt comes to someone who has hurt me. But you notice I describe it as a secret delight. It is not the kind of thing I would pronounce with pride.

I heard a song this week with a refrain that goes something like: "I hope someone knocks you down when I'm there to see you fall." (It's true, I often listen to country music radio stations.) There seems to be something instinctive in this urge for revenge. But I can hardly imagine any sense in which we are enlarged as people by it. Or that the world is made safer by its actualization.

Both of these urges, for revenge and for scapegoating, represent and reinforce a way of looking at the world which is antithetical to my faith. They allow us to oversimplify evil. It reminds me of the act of the ancient priests when they ritualistically place the sins of the people on the head of a goat and send it away. But the people of ancient Israel knew that atonement was not accomplished with this symbolic act alone. That their work of repentance was required as well. We too often believe that the flip of the switch is all that is needed to address the problems of violent crime in our culture. We are seduced into believing that the sacrifice of a category of people will cleanse us.

Further, when we act on our urge for revenge, we deny the fundamental truth of our unity, our connectedness as human beings and as a part of creation. And we deny the inherent worth and dignity of all people. All of us are diminished, I believe, a little life robbed from us, when we join together to take a life with intention.

I do not want you to think I believe violence and criminal justice are simple matters. But the matter of a person's right to life does seem simple to me. And more than that, the inherent worth and dignity of every person is something I hold sacred. Which is what leads me to all of the ways I want to work for justice. In the next few months I will be writing letters and making phone calls about the death penalty. I will also be involved in the "Stop the Hate" vigil early next month. (You will hear more about that next week.) Next Saturday I will meet some of you, I hope, here at the church so that we can stand together in support of rights for those of us who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered. There will be other ways to affirm my faith in inherent worth and dignity and to contribute to justice, equity and compassion in human relations. Whatever your convictions, I hope you will find a way to work for justice in the coming months.