Posts Tagged ‘justice’

An interview that turned out pretty well

November 4, 2014

An article that gives a peek at what I do in prison ministry.

Lingering Grief

March 27, 2014

—∞—

Water calm, still
Sky clear, cloudless
Then
A
Wave
Suddenly
Comes
Ashore
Briefly disturbing what lies there … then
Slowly recedes, slowly recedes
Water calm, still
Sky clear, cloudless
 

© 2014 Thomas W. Cummins

Can’t withstand the light of day

March 26, 2014

I posted this earlier today on Facebook:

Missouri execution: another death, another grieving family. Is that what balances the scales of justice? Could it be mindless revenge instead? What are we looking for?

Five in a row … uninterrupted. Seems like we’re trying to run the table. Florida and Texas are pulling away in the race.

So, citizens of Missouri, name the man executed in November. What did he do? Then name the ones in December, January, February. What did they do?

Can’t remember? These deaths are being done in your name. Is this whole death penalty thing working for you? Are we safer? Are victims’ families happier? Has grief been dissipated? Are we more respected and admired as a state? Or do we applaud and cheer when the governor gives his “thumbs down”?

Let’s move forward. Dead-of-night and secretive taking of life that can’t withstand the light of day and accomplishes nothing awaits our collective rejection and abolishment.

Condemned

February 10, 2014

—∞—

 

When was
His
Last
Breath?
 
As a child
When the
Sexual abuse
Began?
 
Or when
No one moved
To Stop
It?
 
As it continued
With others
And he stood
Helpless?
 
Or when
He began
Beating the old woman
Who befriended him?
 
Some may say
It was on the gurney
In the blank white room
At the prison
 
When was
His
Last
Breath?

 © 2014 Thomas W. Cummins

If not me, who?

November 17, 2013

I’m preparing to travel to the prison where an execution will take place at 12:01 a.m. Wednesday, November 20. In my role as a ministerial witness, my arrival is to be around 11:00 p.m.

The man scheduled for execution is Joseph Paul Franklin, a hate-crime serial killer. I have known Mr. Franklin for more than 12 years, and I have visited his isolation cell countless times.

Some may ask, Why bother? That question calls to mind a couple of lines from the movie, Longford, about which I have blogged previously. Lord Longford was on a radio show and was being challenged about his long, frustrating and futile efforts to free Myra Hindley, one of the notorious Moors Murderers in the early 60s. The crimes were horrendous, grisly.

Lord Longford: … Forgiving her has proven difficult, very difficult. Not for what’s she’s done to me, that’s neither here nor there; but for the terrible crimes themselves. Forgiveness is the very cornerstone of my faith. And the struggle to deepen my faith is my life’s journey. In that respect she has enriched my spiritual life beyond measure, and for that, I will always be grateful to her.

Lord Longford: If people think that makes me weak… or mad… so be it. That is the path I am committed to. To love the sinner, but hate the sins. To assume the best in people, and not the worst. To believe that anyone, no matter how evil, can be redeemed… eventually.

So, I told Mr. Franklin I would be there for him. And if the execution goes through, I will be.

Severed Connections

July 10, 2013

Speaking with a prisoner the other day, the conversation got around to staying in touch with family. “I don’t know what has happened,” he said. “My mother thinks I don’t care about family, yet that is all I ever think about. How can she say such a thing? What did I do?” Prisoners are most likely to be tormented by what happens beyond the fence, rather than by what happens within.

He isn’t the only prisoner experiencing such a separation; nor do separations occur only among families of the incarcerated.

—∞—

Somewhere
A gate has been closed
Latched from within
Sudden, unannounced
Closed
 
Silence
Disturbing, depressing
An inexplicable absence
Made all the more painful
In its ever-presence
 
Looming
Over the silent phone
Echoing
In the empty mailbox
Residing in every waking moment

 © 2013 Thomas W. Cummins