Mr. Henderson's Story - a Cosmic Convulsion

(This story is an excerpt from a sermon by the pastor at our church, David Van Dyke.  The full sermon is titled The Longing.)

I am aware that this holiday season is not easy for everyone. In fact it is very difficult and lonely for many. But I also know that in whatever you face, no matter how bleak the situation seems, in spite of the lack of hope you possess or in how badly your world seems to be arranged—I know that it is possible for the word of God to come to you. In a moment.  In an instant and in ways you never before imagined.

And it usually surprises us when it happens.  Fred Craddock once put it this way,

God’s coming in Jesus is an event which shatters our time sequences and we find ourselves remembering tomorrow and looking forward to yesterday. Advent assures us God will continue to come to us, and in surprising ways; sometimes in cosmic convulsions, sometimes in a child at its mother’s breast (Living Pulpit, vol.6, no.4).

About six years ago, during Advent, I went to visit Jerome Henderson, who was on Death Row in Ohio and about to be executed. Another Death Row inmate with whom I’d become acquainted, told me about Mr. Henderson’s pending execution and asked if I would go visit him saying, “He has no one. In all the years he’s been on The Row he’s never had one visitor.” So I agreed to go.

And this is how it was supposed to unfold. I would meet Mr. Henderson the night before his execution, and we’d talk for an hour or two. The next morning I would return to the prison, have a final prayer with him and then witness his execution. As he would tell me when we met, “I want someone there representing me and to witness what the State is doing to me, and I’d like you to write about it some day.”

So I arrived at the prison in Lucasville, Ohio, where executions in Ohio take place. I was led by a guard to building called the Death House. It was like something out of a movie. In the middle of a large round room with a high ceiling, sat Jerome Henderson, shackled and chained to the floor, seated at a metal table and chair,also bolted to the floor. Around the wall of the room where about six armed guards watching us. I took a seat across from Mr. Henderson, who thanked me for coming.

I had a Bible and a pad of paper with me and I asked him what he’d like me to know about himself. He told me about his family and some of his childhood friends. He told me about the trouble he’d gotten into. He asked me to call his sister when it was all over to tell her that he loved her. I can’t remember all of it anymore but I did a lot of listening and note taking. When he was a bit talked out, I asked if I could read some scripture. He said he’d like that so I read a few passages.

Then he told me that the previous Sunday, before he was transferred to the Death House, the prison chaplain conducted a worship service where he led the inmates in singing a song Jerome Henderson had never before heard but which he thought was beautiful. He wondered if I knew it and started humming the tune to O Come, O Come, Emmanuel. I nodded and said, “I know it.” I then repeated the words.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel
that mourns in lowly exile here, until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

 

O come desire of nations bind, all peoples in one heart and mind,
bid envy, strife and discourse cease; fill the whole world with heaven’s peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel.

Jerome Henderson, having eaten his last meal, chained to the floor and hours away from his execution said, “Man, that’s a beautiful song.”

As our visit was ending, I suggested we pray together. We bowed our heads and he took my hands in his. We prayed for strength. We prayed for courage. We prayed for forgiveness and for all families whose lives have been shattered by violence. And I prayed that somehow, in some way, and into that bleak setting, light would shine in the darkness. As we prayed I could hear Jerome whispering, “Yes Lord, yes Lord.”

I closed the prayer saying something like, “In the name of the One who came and who’s coming again we anticipate, Jesus Christ our Lord…” and as I was concluding the prayer, I heard footsteps coming toward us.

We opened our eyes and looked up. Standing next to us was the Warden and a security guard. I was sure the Warden was there to tell me it was time to leave. Instead, the Warden said this,

Mr. Henderson, The United States Supreme Court has issued a stay in your case pending further appeal.  There will be no execution tonight. I’m sorry for this inconvenience and we are making arrangements to move you to a comfortable room in the infirmary for tonight before transferring you back to Youngstown in the morning.

We were stunned. I was speechless. Jerome Henderson, on the other hand, started praising the name of Jesus with such gusto and volume that I’m sure the other inmates all over that prison that night heard the shouts of joy coming from deep inside the Death House.

The universal longing is real and resides in each of us whether we’re in the Death House or our own house. Each of us longs for the mountains before us to be made low and for the valleys in our way to rise up and for the rough places to be made smooth. We long for the crooked places to be made straight and for the deserts to break forth into blossom. And we long to see a light, shining in the darkness for us.

And every once in a while, when we least expect it or think it’s possible, God comes to us.

Amen.

A picture of a cosmic convulsion from Google Images