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ripple effect of a national execution on church and community
by Donald Mullen
On June 10, 2001 in Terre Haute, Indiana, Timothy McVeigh was executed—some three and a half weeks after the originally scheduled May 16th date—for the bombing of the Alfred P. Murray Federal Building in Oklahoma City that killed 168. He was the first federal criminal put to death since 1963.
Terre Haute is located approximately 75 miles west of Indianapolis and just a few miles from the Illinois state line. It is a mid-sized city with a population of 58,000; a college town with five institutions of higher learning; the birthplace of the Coke bottle, and may be best known as the place where Larry Byrd played his college basketball.
Terre Haute has been home to the U.S. Penitentiary since 1940 and was told then that it would not house “desperate or hardened offenders.” It now confines 1700 inmates, employs approximately 480 people and brings millions of dollars into the local economy. One day after McVeigh’s execution it was announced that another prison was to be built in Terre Haute that is expected to employ an additional 300 people and bring $10 million into the community. These are no small matters to the city as it works to find a balance in its transition from an agricultural and industrial heritage. Within the city and the state initiatives have been undertaken to build a technology based economy that will help retain significant numbers of highly skilled college graduates that annually complete their degrees from one of Indiana’s many colleges and universities. This thrust is making a difference.
The following is an accounting of how this event affected the city of Terre Haute and the people of the First Congregational Church. As the execution neared, we were told that 1400 media people were expected for the original execution date. One storeowner whose business is located across from the prison estimated that he had given “80 interviews to journalists from Indianapolis to Italy.” For many the influx of media and others did not translate into a financial success, however. This business, for example, had prepared 800 shish kabobs, but sold only 80 and then donated those that remained to a local agency, the Lighthouse Mission. Some did better as the family who resides across from the prison did by allowing the media to park some 325 vehicles. The family would not discuss what they netted from the arrangement.
Our community was described in one headline as “reluctantly thrust into world spotlight,” and was unprepared for what was beginning to happen. In late April,
Max Jones, Terre Haute Tribune Star Editor wrote, “Few if any could have anticipated the depth of drama this first execution will produce.” Coincidentally, one day before he wrote those words I was having coffee at the Cross Roads Café (perhaps the “real” church where people meet and share their lives) with two individuals from our congregation when the owner, Boo, told me that Max wanted to see me before I left. I found that he wanted to talk about how the community was going to cope with such an unprecedented situation. After talking with him, I agreed to coordinate an event that was conceived as a memorial service, but which evolved to a more comprehensive prayer service for reconciliation and healing, and then did not occur.
It is appropriate here to talk about First Congregational Church and its people. The church was founded in 1853 and has been in its beautiful and historically significant building since 1902. It has a long history of being in the forefront on matters of justice, including Lyman Abbott in the pulpit speaking out against slavery at a very early date. We are a downtown church comprised of mostly theologically liberal people who are deeply bonded to one another, to my wife Barbara, and to me the minister. This is a congregation of professional and working class people who are extraordinarily committed to this city they love. It was not an easy time for anyone in Terre Haute, but may have been especially hard on our parishioners because of my involvement in the prayer service and an earlier event. That occurrence was a debate of the death penalty sponsored by the NAACP in March but held at the church that included Bud Welch whose daughter was killed in the bombing and who has become outspoken in his opposition to the death penalty.
These events caught the attention of the media. I began getting phone calls from newspapers from across the country and from national magazines that were looking for ways to personalize their stories. As my name and that of the church appeared in print, there were other calls that questioned the motives behind the prayer service and why I had not spoken about actions by the government that caused the loss of lives at Ruby Ridge and at Waco. My response was that we were interested in a solemn service in which we would pray for peace and that it was not to be a protest of the death penalty. For clarification, I am opposed to the death penalty and believe that we cannot prevent violence by entering into a violent act ourselves. Laws are needed by society and a judicial system for their enforcement, but don’t we as Christians need to go beyond the law to embrace the forgiveness that comes through God’s grace and love? Though my position was unspoken, I began to understand that my comments and my involvement had the possible effect of escalating danger to the community and/or to the church. And, to make matters worse and despite the close bond that I have to our congregation, I feared that someone might harm our building. It was beginning to become clear to me that we were wrestling not against flesh and blood, but against principalities . . . this present darkness. (Eph. 6.12)
With Max Jones regularly writing about the prayer service, some odd things began to occur. Initially, there was an outpouring by individuals and groups who wanted to participate, but within days one after another called to cancel. One prominent person said that the date and time conflicted with a regularly scheduled board meeting that he needed to attend. The city refused to provide a permit for the service in the park unless they received a certificate stating there was adequate liability insurance—which proved to be impossible for this ad hoc group. There was a strange convergence of what I have termed trivial, but may be better identified as the ordinary, and those things that are truly important. A spokesperson for the Sisters of Providence described it as “providential” that Sister Helen Prejean (author of Dead Man Walking) was the commencement speaker at St. Mary of the Woods College (booked in 1998) less than two weeks before the (scheduled) execution. Her comments included these statements: “the government is only emulating the killer’s own barbaric behavior . . . Where are we as people as we keep continuing the cycle of violence?” She and others were desperately trying to stop this and all future executions, while others in the city were going about their business and appeared to be unaffected by the impending execution and what had become the media circus—and nearly an infinite number of positions between those two poles. Terre Haute, as much of the country, was caught in unbelievable turmoil.
When it was announced less than a week before the rescheduled execution that there would be no further delays and our continued inability to get the required insurance, the community prayer service did not occur. However, the Sisters of Providence, and in particular Sister Joan Slobig, S.P. who had been central to the community service, immediately scheduled a Sunday, June 10 Vesper service and on the day of the execution a 6 a.m. silent prayer vigil, a mid-day service and tolled their church bells at 6 p.m.
The Sunday evening before the execution was eerie as night began to fall. It was hushed, the streets were quiet and deserted, and the demons danced. Those who maintained “The Circle of Silent Prayer” vigil at the prison in the early hours on Monday spoke of the wind and rain that preceded the announcement of McVeigh’s death and then of the rainbow that formed across the sky. I am grieved at the words of some of the victim’s family members who have been quoted that he should “just burn in hell,” another hoping that “a little bit of that anger goes away,” and a “hallelujah” from still another. How much diminished is their ability to recover and find closure when contrasted with Bud Welch, who has expressed hope that in 50 years, young people will ask “Did we actually take people out of a cage and kill them?” and who only found peace himself after his rejection of the death penalty? And, of Father Ashmore who ministered to McVeigh and saw him not as a demon but as a child of God and reminded his congregation, “God doesn’t judge us by the worst action of our life, but judges us by the movement of our heart toward him.”
Timothy McVeigh was pronounced dead at 7:14 a.m. Central Daylight Time on June 11, 2000.
Note: The Washington Gladden Society made a contribution to the Sisters of Providence on behalf of the Rev. Donald Mullen who expressed profound appreciation for their spirituality and leadership. Don Mullen wrote this article with editorial assistance by Barbara Mullen.
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