Post by scottieswife on Jun 15, 2005 6:55:36 GMT -5
THE STUFF OF COMMUNION
By David A Van Dyke
Pastor and Spiritual advisor of John Spriko innocent on Ohio's death row.
www.johnspirko.com
On March 28, the United States Supreme Court refused to hear a final appeal in the death penalty conviction of my friend John Spirko. He has been in the news a good bit lately, because many believe he will be the first innocent person put to death in Ohio , since we resumed executions. The Cleveland Plain Dealer did an extensive three-part series on his case and the questions of innocence, and former FBI Director, William Sessions, along with some former federal prosecutors were a part of the unsuccessful attempt to get Mr. Spirko a hearing on the evidence --- something he's never had. Knowing that the Supreme Court would issue its ruling on March 28, I scheduled a visit with John for the next day, anticipating correctly that he'd need a pastor.
As his minister of record, I have visited him a number of times on death row at the Mansfield Correctional Institution. Because I am his minister, I am able to have what is called a contact visit, which means we are able to sit in a room together without him being bound, shackled and chained to the floor. This visit would most likely be the last of its kind I'll have with him, since once an execution date has been set, the inmate is moved to solitary confinement and is watched permanently. Corrections officials figure that inmates living with the clock ticking toward their execution have nothing to lose and are therefore more dangerous.
Each time I visit, it seems that the Institution's rules have changed. Sometimes they don't allow me to take my wallet in with me, other times they do. I used to take John communion, which justified the "contact" visit, but then one day they wouldn't let me take a little baggie of bread and a small bottle of juice inside. I cooperated with them because it does no good to question anything there,there are no good answers and it just slows things down even more. So the last few times I've visited John, I've not attempted to take communion inside. When I arrived on the 29th,the guards had "misplaced" my paperwork and had to get copies from someone in authority. When I was ready to be escorted back to death row, a guard asked me, "Where's your communion stuff at?" I explained that I didn't have it with me because in the past they'd not let me take it inside. Another guard said to me, "If you don't got the communion stuff, you ain't going back there”
Because I questioned this, he picked up the phone explained to the other end that I didn't have "no communion stuff." the guard handed me the phone and I was told by the voice on the other end that a visit with Mr. Spirko wouldn't be possible because I wasn't prepared to serve him communion. "Listen," I said, "I've driven up here from Columbus and if I have to, I'll go get some communion stuff." Since that was agreeable to whoever she was on the other end of the line, I headed out in search of some "stuff" that could serve as an impromptu holy meal. .
The first place I came to was a BP gas station and convenience store. Among the various bottles of juice I found a small bottle of something called Goofy Grape Soda, with goofy enough looking cartoon characters on the bottle. Next I needed bread. Looking among the chips, doughnuts, crackers and popcorn, my mind was theologically racing, as was my Presbyterian decency. I noticed that the BP also housed a Subway sandwich shop, so I asked the kid behind the counter for a plain bun. That request prompted about a five-minute conference between the senior management team of the Subway, as to the price for plain bun. It was decided that the price for a plain bun is the same as a vegetarian sandwich. Don't get me started! "That's fine," I said. As the kid was wrapping up the bun, he said to me, "Do you mind me asking why you want a plain bun?" I looked at him and replied, "No, I don't mind you asking. I'm a minister, and I'm taking this over to death row where I'll be serving the final communion to someone the State will be executing very soon now." The kid's eyes widened, his face went blank and he just stared at me without saying a thing.
I walked back into the prison, this time armed with a plain bun and a bottle of goofy grape soda, and was waved right through. Once back on death row, I took out the plain bun, placing it on the table between John and me, and then I poured some goofy grape into two coffee cups. Now, Presbyterians aren't big on "winging" things, and especially things like communion liturgy. But I had not been prepared and therefore didn't have a copy of the Worship Book with me, or any other liturgical aids, other than a plain Subway bun and some goofy grape soda. John said that the bread at least smelled good and fresh. Sitting across the table from one another, I began. "It was called the Last Supper, because it would be the last time they'd break bread together," I said. We held hands, bowed our heads and prayed together. We prayed for peace in the world, for an end to corrupt systems, for the powers that be, one of John's favourite expressions, and for justice. And then, "Pour out your Holy Spirit,
0h God, upon us and upon these gifts of bread and cup -- these gifts of plain bun and goofy grape soda, I thought to myself, "that they may be to us the communion of the body and blood of Christ" I said softly.
When the prayer was over I picked up the bread and before tearing it in half, I heard myself saying words familiar yet alive and poignant new meaning. "on the night of his arrest , before he would be unfairly tried and executed by the State, whose chief legal officer admittedly found no faults in him, Jesus took bread and broke it
In a small room on Ohio's death row and with his clock about to start ticking, John and I sat together silently, and took our time chewing on large pieces of the bread of life, then we drank salvation from Styrofoam cups. It was quiet and we where alone.
Just the three of us.
By David A Van Dyke
Pastor and Spiritual advisor of John Spriko innocent on Ohio's death row.
www.johnspirko.com
On March 28, the United States Supreme Court refused to hear a final appeal in the death penalty conviction of my friend John Spirko. He has been in the news a good bit lately, because many believe he will be the first innocent person put to death in Ohio , since we resumed executions. The Cleveland Plain Dealer did an extensive three-part series on his case and the questions of innocence, and former FBI Director, William Sessions, along with some former federal prosecutors were a part of the unsuccessful attempt to get Mr. Spirko a hearing on the evidence --- something he's never had. Knowing that the Supreme Court would issue its ruling on March 28, I scheduled a visit with John for the next day, anticipating correctly that he'd need a pastor.
As his minister of record, I have visited him a number of times on death row at the Mansfield Correctional Institution. Because I am his minister, I am able to have what is called a contact visit, which means we are able to sit in a room together without him being bound, shackled and chained to the floor. This visit would most likely be the last of its kind I'll have with him, since once an execution date has been set, the inmate is moved to solitary confinement and is watched permanently. Corrections officials figure that inmates living with the clock ticking toward their execution have nothing to lose and are therefore more dangerous.
Each time I visit, it seems that the Institution's rules have changed. Sometimes they don't allow me to take my wallet in with me, other times they do. I used to take John communion, which justified the "contact" visit, but then one day they wouldn't let me take a little baggie of bread and a small bottle of juice inside. I cooperated with them because it does no good to question anything there,there are no good answers and it just slows things down even more. So the last few times I've visited John, I've not attempted to take communion inside. When I arrived on the 29th,the guards had "misplaced" my paperwork and had to get copies from someone in authority. When I was ready to be escorted back to death row, a guard asked me, "Where's your communion stuff at?" I explained that I didn't have it with me because in the past they'd not let me take it inside. Another guard said to me, "If you don't got the communion stuff, you ain't going back there”
Because I questioned this, he picked up the phone explained to the other end that I didn't have "no communion stuff." the guard handed me the phone and I was told by the voice on the other end that a visit with Mr. Spirko wouldn't be possible because I wasn't prepared to serve him communion. "Listen," I said, "I've driven up here from Columbus and if I have to, I'll go get some communion stuff." Since that was agreeable to whoever she was on the other end of the line, I headed out in search of some "stuff" that could serve as an impromptu holy meal. .
The first place I came to was a BP gas station and convenience store. Among the various bottles of juice I found a small bottle of something called Goofy Grape Soda, with goofy enough looking cartoon characters on the bottle. Next I needed bread. Looking among the chips, doughnuts, crackers and popcorn, my mind was theologically racing, as was my Presbyterian decency. I noticed that the BP also housed a Subway sandwich shop, so I asked the kid behind the counter for a plain bun. That request prompted about a five-minute conference between the senior management team of the Subway, as to the price for plain bun. It was decided that the price for a plain bun is the same as a vegetarian sandwich. Don't get me started! "That's fine," I said. As the kid was wrapping up the bun, he said to me, "Do you mind me asking why you want a plain bun?" I looked at him and replied, "No, I don't mind you asking. I'm a minister, and I'm taking this over to death row where I'll be serving the final communion to someone the State will be executing very soon now." The kid's eyes widened, his face went blank and he just stared at me without saying a thing.
I walked back into the prison, this time armed with a plain bun and a bottle of goofy grape soda, and was waved right through. Once back on death row, I took out the plain bun, placing it on the table between John and me, and then I poured some goofy grape into two coffee cups. Now, Presbyterians aren't big on "winging" things, and especially things like communion liturgy. But I had not been prepared and therefore didn't have a copy of the Worship Book with me, or any other liturgical aids, other than a plain Subway bun and some goofy grape soda. John said that the bread at least smelled good and fresh. Sitting across the table from one another, I began. "It was called the Last Supper, because it would be the last time they'd break bread together," I said. We held hands, bowed our heads and prayed together. We prayed for peace in the world, for an end to corrupt systems, for the powers that be, one of John's favourite expressions, and for justice. And then, "Pour out your Holy Spirit,
0h God, upon us and upon these gifts of bread and cup -- these gifts of plain bun and goofy grape soda, I thought to myself, "that they may be to us the communion of the body and blood of Christ" I said softly.
When the prayer was over I picked up the bread and before tearing it in half, I heard myself saying words familiar yet alive and poignant new meaning. "on the night of his arrest , before he would be unfairly tried and executed by the State, whose chief legal officer admittedly found no faults in him, Jesus took bread and broke it
In a small room on Ohio's death row and with his clock about to start ticking, John and I sat together silently, and took our time chewing on large pieces of the bread of life, then we drank salvation from Styrofoam cups. It was quiet and we where alone.
Just the three of us.
