“And not only that, but we also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope. This hope will not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.”
Romans 5:3–5, CSB
Deonte Curtis clutched the heavy, leather-bound Bible in his calloused fingers. Pastor Stanley Morris reached over and grabbed Deonte’s hands with his own, letting him feel that personal, human contact, maybe for the last time.
Deonte sniffed, trying to hide tears, but his eyes and nose dripped, blotting the onion-skin pages of the old King James. Pastor Morris let him cry in silence.
the lights dimmed briefly, flickering. both men looked at each other. the old pastor searched his mind for something to distract. seeing Deonte’s uneaten dinner, he grabbed the tray and slid it close on the cot.
“you not gonna finish your supper?”
“i can’t eat.”
the pastor understood. still. “this ain’t a place to let food go to waste.”
“ain’t no point in it.” Deonte wiped his nose with the sleeve of his cotton jumpsuit. “what’d you have for dinner?”
“you don’t want to hear about that.”
“tell me.”
Stanley hesitated, then relented. “jumbo pork sandwich from Payne’s Barbecue.”
Deonte smiled and shook his head. “that sound good, bruh.”
“with some hot slaw, and baked beans, sweet tea, pecan pie!”
the smile faded. “i’m scared, Stan.”
Stanley nodded. “no reason to be. do you trust The Lord? do you believe He can forgive?”
“yessir. i do.”
“well okay then.”
“but if He forgive, how come we still gotta be punished?”
“forgiveness don’t erase what happened. it don’t erase what we’ve done. that wouldn’t be justice, see. forgiveness has to acknowledge what’s happened, or else, what’s it worth? when God forgives us, it means He does not condemn us, according to His way of things. see, we down here,” he motioned low with the thick slab of his hand, “in man’s way of things. but that don’t matter. they kill us here? right or wrong, it don’t matter. if God forgives us, then we’re up here,” his hand rose high, “workin on His way of things, where there is no condemnation for those of us that are in Christ Jesus. so man can go ahead. man wants to kill us? we just get to see The Lord sooner, is all. what’d Paul say? to live is Christ, and to die is?”
“gain.”
“it’s gain. it’s all gain, brother.”
“ain’t you scared of dyin, though?”
Stanley sat up straight. “a little. just of the process, though. i’m a lil scared of dying, but i ain’t afraid of death, you hear me?”
Deonte nodded, understanding if not agreeing.
“in Christ, no reason to be afraid. ‘perfect love casts out fear’, He says.”
the lights dimmed, flickered again. Deonte huffed. “man, why they gotta keep doin that?”
“they’re just testin the chair, D.”
“they tauntin us, man.”
“Deonte.” Pastor Morris spoke with an authoritative tone, fatherly. Deonte submitted like an obedient child, quiet, attentive. “our enemy is not flesh and blood. they’re just doin their job.”
a thick portal at the end of the hall opened, and a squad of eight officers approached the cell, accompanied by three men in suits — gray, blue, and black. an officer jangled his keys as he opened the door. he spoke softly. “sorry, fellas. it’s time.”
the pastor stood and smiled at the men. “warden, thank you for letting us have this last moment together.”
the man in the blue suit nodded sheepishly.
“step out, please.”
Pastor Stanley Morris stepped out and the officer shut the door. Deonte stood, still clutching the big Bible, trembling.
Stanley stared at him. Deonte wept.
Stanley put his hands behind his back as the eight officers placed shackles around his wrists, waist, and ankles. they were an army trained in futility; Stanley complied with every quiet request. the man in the gray suit watched to see that every letter of the law was met. the man in the black suit leaned around him.
“Stanley, if you want private time to talk, or if you’ve changed your mind about appeals--“
“Mr. Donovan, you’ve served me well. i’m done fightin. Jesus changed my heart, but that don’t change what i done. i’m thankful for every breath He let me have so i could tell the others here about His love.”
there was sadness in Mr. Donovan’s eyes, but none in Stanley’s as he looked at Deonte.
“don’t ever let go of The Word, Deonte. this hope will not disappoint.”
the extraction team turned Stanley toward the portal at the end of the short hallway and started shuffling him toward his inevitable end.
someone yelled, “dead man walking!”
Deonte yelled, “pastor on the row!” and a chorus of other men echoed, “pastor on the row!”
seconds later, with a loud boom, the heavy portal closed and locked.
the row was silent.
it seemed like hours passed.
Deonte embraced the book.
the lights dimmed.
