Criminal

"For I tell you that this scripture must be fulfilled in me, namely, 

'He was counted among the wicked'..." (Luke 22:37)

   Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord   C 

Readings

On February 12, 1913—

just over 100 years ago—

Frederick Poulin was the last man

to be executed in the electric chair

at the state prison in Dannemora.

The Schenectady bartender

had been caught in a love triangle 

a year and a half before,

leaving Charles Leonard shot dead;

the details of both 

the relationship and the killing

are, of course, disputed.

Accounts from the time state

that, on his way to the death chamber,

Mr. Poulin carried in his right hand a little crucifix.

That same crucifix had previously been carried

in the hands of 19 other condemned men at Dannemora

who had preceded him

in taking the fatal walk to the chair.  (cf. Press Republican, 2/11/13)

Now two others, both criminals,

were led away with Jesus to be executed.

Those two convicted criminals mentioned in our Lord’s Passion—

they stand for us all, do they not?

The Son of God took flesh and dwelt among us

because the human race was on death row.

Because of sin, we have been condemned justly,

for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes.

But this man, Jesus:

he has done nothing criminal.

And yet he dies—

neither rebelling nor turning back,

nor loudly protesting his innocence.

Rather, Jesus humbled himself,

becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a Cross.

As we’ll pray in a few moments—

praying as his saving Passion is renewed for us in the Eucharist—

“though innocent, he suffered willingly for sinners

and accepted unjust condemnation

to save the guilty.”  (cf. Preface, Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord)

A small crucifix in Dannemora was passed down

through the hands of twenty condemned men…

…but it points to the Cross which has now been grasped in faith

by countless sinners across twenty centuries:

the same Cross we are called upon

to contemplate during this Holy Week;

the same Cross whose sweet wood

we will kiss again with tenderness on Good Friday;

the same Cross which has remained

the paradoxical sign of hope for the hopeless,

who recognize their real and urgent need for a Savior.

Joy-filled crowds, who only know half the story,

can wave their palm branches

in a frenzied welcome fit for a King.

But we who dare to stand by Christ to the end,

knowing that he will likewise always stand by us,

raise instead the instrument of his death

which signals not man’s final defeat,

but God’s ultimate victory.

With us and for us, Jesus willingly chose to be condemned,

nailing our sentence to his Cross.

Behind the thick, high walls 

of Dannemora’s prison,

there is a Catholic chapel—

a small church, really—

built, stone by stone, 

by the inmates there.

It is dedicated to the Good Thief.

With that dying criminal 

who steals his way into Paradise,

with all who cling 

to Christ and his Cross, we pray:

Jesus, remember me

when you come into your kingdom.