The Death Row Exchange

ONE SON SETTING THE CAPTIVES FREE

The wind sent a chill down the neck of the father’s spine as he helped his son out of the car. He never meant for this trip to be necessary and yet here they were, outside the front doors of the state penitentiary. The boy had been quiet for most of the drive, knowing full well the plan for the day only had one outcome. 

“Do we really have to do this, Dad?” the boy stopped to ask. “Isn’t there another way?” 

The father could do nothing but kneel down and embrace his son. If only, he thought. Tears filled his eyes as he felt his father shake his head. This was the only way. Though he didn’t understand fully in that moment, the strength of his dad’s arms around him assured the boy that somehow, some way, everything really would be alright. The father grabbed his boy’s hand and up the steps they went to the red door that waited at the top. 

The guard inside led them down a maze of narrow halls, slowing down once they reached a hallway that felt heavier than all the rest. A harsh fluorescent light rested above each green door with a small window. The father looked into the windows of the cells as they walked. He saw men and women sitting alone. Some were quiet and some were talking aloud. Some came up to their windows, making a scene as they passed by. Some, it seemed, couldn’t find it in themselves to lift their eyes. Most had been there months, others years, even decades. All were awaiting execution. 

The farther they walked, the deeper the father’s heart sank. Cell after cell, the father locked eyes with the people behind the bars. These inmates were the reason he had come, and nothing would change his mind. Despite what they’d done, he didn’t see criminals. He saw individuals in need of freedom. Holding tight to his son, he knew it was time. 

The guard opened the door to a cell at the end of the hall, and the boy stepped inside. His father let go of his hand and looked away without a word. The cell door clanked shut, then, silence. 

One by one, the guard unlocked the doors down the hall, and, one by one, the inmates stepped into the corridor. The reactions varied as the father turned to face them. 

“Father,” one woman cried, as she fell down before him. His hands met her face as he helped her to her feet. 

An older man one cell down hovered at his door, unsure about what lay ahead. He had grown quite comfortable in his little concrete house. The father stepped toward him and led the way down the maze in reverse. All eyes were open wide as they walked further than they were used to after living their solitary lives. The first of the prisoners made their way to the red front door, hands reaching up to shield their eyes. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting shadows around their feet. It had been too long since they’d seen the light. The father watched as one man closed his eyes, holding his arms out to welcome the warmth at the top of the steps. Streams of orange and gray flooded the steps as the prisoners arrived at the street below, and the father knew it was finally finished. 

Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God, a punishment for his own sins! But he was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed. All of us, like sheep, have strayed away. We have left God’s paths to follow our own. Yet the Lord laid on him the sins of us all. - Isaiah 53:4-6 (NLT)