There is something that doesn’t love a killing. There is something that seems wrong about celebrating a death. I wonder what it is inside me that refuses to whoop and holler and wave flags in my red white and blue underwear?
Perhaps it is that I am the only one real Christian left in America? Well in Texas anyway. The only one who understands what Jesus Christ was about?
Or perhaps it is that I live a few miles from the most active execution chamber in the civilized world?
This is probably it. For over 30 years every couple weeks reading a front page story in the Houston Chronicle how the Government strapped down some sad soul and put them to death with the reports from the victims Christian families so aglow with the execution.
The news story is not the 99% of such people enjoying it so much, but the rare few who decry it even through their own personal loss. Those are the Christians, and for the most part, they define themselves as agnostic. How strange.
I can find some satisfaction in the justice of this of course, but celebrating it seems to be doing the wrong thing.
I remember going through this same introspection when they did in Timothy McVeigh. Martyrdom.