Reflections from Death Row

 

A reflection from Lalia Mangione, Violinist & Community Manager

Preparing to walk into a facility to meet and worship with men that are awaiting their executions is a hard concept to grasp. Death Row (often called ‘the row’) is not a place where you have much to look forward to. One might wonder why someone would want to come to a service and praise God under such circumstances. 

There are 140 men and one woman on Ohio’s Death Row, and almost all of the men are housed at the Chillicothe Correctional Institution (CCI). Strangely enough , on first impression the grounds of CCI were beautiful. Driving up to the facility you could almost imagine it were a college campus. Almost - if you took away the layers of fences and barbed wire. The further we walked into the facility the less it felt like a college campus and the more it embodied that drab, gray, lackluster atmosphere that prisons typically exude. 

This was the first time Renovare has been to the CCI, and the first time we have ever been on any Death Row. We went through door after door, showing ID and hand stamp at each stop. I looked out the window at the shining sun as we walked down the long hallway. It was such a beautiful day, but outside the window all I saw were large cages, like oversized dog runs. I was told that that is where the men have “rec [recreation] time.” People on the row are typically only allowed outside for one hour a day, and the other 23 hours are spent in total isolation. What a way to live. Minimal to no interaction with other humans. Let that sink in. Humans were designed to live in community, but that’s not possible on Death Row. 

We turned through a door into a cage situated in the corner of a large basketball gym. The light streamed in through the half open, barred windows near the ceiling - such a stark contrast to the dark heaviness we felt given where we were. There were seven of us: Rebecca, Mike Swiger, several True Freedom board members, and myself. We’ve had the pleasure of working with True Freedom in the past, so when Mike asked if we’d like to accompany him to Death Row we agreed. Preparing to go to the row was different from preparing for other events we’ve done, even different from preparing for events in the other correctional facilities we’ve been in. It’s impossible to imagine living in a place where you wait to die, knowing the day and time of your death. What purpose does music serve in this place? If the music we share is the last live music someone hears, what should it be? How can music be a blessing to these men? All these questions ran through our minds as we prepared music for this service. 

Frankly, Death Row is a place that I wish did not exist. My prayer was that the music Renovare shared would offer the men on the row a moment outside of those walls; a small blessing that would bring them just a little bit of light in a dark reality. 

The chaplain brought us into the gym before the men arrived so that we could set up. The group we had was smaller than usual; apparently news about the service had not reached the men as it should have.

 Each of the four men that came to the service walked in escorted by a guard. Each man had a chain around his waist to which his hands were handcuffed and shackled. Once released from the cage in the corner of the room, the four guards removed their handcuffs and belly chain and left the room, locking us all inside together. We began chatting and getting to know each other a little bit. 

When asked how he was doing, one of the men said “I am blessed.” I was shocked. Here’s a man with a death sentence, living out the remainder of his life in prison with no freedoms at all, saying that he is a blessed man. Wow. If that isn’t perspective, I don’t know what is. He said that he was blessed because he had had more freedom than he was used to. He was not in complete isolation for 23 hours - he had been allowed more time out for rec recently. For that he felt blessed, even though since being on the row he had lost his mom, his sister, and his daughter. 

All four of these men professed to be believers. They bowed their heads and prayed with us, they stood up and sang with us in worship. They sat with their Bibles open as they listened attentively to the sermon, and after the message they shared their prayer requests with us. All four of them shared prayer requests about their children or other family members. We were told later by our friends at True Freedom that it is rare for the men to share their prayer requests during their services on Death Row. We were honored that they shared what was on their hearts with us. 

After the service there was only a brief time to talk before the guards came back and the shackles went back on. Just like that, our time together was over. We asked the Chaplain how often the men heard live music. He said that there’s almost never live music on Death Row, and that violin and cello have never been heard live on Death Row. Oh the things we take for granted. Even the small things, like hearing live music - which is something most of us have at our fingertips, whether it be attending an orchestra concert, a pop concert, an open mic night, or even worship at a church service. 

We discovered that some of the men are musicians and that they have been requesting a music room with a keyboard and bass guitar. They told us that a few of them gather and sing hymns when there aren’t other services happening; even without their instruments they crave that musical outlet. My heart breaks when I hear that music is not an option for them. 

As Christians, we talk about praising God in the midst of our trials and tribulations, but do we always do it? Most of us could never comprehend what it is like to live on the row. Their presence at this service and their willingness to praise God in spite of all they endure on a daily basis is a testimony in and of itself. To praise God regardless of your circumstances or suffering - that is faith. That is an integral part of what it means to be a Christian. And that’s what I saw, amidst the handcuffs and shackles behind the barbed wire fences of the Chillicothe Correctional Institution. 

I look forward to going back and fellowshipping with my brothers at Chillicothe. I look forward to playing and singing hymns with them and praying with them. God bless all of those men and may He be by their side as they live out the rest of their lives at Chillicothe. 

 
Lalia Mangione