1
A slab of cloud hisses on dawn’s gas stove. Across the vale and atop the steeple, an ornate, Latin electric chair glints.

2
All in white, the candidate knelt before the gallows, awaiting the bishop’s hands. Around her neck, a sterling noose, her godparents’ gift.

3
The megachurch tore out its cup holders and cushioned seats and installed 1,300 electric chairs. The service was amped that Sunday.

4
Our parish is low church. When we genuflect before the gibbet, we choke ourselves with just one hand.

5
“For the word of the firing squad is to those who are perishing foolishness, but to us who are being saved it is the caliber of God.” [SRV]

6
“If any will come after me, let him deny himself, shoot up his lethal injection, and follow me.” [SRV]

 

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Photo copyright Randen L. Pederson. Used by permission.