Jodi Picoult - Change of heart

Judge, this petition has been filed by the ACLU not because it's a valid and troublesome concern-but because it will purposefully create a three-ring circus during the state's first execution in sixty-nine years." He waved his arm around the crowded gallery. "And all of you are proof that it's already working."

Greenleaf glanced at Shay. "Nobody takes the death penalty lightly, least of all the commissioner of corrections in the State of New Hampshire.

The sentence in Shay Bourne's case was death by lethal injection.

That's exactly what the state has prepared and intends to carry out-with dignity and respect for all parties involved.

"Let's look at the facts here. No matter what Ms. Bloom says, there is no organized religion that mandates organ donation after death as a means of reaching the afterlife. According to his records, Shay Bourne was raised in foster homes, so he can't claim that he was reared in one religious tradition that fostered organ donation. If he's converted to some religion that is now claiming that organ donation is part of its tenets, we submit to this court that it's pure bunk." Greenleaf spread his hands. "We know you'll listen carefully to the testimony, Your Honor, but the reality is that the Department of Corrections is not required to submit to the whim of every misguided prisoner that comes through its doors- especially one who has committed the monstrous torture and murders of two New Hampshire citizens, a child and a police officer. Don't let Ms.

Bloom and the ACLU take a grave matter and turn it into a spectacle.

Allow the state to impose the penalty that was set forth by the court, in as civilized and professional a manner as possible."

I glanced at Shay. On his legal pad, he'd added his initials, and the logo for the band AC/DC.

The judge pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at me. "Ms.

Bloom," he said, "you may call your first witness."

As soon as I was asked to approach the witness stand, I locked my gaze on Shay's. He stared back at me, silent, blank. The clerk approached, holding a Bible. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

The leather cover of the book was finely grained and black, worn smooth by the palms of thousands who'd recited a vow just like this one. I thought of all the times I'd held a Bible for comfort, a religious man's security blanket. I used to think it contained all the answers; now I wondered whether the right questions had even been asked. So help me God, I thought.

Maggie's hands were clasped lightly in front of her. "Can you state your name and address for the record?"

"Michael Wright," I said, clearing my throat. "Thirty-four twentytwo

High Street, in Concord."

"How are you employed?"

"I'm a priest at St. Catherine's."

"How does one become a priest?" Maggie asked.

"You go to seminary for a certain number of years, and then you become a member of the transitional deaconate... learning the ropes under the guidance of a more experienced parish priest. Finally, you get ordained."

"How long ago did you take your vows. Father?"

"It's been two years," I said.

I could still remember the ordainment ceremony, my parents watching from the pews, their faces lit as if they had stars caught in their throats. I had been so certain, then, of my calling-of serving Jesus

Christ, of who Jesus Christ was. Had I been wrong then? Or was it simply that there was more than one kind of right?

"As part of your duties at St. Catherine's, Father, have you been a spiritual advisor for an inmate named Shay Bourne?"

"Yes."

"And is Shay here in the courtroom today?"

"He is."

"In fact," Maggie said, "he's the plaintiff in this case who was sitting beside me at that table, isn't that correct?"

"Yes." I smiled at Shay, who looked down at the table.

"During the course of your training to become a priest, did you speak with parishioners about their religious beliefs?"

"Of course."

"Is it part of your duty as a priest to help others become familiar with God?"

"Yes."

"How about deepening their faith in God?"

"Absolutely."

She turned to the judge. "I'm going to offer up Father Michael as an expert on spiritual advice and religious beliefs. Your Honor."

The other attorney shot up. "Objection," he said. "With all due respect, is Father Michael an expert on Jewish beliefs? Methodist beliefs?

Muslim ones?"

"Sustained," the judge said. "Father Michael may not testify as an expert on religious beliefs outside of the Catholic faith, except in his role as a spiritual advisor."

I had no idea what that meant, and from the looks on their faces, neither did either attorney. "What's the role of a spiritual advisor in the prison?" Maggie asked.

"You meet with inmates who would like a friend to talk to, or a voice to pray with," I explained. "You offer them counseling, direc 306 tion, devotional materials. Basically, you're a priest making a house call."

"How was it that you were chosen to become a spiritual advisor?"

"St. Catherine's-my parish-received a request from the state prison."

"Is Shay Catholic, Father?"

"One of his foster mothers had him baptized Catholic, so in the eyes of the Church, yes, he is. However, he does not consider himself a practicing

Catholic."

"How does that work, then? If you're a priest and he's not Catholic, how are you able to be his spiritual advisor?"

"Because my job isn't to preach to him, but to listen."

"When was the first time you met with Shay?" Maggie asked.

"March eighth of this year," I said. "I've seen him once or twice a week since then."

"At some point, did Shay discuss his desire to donate his heart to

Claire Nealon, the sister of one of his victims?"

"It was the very first conversation we had," I replied.

"How many times since have you discussed with Shay his feelings about this transplant?"

"Maybe twenty-five, thirty."

Maggie nodded. "There are people here today who think that

Shay's desire to become an organ donor has everything to do with buying himself time, and nothing to do with religion. Do you agree with that?"

"Objection," the other attorney said. "Speculation."

The judge shook his head. Til allow it."

"He'd die today, if you let him donate his heart. It's not time he wants; it's the chance to be executed in a way that would allow for a transplant."

"Let me play devil's advocate," Maggie said. "We all know donating organs is selfless... but Where's the link between donation and salva tion? Was there something that convinced you this wasn't just altruism on Shay's part... but part of his faith?"

"Yes," I said. "When Shay told me what he wanted to do, he said it in a very striking way. It almost sounded like a weird riddle: 'If I bring forth what's inside me, what's inside me will save me. If I don't bring forth what's inside me, what's inside me will destroy me.' I found out later that Shay's statement wasn't original. He was quoting someone pretty important."

"Who, Father?"

I looked at the judge. "Jesus Christ."

"Nothing further," Maggie said, and she sat back down beside

Shay.

Gordon Greenleaf frowned at me. "Forgive my ignorance. Father. Is that from the Old Testament or the New Testament?"

"Neither," I replied. "It's from the Gospel of Thomas."

This stopped the attorney in his tracks. "Aren't all gospels somewhere in the Bible?"

"Objection," Maggie called out. "Father Michael can't respond, because he's not a religious expert."

"You offered him up as one," Greenleaf said.

Maggie shrugged. "Then you shouldn't have objected to it."

Til rephrase," Greenleaf said. "So, Mr. Bourne quoted something that is not actually in the Bible, but you're claiming it's proof that he's motivated by religion?"