Editor’s note: On Sept. 23, 2010, at 9:13 p.m., Teresa Lewis was pronounced dead — put to death by lethal injection in the Greenville Correctional Center in Virginia. Her attorney, a believer and Christ-follower, provided this first-person account of her final hours and of a faith that sustained her through the valley of the shadow of death. For seven years, Teresa Lewis lived in solitary confinement on death row awaiting execution for her part in the shooting deaths of her husband and his adult son as they slept. The crime was truly horrific. But Teresa’s life is a testimony to Christ’s power to transform any life yielded to him.
For Teresa, in her final days, nothing was more important than being a strong witness for her God. For that reason, I want to share with those who supported her the nature of her witness during her final hours.
Chaplain Julie Perry and I were privileged to be with Teresa on Sept. 23, from about 6:30 p.m. until 8:45 p.m., when the prison guards came to take her to the death chamber. It was an extraordinary time.
On Sept. 22, Teresa enjoyed visits with members of our defense team who had worked so hard for her—Lynn Litchfield, her chaplain at Fluvanna for six years who had fought heroically to save her life; Chaplain Perry, who had served so well as her chaplain after Lynn left Fluvanna; and with me (alone for three hours on that day).
Jim Rocap
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On Sept. 23, Teresa visited twice with her son, Billy, and she spoke at length on the phone with her daughter, Christie. I arrived around 3:30 p.m. that day and was joined by other legal team members for their final visit, until we needed to leave at 5:30 p.m. for a short break.
Throughout those times, Teresa was completely at ease, joking, laughing, singing, reading aloud letters of support, recounting again and again her visits with Billy and her call with Christie, and then consoling and encouraging those of us who had come to try to console and encourage her. She did not need it; we did.
At around 6:30 p.m. on Sept. 23, Chaplain Perry and I were taken back to be with Teresa for the final time. She had been moved to the cell adjacent to the door that leads into the hallway to the death chamber. Gone was the prison jump suit; she was now dressed in a blue denim shirt and jeans, with flip-flops. The guard’s desk inside the unit had been moved so that there was a small area, perhaps 8 by 10 feet, just outside Teresa’s cell. Two plastic chairs were there for us to sit facing Teresa through the bars. Two prison guards sat at the desk, just behind and to the side of us.
Teresa was seated on her own plastic chair when we arrived, enjoying what would be her last meal — two fried chicken breasts and buttered peas. She was smiling and happy, fretting only that she might soil her shirt or Chaplain Perry’s Bible with the chicken or peas. Later she ate dessert — chocolate cake and a small amount of apple pie. Mostly she focused on the chocolate icing, scraping it off and then eating it as if she were 10 years old with her favorite birthday cake.
We (mostly she) talked about many things—her family visits, the support that she had received, her many friends, the pictures and letters that her friends had sent. We laughed. From time to time we were downright silly. She spent about 30 minutes writing her last words to her children and her grandson, and then reading and showing us her words for emphasis and approval.
As the time moved inexorably toward the hour of execution, Chaplain Perry and I became anxious that Teresa would not have enough time to pray, to enter into that state of acceptance that we hoped she would have. It became apparent, however, that Teresa was in charge and that while she appreciated our periodic reminders of the time and the need to focus, she would be the one to decide when that time would come. It also became clear that Teresa already had moved from this life to the next, that our concern that she might not have reached that final stage of acceptance was needless. For Teresa, her swiftly-approaching death had become simply another moment for her to spend on the journey. She was truly at peace.
Teresa had said many times that she wanted to read to me a favorite passage of hers from Philippians. At around 8:15, Chaplain Perry reminded her of that, and she raised her Bible and handed it to Teresa through the slot in the door, already opened to Paul’s letter. Teresa began reading aloud:
“I want you to know, brothers, that my situation has turned out rather to advance the gospel, so that my imprisonment has become well known in Christ throughout the whole praetorium and to all the rest, and so that the majority of the brothers, having taken encouragement in the Lord from my imprisonment, dare more than ever to proclaim the word fearlessly.
“Of course, some preach Christ from envy and rivalry, others from good will. The latter act out of love, aware that I am here for the defense of the gospel; the former proclaim Christ out of selfish ambition, not from pure motives, thinking that they will cause me trouble in my imprisonment.
Teresa Lewis
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“What difference does it make, as long as in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is being proclaimed? And in that I rejoice. Indeed I shall continue to rejoice, for I know that this will result in deliverance for me through your prayers and support from the Spirit of Jesus Christ.
“For to me life is Christ, and death is gain. If I go on living in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. And I do not know which I shall choose. I am caught between the two. I long to depart this life and be with Christ, for that is far better. Yet that I remain in the flesh is more necessary for your benefit. And this I know with confidence, that I shall remain and continue in the service of all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that your boasting in Christ Jesus may abound on account of me when I come to you again.”
Every verse or two she would look up and pause to make her point about how deeply she felt Paul’s letter applied to her “situation.” Paul speaks eloquently about the choice he had: To leave this world for eternal happiness with God or to continue here on earth with his ministry to others. He also speaks of his acceptance of God’s will that he continue his ministry, even though it is clear that was not Paul’s choice. Teresa dwelled on this verse; she lifted her head to make sure that we understood how deeply she had accepted God’s will for her. We then spoke of her own prison ministry, of how God was now asking her to carry out that ministry in a different way, by returning to him and allowing her spirit of goodness, caring and love to remain with all of those whom she had touched over the years.
Chaplain Perry and Teresa then struggled to find another of her favorite passages from Psalms. Precious minutes passed while Teresa searched, determined to find it, and find it she did in Psalm 66. This, too, she read aloud, with her simple and accepting wisdom.
“Shout joyfully to God, all you on earth; sing of his glorious name; give him glorious praise. Say to God: ‘How awesome your deeds! Before your great strength your enemies cringe. All on earth fall in worship before you; they sing of you, sing of your name!’ ”
And then she asked that we pray. The three of us joined hands through the meal tray slot, awkwardly at first, and then Teresa showed us what to do. Her left hand was cradled in both of mine; her right hand resting the same in Chaplain Perry’s. We all lowered our heads and closed our eyes, and Teresa began to pray.
For 10 minutes, Teresa spoke to God with simple, direct eloquence. Her prayer was utterly selfless, directed only toward others. She prayed first for Kathy Clifton, her husband and son that they might find peace.
“Lord, please, please help Kathy find comfort in you ….”
She prayed for Julian and CJ, the victims of the crime for which she had been condemned. She prayed for the Governor who professed to be “pro-life” but who, when given the opportunity to preserve Teresa’s life, decided instead that her life should not be spared.
“Lord, we lift up Governor Bob McDonnell to you ….”
She prayed for the prosecutor who decided at the outset that she should die for what she did and who had told the world just days before that Teresa “was the most evil person I’ve ever met,” despite the fact that he had never spoken a word to her.
“Lord, we lift up David Grimes to you ….”
She prayed for Judge Strauss, the man who had decided that she should die for her involvement in the crimes.
“Lord, please give your peace to Judge Strauss ….”
She prayed for me and her other attorneys who had failed in our efforts to save her life.
“Lord, please do not let Mr. Jim or Miss Lindsey or anyone else second guess themselves, give them the strength to know they have done all they could do.”
She prayed for Lynn Litchfield, thanking God for her gift and asking him to keep her strong. She prayed for President Obama, and then for all persons throughout the world who are suffering in any way—“Lord, please let them know that you are with them and that you will keep them strong and that your way
is the way of truth.”
She continued to pray — for her children, for her grandson and for so many others.
These petitions came like waves in the ocean surf, one after another after another. Once or perhaps twice I raised up my head and opened my eyes to watch Teresa pray, because I could not believe the power of her spirit or the selflessness with which she prayed. Perhaps I was raising my head above the waves to catch a breath during this breathless time, but in those brief moments as I watched Teresa pray it was clear that she had already left this life and was walking towards the next, peacefully and with complete confidence in her God. Those two moments were as close as I could hope to seeing the face of God, the face of pure love and complete selflessness.
And then she spoke directly: “Lord, I am coming home to you, and I am so excited. Please be there when the door opens.” And then she corrected herself, “
No, Lord, I know you will be there when the door opens, and I thank you, I thank you for that.”
At that moment, 8:45 p.m., the prison guards came to get her, tapping on my shoulder with a soft “It’s time, it’s time.” Teresa, Chaplain Perry and I looked up. I reached my hand through the bars to touch Teresa’s cheek, and she did the same. My words to her: “It has been an honor and privilege to serve you.” Her words to me: “And it has been an honor and privilege for me.” We kissed on the cheek, exchanged expressions of love, and I got up to leave.
As I moved away, Teresa and Chaplain Perry were repeating the same, as the prison guards, still gently, became more anxious and insistent for us to leave. As Chaplain Perry and I walked out of the room, we could hear Teresa speaking with those who were to escort her to the death chamber. She quickly began kidding with them.
Chaplain Perry and I then walked down a hallway and into the witness room, with a large window overlooking the death room with the gurney. There were perhaps 20 chairs in the room. The state witnesses, required by law, were in the front row. Behind were others, including members of the press and media. David Grimes and the investigator who had collaborated so long ago in their now successful quest to have Teresa executed sat in the next to last row to watch the final fruits of their labor. Only two seats had been left for us—in the very back row. Chaplain Perry asked if there was some place closer where we could stand. We were told no, and so we walked to the last row. I sat because I could see down the short aisle and into the death room. Chaplain Perry stood to my left. Our hands firmly clasped as we waited.
Shortly after 9 p.m., Teresa was escorted into the room. By regulation, the prison guards must escort her by supporting her under her arms. That made it awkward for her to walk the four or five steps to the gurney. Teresa was teary-eyed but held her head high, struggling as her Lord had struggled in the Garden to be the witness to God that she desperately wanted to be.
One reporter later suggested she looked frightened. Having spent the preceding two hours with Teresa, however, nothing could be more wrong. She and I had spoken often over the last six years about what was about to happen. We shared how there are two worlds, God’s and man’s. We shared that if this happened, in man’s world it would be a terribly sad, and horribly wrong, moment. We also shared that in God’s world, this would be part of God’s plan for Teresa, it would be the moment for her gift of life to be concluded, it would be the moment that she “returns home” because of God’s will, not man’s. I saw in her eyes the tears of this world, but I also saw her fierce determination to be God’s witness. I knew from my last minutes with her that in her heart she was strong, loving and accepting of God’s will.
In the weeks preceding, Teresa and I had spoken several times of what her last words might be. She told me she planned to be saying, “Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus.” True to her utter and completely selfless nature, her last spoken words were to Kathy Clifton, in a strong, loving and sure voice: “Kathy, I love you, and I am so sorry.” I know, though, that her last unspoken words, between only herself and her God, were those she had practiced for me so many times: “Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus.”
Jim Rocap is a member of Our Lady of Good Counsel Catholic Church in Vienna, Va. He is a graduate of Notre Dame University, where he majored in theology, and of the Georgetown University Law Center.