Special to the HERALD
(From the issue of 4/22/04)

HERALD Staff Writer Mary Frances McCarthy spoke with Sister Connie Parcasio (pictured at right) about her ministry to a death row inmate in the 48 hours before his execution.

"The traditional teaching of the Church has acknowledged as well-founded the right and duty of legitimate public authority to punish malefactors by means of penalties commensurate with the gravity of the crime, not excluding, in cases of extreme gravity, the death penalty.

"If bloodless means are sufficient to defend human lives against an aggressor and to protect public order and the safety of persons, public authority should limit itself to such means, because they better correspond to the concrete conditions of the common good and are more in conformity to the dignity of the human person" (Catechism of the Catholic Church, No. 2266-2267).

On Jan. 24, 1998, Dennis Orbe, during a bout of depression, was nearing the end of a 10-day crime spree. Feeling the need to keep moving, Orbe, without a dime to his name, stopped at a convenience store at Route 17 and Fort Eustis Blvd. in York County at 3:30 a.m., intending to fill his gas tank and leave. Because the pump required prepayment before it would work, Orbe decided to rob the store.

Surveillance tape showed Orbe enter the store and brandish a .357 caliber revolver. Store clerk Rick Burnett showed no signs of resistance as Orbe shot him in the chest.

Last month, LaSallete Sister Connie Parcasio, director of prison ministry for Catholic Charities of the Arlington Diocese, received a call from Ann McBride, a member of Virginians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. McBride had been writing and visiting Orbe since July 2000. From the first letter he wrote to her, Orbe described how much he loved his daughters and how sorry he was for committing murder.

McBride informed Sister Connie that Orbe was to be executed the next day. The prison had given Orbe permission to call McBride at her house. McBride invited Sister Connie to join her that afternoon to talk to Orbe.

The following was taken from Sister Connie’s account of Orbe’s last 48 hours on death row.

March 30, 3:30 p.m. I was able to speak with Dennis from Ann’s house.

Dennis was married but separated. They have two children, two girls in their early teens. He loves them very dearly. Now he will leave them.

I said, "Dennis, true love never dies. It is like a seed that will grow when tended. Because you are not there to tend it, the Lord will do that for you. You love your children. The Lord loves them too, and more."

If Dennis wanted to remain alive it was because of them. I told him to continue to hope for amnesty until his last moment. However, if it does not come, do as our Lord did.

Dennis added, "Let the Lord’s will be done."

He had long been sorry for taking the life of Richard Sterling Burnett and had asked God’s forgiveness for his crime. He said that he had also forgiven everyone who had caused him pain.

"Dennis," I said, "you believe in Jesus, don’t you?"

"Yes," he said.

"So then you are assured. You are going to die, but because you believe in Jesus you will live again?"

"Yes, sister."

"How lucky you are Dennis, tomorrow night, you shall be with Jesus in paradise." At this point, a strong force pushed me to sing: "Into your hands, I commend my spirit, O Lord." I was very surprised with myself how I could sing like this.

Dennis asked, "Sister, could you give me some topics or passages or chapters in the bible that I can meditate on and pray tonight?"

He took me by surprise and I thought: this man is surely ready to face the Lord. I gave him Psalms 51 and 139 and the Gospel of John.

March 31, 9 a.m. I received a call from Jenny Givens, Dennis’ attorney. She asked if I would go and talk with Dennis face-to-face in his cell tonight before the execution.

The thought of purposely killing a human being was so shocking, so barbaric and I was pained. I started shaking. I could not organize my thoughts. I had a sudden headache, my face turned red and feverish.

I called Bishop Paul S. Loverde, Father Mark Mealey (episcopal vicar for pastoral services) and two close friends and asked for prayers. I e-mailed a number of prison ministry volunteers to share with them and to solicit their prayers. Father Mealey called back and I asked him to pray for me. I also told him about my phone conversation with Dennis. He was extremely quiet and he just said, "I will pray." Steve Luteran (executive director of Catholic Charities) took me aside before I left and reassured me of his prayers and then called others to come and pray for me. I was grateful because truly I needed all the prayers to calm me down.

7:30 p.m. We arrived in Jarratt. We stopped at a convenience store and there all the rest of my companions stayed behind as Ann drove me alone into the place of execution. They were to follow 30 minutes later for the vigil near the gate of the prison. It was raining and misty.

As Ann and I approached the gates, the glaring lights surrounding the prison pierced through the thick mist and trees. It produced a yellow-orange hue making the whole atmosphere eerie and repulsive. I felt my whole body shaking and I could feel the hem of my dress swaying against my legs. I never felt so alone.

At the first gate, four guards opened and closed the gate behind me. At the next gate, there were more guards, who opened and closed the gate. Each gate closed with a big, heavy "bang." The distances between gates were far and it was raining and very cold. All eyes were focused on me. I tried to say good evening to the people with the hope to break the tension. Only one or two nodded but blankly. No emotion.

In the main lobby, an officer met Jenny and me. He said I could accompany Dennis into the death chamber if I wanted. If I chose to go inside the chamber I would be able to talk to him once more, but very briefly before the actual execution. If I did not go inside the death chamber, I would simply be guided into the witness room together with the other witnesses. Jenny said that she did not have the courage to go to the chamber.

I said, "I decide to go in with Dennis."

[Toward the end, a few minutes before the hour, Dennis asked me, "Sister, are you sure you want to come with me? I do not want you to do this if it is too much for you." (I was greatly awed to know he still has time to think of others at this point when he was just a few minutes away from his death. I was choking with emotion.) "Yes, Dennis, I will accompany you until the end," I said. "And remember Dennis, Our Lord is at the other side to welcome you." (When I said this, it was as though it was not me saying it.)]

When we reached the cell, Dennis was seated. He stood and bowed, smiled and said, "Thank you for being here."

I held his hands and said, "It is because you are my brother. And I want to accompany you in this pain."

Three guards were seated about a meter and a half away. There were two chairs outside for me and Jenny.

We talked very casually as though we had known each other a long time. His face showed no trace of tension. He radiated peace and serenity. He put me at ease. He was totally focused and present to everything going around him. His memory was sharp. I too was totally focused on what was going on. I heard every word he said, I noticed every person around us, every little action or movement including the on-coming footsteps even if I was paying attention to him. At all the other times, I was sad, angry inside me, and wished this was not real.

When I asked how he was, he said, "Fine." I asked if he was ready to go. He said "Yes, I am ready. I have forgiven everybody and I have asked to be forgiven." I looked again at his face, his eyes. There was no trace of tension, but only the humble look of resignation and surrender.

I repeated what I had said yesterday: "Your love for your children does not die. It is like a seed that you sowed. It will continue and the Lord will make it grow in your absence. Just remember that he loves your children too, because they belong to him."

I told him that I would see to it that they will come to know what he said to me, how dear and precious they are to his heart. Dennis looked at me and said, "Thank you sister."

I opened my prayer book and started reading.

I would read, and if a sentence struck us, we would stop and talk. Sometimes Dennis would say something about his family, his father whom he did not meet until he was 30, his mother and his brother who came to visit him earlier and with whom he had enjoyed being with for two hours. They talked about their past and each one asked forgiveness from each other. When I asked if his father knew of this ordeal, he said, "Yes, but I am not expecting him."

It was all right. There was no need to ask why, but that Dennis accepted that part of his life as part of the past.

I reminded him over again, "Your death is only a passage from one life into another life, from temporal life to eternal life. There at the other side, there will be no more death, pain and suffering. But the only way to get there is by dying. We will have to pass through it. How lucky you are Dennis, in a few minutes you will get there while we will remain here struggling and hoping that we too will be worthy to get there. And when you reach the kingdom, will you remember us too?"

He looked at me assuredly and said: "Oh yes sister, I will pray for you, for Ann, for Terry and for everybody."

8:35 p.m. Sensing that the time was coming closer, I asked: "Do you have anything to say Dennis?"

"Yes, sister. I want to say again that I love my children and I wish for them to make a good future, that they make a great difference in this world. I wish them peace and happiness. I am grateful for all who have helped me: Ann, you, Terry and all those who support and pray for me. I hope that the Burnett family will really forgive me so that they may have true peace of soul. I also hope that those who work for peace and justice will continue so that there will be no more who will undergo the same fate as I am."

I asked if he wanted to pray for anyone. He prayed for everyone he can remember, his children, his mother, brothers, ex-wife, all who helped him, mentioning them one by one, all his friends, the man he killed and his family and those responsible for his execution.

At this point, a strong force moved me to sing. I could not understand for it is like me to do such a thing. But now I did not care about my environment. I noticed myself singing and praying at the same time. Three minutes before the guards picked him up, I sang for him the refrain, "And I will raise you up…"

8:45 p.m. Numerous guards appeared and marched toward Dennis’ cell. Their steps were heavy and calculated. One carried the handcuffs clinking as he walked along. One carried a piece of paper. Dennis looked like a lamb — so obedient, so meek, devoid of resistance. (At this point, my whole being revolted. I groaned in pain. How inhuman, how barbaric, how unthinkable that these men could play God. To me, they were like hungry lions ready to devour their prey. And I sighed a prayer in the depths of my heart — have mercy Lord.) After he was handcuffed, one of the guards read the final verdict. While he was reading, Dennis turned his glance to me as if wanting to be reassured. I raised the crucifix high and pointed to Jesus on the crucifix. He turned his gaze upon it, focused his eyes on it for a moment and then he was moved away.

Two guards held tightly his arms; another opened the gate of the cell, while still another opened the curtained door in front of his cell. That was the death chamber. A guard motioned me to follow and I stepped into the death chamber with them. They made him lie on the narrow table. I looked with pity on his face. His eyes focused above him. When they finished tying him, the chief guard motioned me to get closer to talk to him one more time, briefly.

I approached and put the crucifix on his lips. He kissed the crucifix and I whispered into his ears, "Into your hands, I commend my spirit, O Lord." I could say no more. I heard him repeat this. I stepped back and a guard led me away into the witness room. They opened the curtains. All were very silent. All watched, but me and Jenny.

9:13 p.m. They put a lethal injection in Dennis. I did not like to see this. Once in the witness room, I held tight to the crucifix and prayed. I closed my eyes. Within a few minutes, he was gone. When he was dead, they closed the curtain.

As soon as I was out, my stomach started groaning all the more and I could hardly breathe. I was nauseated, I wanted to vomit and I was shaking again — more than before. A guard led us. It was very cold. I had to be led to a chair because I was too exhausted. I felt so drained — emotionally, physically. All I wanted was for someone to cover or touch my back or simply to embrace me. Now that I was out of the prison, I wanted to coil myself into the warmth and peace of home.

This thought keeps coming back to me. What did Christ say about it? He said: "Let him who has no sin cast the first stone." Our Lord is saying this again to us today, as individuals, as a community, and as a nation. Are we listening? Are we willing to listen?

Oct. 30, 2000

Dear Ann,

I want to let you know that I am ashamed of what I’ve done and the pain that I caused Mr. Burnett’s family and friends, along with my own family, who has been though so much because of my actions. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret what I’ve done. God is my salvation; if it wasn’t for Him, I think I would be dead today. It’s so easy for God to forgive, but I find it so hard to forgive myself, and when it comes down to it, I probably won’t be able to.

Dennis Orbe