by: Sr. Misty Garriga, CDP
New Orleans Archdiocesan Spirituality Center Intern

The Experience of a final Mass on Death Row

The Polunsky State Prison Unit in Livingston, Texas, the northernmost prison in our diocese, is the one unit in the state of Texas that houses the men who have been sentenced to the death penalty. (Polunsky is only where they are housed. On the day of their execution, they are transported to the Walls Unit in Huntsville for the execution.) Not only do we have a priest and deacon to offer weekly Mass for those in the general population, we also offer a final Mass the night before an execution for those Catholics scheduled to be executed the following day. In spite of the crimes that condemned them to death, they are our Catholic brothers who also are gifted with the graces of the sacraments. God loves them just as much as God loves each of us.

After the most recent execution of a Catholic in September, I was struck by how unnatural this last Mass encounter felt. I share this latest death row experience with you to not only continue to advocate and pray for an end to the death penalty but to share with those of you who may be curious as to what it is like to have a front row seat at the final Mass that we offer for those Catholics on Death Row.

Fr. Joseph Sigur, Deacon Steve Sellers, and I were present for Travis Mullin’s last Mass on September 23, 2024, the day before his execution. It began with the frustration of trying to get through security with all the items for Mass, especially the wine. We finally get through security, walk across the unit and enter what is called 12 Building where the men are housed in solitary confinement. The Major on duty was not aware of our visit and asked us for the official paperwork to let us back, but the officer at the front security gate kept it. One more delay. The Major is not too pleased that she had to now make phone calls to look for the paper to let us back.

We are finally escorted to the classroom down a hallway behind three gates where we move a desk to set up as the altar for Mass. There are six metal chairs bolted to the floor spread around the edge of the room. Two officers escort Travis in and bind him to a metal desk: three sets of handcuffs and a padlock to keep him secured. This is the first time in quite a while where he is in the same room with so many people who want to be there for him and not against him.

Five other inmates who have attended a seminary in the prison system to become Field Ministers accompany Travis as support. They have freedom to move around the prison to minister to those in greatest need and to help bring healing and transformation. This execution affects them as much as anyone else as they accompany yet another brother to their death.

We begin Mass. Travis fully participates in the responses, then he receives his Communion and Confirmation as well as the Anointing. At the end of Mass I sing the final commendation that we sing at the convent, entrusting the angels and martyrs to lead him to Paradise. We say our final words to him, the Field Ministers all go give him a final hug as this is the last time they’ll be able to touch him, the three of us shake his hand and give him a hug, then he’s escorted out of the room back to his 60 square foot cell. The only other touch he’ll receive are those of officers handling him from one place to another.

What we went to do is now finished. Now what? The room is empty, the field ministers leave, some in tears, wondering who will be left to mourn for Travis. It’s quite surreal, trying to comprehend that tonight is the first time in probably 14 years since being on Death Row that Travis has participated in Mass. He’s received the Eucharist on several occasions during Deacon Seller’s visits over the last few years but not had Mass available to him.

All throughout the Mass, I kept thinking that in 24 hours he’ll be preparing to be killed by lethal injection. I wonder about his life. Does he have any family support? Will anyone be here tomorrow for him? I ask him these questions and he said no family will be there, only a friend that he met as a pen pal while in prison. He just spoke to his mother the day before for the first time in 16 years. He endured a life of mental illness, abuse, and abandonment which gave him a very slim chance of having any sort of healthy, positive life at all.

I feel helpless, empty, and a bit numb as we walk back down the hall, through the gates, and back to the truck. We leave with the trust and hope in our faith that Travis will be with Christ in the next 24 hours. Fr. Joseph kept reminding Travis in his homily that we trust in the mercy of God and the hope of what Jesus said to the repentant thief, “You will be with me in Paradise.”

The three of us rode together, so we decide to go to supper. We’re hungry and tired, and dinner seems like the next normal act. We sit at the restaurant ordering our favorite Mexican dish and soon see the female officer who was with us in the room enter the restaurant to pick up a to-go order. We exchange a joyful smile and wave hello to one another as if we just saw an old friend. As she left I thought how strange that was to exchange such pleasantries after this experience. Life goes on.

As I spend the next day unpacking the feelings and emotions, I realize some of connections between Jesus and his own crucifixion and events leading up to his death:

The Last Supper surrounded with people who wanted to be with Jesus.

The Arrest.

The walk among the crowds.

Friends (family) who abandoned him.

The final loving, pastoral touch of Simon and Veronica on his way to the Cross.

The waiting for the final moment of the Crucifixion/Execution.

Jesus telling the penitent thief, Dismas, “You will be with me in Paradise.”

Having previously accompanied two other families in Huntsville during that last day as they awaited the final moments for their loved ones, I was aware of the angst of the waiting. Throughout the execution day on Tuesday I’d replay in my mind what happened at that last Mass. The conversations. The touch. The final words. Thinking about his life and what he must have endured beginning as a child. His acceptance of the wrong he did in his crime and now knowing of the mercy of God in the sacraments. When 6pm came around on Tuesday, there was a deep sadness and wonder knowing that his time on earth was about to be finished.

The abuse, molestation, and abandonment as a child brought him to his death. May he rest in peace.

Being in this ministry has allowed me the grace to not be so condemning of others but rather to ask the question, “I wonder what they must have endured as a child?” Time after time the reason people find themselves in prison is because of their own story of abuse, addiction, abandonment, or a number of other traumas that deter any positive or healthy adult life.

There is a balance of holding both joy and sorrow, concern and hope, life and death. This time has been challenging. Trying to accept that all of this is simply not normal, yet we continue in this everyday life. Jesus, be with those of us who accompany the incarcerated, navigating the darkness into the light of Christ.

In the words of Deacon Steve Sellers, “It’s all part of God's amazing grace, and we get a front row seat to deal with the things the Lord has put upon our hearts.” Your support of the Criminal Justice Ministries through the Appeal for Catholic Ministries allows us to continue to bring this grace of mercy and love to so many who are ready and open to accept God’s love in their lives. Thank you for joining us in this mission.

Sr. Dot Trosclair, OP, is the Director of the New Orleans Archdiocesan Spirituality Center.