The Lutheran Hour
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"Getting the Talk Started"
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Text: Luke 11:1
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“Now Jesus was praying in a certain place, and when He finished, one of His disciples said to Him, “Lord, teach us to pray …” (Luke 11:1)
Getting the talk started.
Getting the talk started was the most important thing they did. But he only realized it later. He didn’t notice it at the time because it was like how a fish doesn’t notice the water he’s breathing. It was all around him, but it escaped his notice. “It was too big,” he said, “as central to our work as our respiration was to our lives.”
Every day, as they went about their normal business, the main business was always to “get the talk started.” Because without the talk, people condemned to death “had a nasty habit of going insane.”i
Those are the observations of the narrator in Stephen King’s novel, The Green Mile. When we meet this narrator, he’s an old man telling us about his work in the death house of the state prison, where, over the course of his career, he supervised the executions of 78 persons. The title of the novel, The Green Mile, refers to the hallway on which the condemned walked on his or her last day. The walkway was only about 60 paces long, but it felt like a mile. And green? That just happened to be the color of the linoleum.
Years later, the old man muses about this mile, sitting in the solarium of the nursing home that every day feels more like a prison: “We each owe a death,” he says. “There are no exceptions. I know that, but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile is so long.”ii And even more so, if you’ve got no one to talk with on the way.
That’s why getting the talk started is the most important thing. It’s all talk, really, when you think about it;—putting words to our actions and our sufferings, trying to cope with this death that we each owe, that we all have to walk our own Green Mile. And along the way, we talk. We talk about what we did yesterday and what we hope to do tomorrow. We talk about what we’ve done or failed to do, how we got here, and how it might end. But sometimes it’s just talk. Sometimes the words seem empty, without meaning, without power. Nothing we say seems to help.
Tim Carter remembers feeling that way one evening. Tim’s job was to do in real life what Stephen King’s narrator did in fiction. For 21 years, Tim was part of the death house of the Texas Department of Corrections, assisting with the state-sanctioned capital punishment of 150 human beings who had been convicted of capital murder. And like the narrator in Stephen King’s novel, Tim’s main job was to get the talk started. But this particular evening, nothing he said seemed to help. Maybe it was the heat that had put everyone on edge. Even at five o’clock that evening, the southeast Texas sun was showing no mercy. And this was their third execution that week.
For most of the evening, Tim thought he was on the verge of losing control of the situation. Everyone he had to talk to that night seemed to be on edge;—angry, hurting, or both. Tim had the thankless job of talking, first with the condemned inmate, the man scheduled to die at 6 p.m. sharp, then to talk with his family there to witness the execution, then to talk with the family of the victims. Talk was at the center of Tim’s work. But tonight, even more than other nights, he sensed the futility of his words. Outside, they could hear the angry protestors on both sides of the dividing line, shouting. Inside, even the request for the witnesses to submit to a search was taken like a taunt to a fight. Nothing Tim said seemed to help.
Much of the hostility that night was coming from a couple;—a man and a woman who were anti-death penalty activists from out of town. They had taken a special interest in the condemned man’s case and had ingratiated themselves to the man’s family and had gotten themselves invited to be among the witnesses. And in no uncertain terms, they were letting it be known that they were fiercely opposed to what was happening. And Tim, a native Texan not opposed to understatement, later described them as “aggressively unfriendly.”
He had been in this situation many times before but had never gotten used to the feeling of being hated so intensely by someone who didn’t even know him. He was sure they had reached the breaking point when the mother of the condemned man saw her son wheeled in, fastened to the “death gurney” and the lethal IV line stuck in his arm. Immediately, she became nauseous and nearly collapsed. Tim became acutely aware of his powerlessness to help her avoid the pain that was about to consume her. But he stood by her, silently, as she stared at her son through the thick glass and steel bars between them.
She leaned against the glass and stroked it with her left hand “as if she were stroking her son’s hair,” Tim remembers. In society’s eyes, he was only a murderer. But she saw the baby boy she had brought into the world.
Tim handed her a tissue.
She held herself together until the injection had run its course. She watched her baby breathe his last.
Then the dam broke.
A volcano of suppressed emotion erupted. The mother screamed and collapsed. She crumpled to the linoleum, rolling, writhing, and crying “My baby! My baby! Oh, dear God, my baby!”
Tim knew that nothing he might try to say would help. He could only offer respectful silence.
After some time, the woman regained her composure. Tim helped her into a wheelchair and wheeled her out. But it was still unclear how the explosive evening would end. As the family filed past, the sister of the condemned man turned to face Tim. He braced himself for whatever came next. All she said was, “Thank you … thank you for being kind and considerate.” The two activists followed. The man thanked Tim for caring.
Tim Carter recalls this experience in his book, The Executioner’s Redemption.iii He explains that the Tim Carter who met that hurting and angry family with kindness and compassion was not the same Tim Carter who had started working as a prison guard as a young man. That Tim Carter;—the younger Tim Carter;—was unsympathetic, mean, and cold. Rather than projecting kindness, that Tim Carter would have reciprocated hatred. He would have made it known that the man strapped to the gurney was a wolf in sheep’s clothing who had pulled the wool over their eyes, that he was nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer, a despicable, condemned criminal who was getting exactly what he deserved.
That was the old Tim Carter.
So, what changed? What changed was the talk;—talk that introduced Tim to Jesus. Tim was transformed by this talk, God’s talk, the Gospel. The Gospel of Jesus says that God, the Creator, the Judge of all people, does not desire the death or damnation of anyone, not even the wolves. Jesus says that He came to seek and save the lost (Luke 19:10), both the sheep and the wolves, because God loves the wolves even as He vows to protect the sheep. Gospel-talk shows us that God’s heart is like that heart-broken mother who, through the glass, gently stroked her son’s hair. The talk of the Gospel shows us that God sent His only Son, Jesus, because that’s how much He loves us, and even more so. Out of God’s love for the world, He willingly gave His Son to be a Victim;—the Victim of an unspeakable crime. He gave Jesus over to the wolves, to angry, murderous, vengeful, hurting people, people not so different from you or me. They had the innocent Son of God executed, or stood by and let it happen. But God made it so that everyone who trusts in that Man, in that Victim on the cross, everyone who trusts in Him would not be lost, but would have eternal life.
That was the Word that transformed Tim. That was what got Tim talking with God. That was what got the talk started.
God’s talk is different than our talk. Our words falter and fail. Our words fall on deaf ears and prove powerless eventually. But God’s Word brought the universe into existence and His crucified Son back to life again. God’s talk doesn’t even need hearers to be effective. God’s talk makes hearers where there were none. God’s talk makes the deaf hear and the dead live. That’s what the Word did for Tim. That’s what God’s talk does for us.
First, the talk of God’s Law showed Tim that he was no better than a cold-blooded murderer condemned to die. God’s Word says so, that “whoever hates his brother [in his heart] is a murderer” and no murderer has God’s life abiding in him (see 1 John 3:15). God’s Law-talk showed Tim, as it shows you and me, that none of us have God’s life living in us, on our own. No matter how good we look against society’s shifting standards, our thoughts, our actions, our talk fall short of God’s eternal standard. We’ve all turned away. We’ve all fallen short. Like sheep, we have gone astray. God’s Law-talk brings death to us all on this long green mile.
But the Law is not God’s final word. Law-talk is preparation for Gospel-talk. And God is dying to get this talk started with us. Or rather, God died to get it started. God showed His heart. He made His promise: undeserved grace, forgiveness, and life in the death and resurrection of Jesus for you.
Now, maybe you’re asking, if Tim was transformed by God’s love, how could he stay in that job? How could he go on assisting with all those executions? In a few minutes, I’ll let Tim answer for himself. But here’s the short version: Tim was transformed by God’s love. And in this mortal life, in this fallen world, God’s love always comes to us in two kinds of talk: Law and Gospel. God’s Law kept showing Tim that the evil inside him was no different than the convict’s, because the worst crime we can commit is not capital murder, the worst crime we could commit is prideful rejection of God’s grace in Jesus. And the “ultimate penalty is not capital punishment; rather, it is to be granted the wish to be separated from God.”iv
But in the Gospel, God keeps promising that Jesus has overcome that separation for everyone. In this ongoing Law-and-Gospel talk with God, Tim came to see his job on the execution squad as a “sad and horrible duty” that God’s Law had given to the government, the duty to restrain evil and protect the sheep from the wolves (see Romans 13:1-4).
At the same time, God’s Law also makes it clear that, while we should support those commissioned to temporarily restrain evil, we should also keep an ever-cautious and watchful eye on governmental lethal force. Because governments can and have in the past become a monster much worse than what they were trying to protect us from. But even more, for those who trust the Gospel, our hearts can never become comfortable with capital punishment. Because the Gospel tells us that, while God has made such temporary provisions to protect the sheep, He has also made eternal provision to save us all, because He loves us all, sheep and wolves included.v
That’s Tim’s story. But what does his story mean for yours? This isn’t a message about the pros and cons of capital punishment. Rather, it’s about how God is dealing with you, wherever you are. God is dealing with you in love by talking to you in these two ways: Law and Gospel. God’s Law-talk curbs the evil in your heart. It keeps you from running off the road and hurting people. God’s Law is like an alarm, like a siren that turns your attention back to God.
So, listen. Listen, not only because it will help keep you from ruining your life, but listen also because God wants to tell you how He really feels about you, in the Gospel. No matter what you’ve done or what’s been done to you, you are His own beloved child that He brought into this world. And He gave His Son so that you could live with Him forever. In Law and Gospel, God’s goal is always the same: to get this talk started with us. Jesus called it “prayer” (Luke 11:2).
That night in the death house, when Tim was feeling like nothing he could say would help;—he was still talking. He was talking to God his Father in prayer. Jesus wants the same for you. For you, the murderer;—whether you’ve done it physically or only with hate in your heart. In either case, you don’t deserve God’s love, but you get it anyway, because Jesus is there for you. And Jesus is there for you, the victim. He feels your pain and knows it and takes it because He became God’s Victim so that you could talk with Him.
So, talk to Him. Talk out loud, talk in your heart, talk on the way. Talk to Him in Scripture and song and in the fellowship of other believers. Talk to Him from the valley of death’s shadow and from the cold linoleum of death’s house. And He’ll be there, now, and when the long green mile is behind us, when the dead are raised, and the wolf lies down with the lamb, and prayer becomes the air we breathe.
In Jesus’ Name. Amen.
i Stephen King, The Green Mile. New York: Scribner (1995), 40.
ii Ibid., 422.
iii Tim Carter, The Executioner’s Redemption: My Story of Violence, Death, and Saving Grace. St Louis: CPH (2016), 30-37.
iv Ibid., 207.
v Carter, 208.
Reflections for July 27, 2025
Title: Getting the Talk StartedMark Eischer: You’re listening to The Lutheran Hour. Go to lutheranhour.org for FREE online resources, a searchable archive of past messages, and much more. That’s lutheranhour.org. Once again, here’s Lutheran Hour Speaker, Dr. Michael Zeigler.
Michael Zeigler: Thank you, Mark. Today I’m visiting with Tim Carter. In the message, I mentioned his book, The Executioner’s Redemption. Welcome to the program, Tim.
Tim Carter: Thank you for having me, Mike.
Michael Zeigler: Tim, in your book you describe changes in your vocation, many changes. You’ve gone from prison guard to captain of an execution team in the capital punishment system to working in business to now serving as a second-career Lutheran pastor. But as I read the book, it’s not the vocational changes that drive the story, it’s the spiritual transformation you talk about. So, could you tell us more about that spiritual transformation?
Tim Carter: Throughout a lot of my career in criminal justice in the state penitentiary system, I became a product of that environment. Almost all employees do. I became very cold-hearted and kind of;—we’ll just say, not nice. But along the way, by God’s grace, I was introduced to the Word of God for the first time in my life, at 25 years old. That is where my heart changed a lot. I continued to work for the penitentiary system for a long time, but I had a different heart. And so, my calling was then to serve the Lord in prison and to be a blessing to people rather than to strictly and only be concerned with restraining evil.
And even back then, in the beginning, I felt that my responsibility was punishing evil. I guess I graduated from that heart to a heart of compassion, a heart of concern and even love, and then a whole lot of intense love for the inmates that I once had zero concern or love for. Under the counsel of my pastor, as I was making these changes, he said, “No, God needs a Christian brother doing what you’re doing.”
Michael Zeigler: You briefly mentioned you had this crisis as you came to understand God in these terms as a loving Father through Jesus His Son, that you wanted to leave, you wanted to quit the work, but your pastor encouraged you to stay. What helped you stay and not continue to be a product of that first environment?
Tim Carter: I went to receive counsel from a fellow by the name of Dr. George Beto, who at one time was a Lutheran pastor and a president of a Lutheran university. But at this time in life, he was actually the director of the Department of Criminal Justice in Texas and he became a professor of criminology. He was a mentor, and I went to him and asked him this very question, Mike. I asked him, I said I cannot follow Christ effectively without being weak in my responsibility. And I said, so I guess I have to quit and leave. He said, “You, Captain Carter,” back then, he said, “You, Captain Carter, you need to understand that even though you’re reading the Word, the Word is filled with Law and Gospel.” He read one Scripture verse to me, Matthew 10:16. “I send you out in this world as a sheep among wolves, and you must be as shrewd as a serpent, yet as gentle as a dove.”
Dr. Beto told me, “Captain Carter, you’re fantastic at being shrewd as a serpent. You’re horrible at being gentle as a dove.” He says, “You need to go back to work. You don’t quit. God has called you to be there, but you need to live Gospel, not just Law. You need to know that God has you there for a reason: that is to love the inmates that you thought was your responsibility to just discipline.” And so that was a huge reason why I stayed in prison [work].
Michael Zeigler: So now you’re a pastor in The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, as I am, and in our church body, we believe the Bible is God’s Word. We believe that it’s clear from Scripture that God has given governments, and again as you said, not individuals, but governments, the right to use lethal force, the death penalty. However, we don’t believe that the government must use this right if it determines that some other way to restrain evil would better serve society in a certain time or place, which allows members of our church to have different opinions about the usefulness or the fairness of the death penalty. And I know you’ve researched this debate from every angle. You’ve seen it closer than most people will ever see it, but again in the book, I appreciate how you keep reminding us that this matter is something that always is in the light of each person’s relationship to God: the inmate’s relationship to God, the guard’s relationship to God, our (as members of society) relationship to God. Could you say more about that?
Tim Carter: I became so thankful as I became closer and closer to the Lord, and as I dove deeper and deeper into His Word that The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod is huge into the priority of a balance of Law and Gospel. That guided my heart in trying to walk of an appropriate balance between justice and mercy. God’s desire is for all of us to repent and come to Him. It’s not His will that any should perish. That being said, if we are a soldier, a military soldier or a police officer or what I did as an executioner, we can as a Christian fulfill our responsibility to protect the citizens from predators. At the same time as we are restraining them, we can respect and love them. And that is what Christ was great at, and we all struggle to do.
Michael Zeigler: That puts the context of shrewd as serpents and gentle as doves;—this is how Christ is and how He calls us to be. When you were in the midst of that prison vocation on the execution team, how did you grow in that, struggle with that, face temptations of being out of balance, and what helped you get back and centered in Christ?
Tim Carter: At the same time as that I was an executioner. I was a judge over our internal court system inside the prison. And I felt uncomfortable both with executions and with being a judge to where I would sentence inmates to some extremely painful penalties, longer terms in prison, and things like that. And so I struggled with all of that until I realize that it is indeed a calling from God. I need to treat these men and women like God treats us. And that is, I need to love them enough to hold them accountable. And I’ve had inmates over the years, not a million of them, but some of them would come back later and tell me, “Captain Carter, I never had a dad in my life that loved me enough to punish me, and that’s why I’m in here. And I thank God that you loved me like my Father God loves me, enough to hold me accountable.
Michael Zeigler: The other thing I really appreciate in your book is you let us into your heart in prayer. You show us how even in the midst of all these things, as you said, serving as a judge and an executioner, you’re constantly falling before the Lord in prayer and asking for His wisdom and guidance.
Tim Carter: I found myself constantly in prison not knowing what to do. Like 2 Chronicles 20:12 says, I don’t know what to do, but my eyes were on Him. I was battling how to be what God called me to be. God answered my prayer.
Michael Zeigler: If you’re interested in hearing more of Tim Carter’s story, the book is titled The Executioner’s Redemption. Thanks so much, Pastor Tim, for joining us.
Tim Carter: Thank you for having me, Mike.
Michael Zeigler: God bless you.