All Rise for the Jury

     The experience confirmed my suspicion.  I live a sheltered life…and I’m grateful.

     My eyes widened with anticipation.  I had no idea what to expect.  Jury duty summoned me, and my responsibility as an American citizen obligated my appearance. Even though the court knew I believed in God, worked at a church, had policeman and elected officials in my family, they still selected me for the jury.

     My heart fluttered with exhilaration and fear.  I had never done anything like this before. Would I make the right choice when it came time to render a verdict?  I couldn’t believe the fate of a person’s future lay in my hands. I also realized that sheltered and naïve doesn’t begin to describe my experience compared to the subculture these witnesses lived. I had no clue…

     At one point in the process, they brought in a young woman from the side entrance.  The formality and business attire of everyone else in the room augmented the attention drawn to her pale face and disheveled hair, not to mention her outfit.  She wore an oversized orange jump suit accessorized by clunky shackle-like ankle bracelets forcing small awkward steps.  The federal government, no doubt, had given her these items to wear in exchange for her contribution to society.

     During her testimony, I intently observed her demeanor and gestures. As she wrung her hands and wrinkled her forehead to answer the questions, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to be her; to have every eye in the room, presumably upstanding and respected citizens staring at you, knowing you look a mess, knowing how many times you’ve failed.  She committed mistake after mistake and failure after second chances and mercy. Quite honestly to the naked eye she appeared unlovely and worthless. Was there any hope for her to be free of her addiction and become a responsible citizen? 

     One lawyer didn’t think so.  In a strong, accusing voice he reminded each of us of her past failures.  I wondered what emotions rose to the forefront as she listened to laundry list of failures.  I can’t speak for her, but I would’ve wanted to give up.

     During her testimony, my mind transfigured the surrounding to a different courtroom.  But this time I imagined myself on the stand, not in the earthly realm but in the spiritual. I know what I look like with no makeup and hair undone, and orange is definitely not my color. I heard the accusations of Satan regarding my failures and hurtful actions to those around me and against the God who created me.   He stated the truth.  I failed.  I sinned.  I messed up. My eyes filled with tears as I saw a fresh how grotesque and undesirable I am before a pure and holy God. There I sat, ugly and hopeless. 

     Thankfully something caught my eye and that imaginary courtroom vanished.

     I swallowed hard and looked down to see I no longer wore the orange jumpsuit, but rather the black suit I had put on that morning.  Thank God. 

     Somewhere in the midst of my imagination the accusing lawyer finished his questioning and the opposing lawyer took his place behind the podium.  The grip on my heart began to relax as he spoke to the young woman with respect and grace.  I witnessed his kind expression and listened to his affirming words. 

     Before I knew it, the imaginary courtroom reappeared around me.  My heart swelled as I realized that Jesus Christ did much more than offer me a kind smile and encouraging word.  He actually gave me His life, His reputation, His purity in exchange for my un-loveliness. I no longer wear the hideous garbs of sin.  I’m dressed in the beautiful garment of righteousness and I live in the freedom of a soul released from guilt and destruction.

     As if that were not enough, my Advocate invited me to be His bride. He desires to take care of me and be known by me. He’s taking me home with Him.  In fact, He is preparing our new home as we speak.  One day He will come back for me.  I don’t want Him to find me wallowing in the same muck from which He saved me.  I want my life to honor His purity and righteousness.

     In the end, the trial didn’t conclude the way the defendant had hoped.  The videotape and consistent testimony of the witnesses made our “guilty on all accounts” report an easy decision. 

     How I wished the result of his trial could have been the same as my imaginary trial! As the bailiff ordered, “All rise for the jury” my heart relaxed.  Thanks to Jesus I already knew my verdict. 

     “Not guilty!”