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Hoosier United Methodist News Archives
| Hoosier United Methodist News |
January 2002 |
My Witness:
When grace calls you to jury duty
By Michelle Knight
Have you ever been "drafted" for service to your country? And I don't mean drafted for military duty.
Driving from Brownsburg to the courthouse, I wasn't thrilled about having to show up for jury duty on a day in which I had more important things to do.
I complained to myself as I signed in at the desk, wanting to be at church teaching my summer women's class.
I began to pray for God to get me out of here. Then I realized that prayer only voiced my opinion and didn't leave room for God's bigger plan. Silently, I tried again. Dear God. Where do you want me today? After I surrendered myself to God's plan, I heard the divine voice say, "Here! I need you here!"
Needing time to debate the final 12, the judge and attorneys had the group of jury candidates wait outside. Soon we filled back into the room and I was seated in the #8 chair in the juror's box. I screamed to God inside my head. What on earth are you up to God? Why am I here? They never pick preachers! You're crazy to have me here!
Disgusted with God, the U.S. government and myself, I sat humbly in that chair and listened for the next three days. My little world was rearranged without my consent. My ears listened to the judge speak a strange new jargon. The prosecutor developed her logic about the defendant's guilt. I found myself trying on plastic gloves and holding blood stained evidence. Over the sound of trash trucks backing-up outside the courthouse, I heard the defendant's lawyer make objection after objection. One witness said this happened and another had a completely different version. His testimony versus her word. Her words versus his memory of events. Confusion filled my mind as my ears grew tired.
It is especially hard to listen for logic and truth when you can't talk to anyone about it. Do you know how difficult it is to have lunch with the same people everyday and not talk about why you are there? I desperately needed to purge.
I never considered that prayer could be a kind of regurgitation, but that is what prayer became for me after all that listening. Throughout the day, my heart and soul regurgitated into God's open ears everything I thought, felt, heard or saw.
I then asked yet again of God. Why do you want me here? How do you want me to pray? Waiting on his answer, I prayed for the judge, prosecutor, victim, jury, the defendant's attorney and finally the defendant. I wondered who had ever prayed for the defendant. The more and more I listened, the more I realized that few, if any, had ever prayed the defendant would make good decisions, or that he would avoid evil.
I kept on praying throughout the case until finally we had heard it all. The judge released us into the jury room to talk amongst ourselves and decide the guilt or innocence of the defendant. Everyone talked at once. Someone walking by our room must have thought it was like the first Pentecost, when everyone was speaking in tongues.
Over ham sandwiches, with lots of paperwork and evidence close by, we talked and deliberated. We tried to sort out the truth. I prayed. God, I still don't know why I am here. I've listened; am I here for someone on the jury? Am I to minister to the defendant in some way? Who, Lord? Why, Lord?
As the afternoon continued, we took our first vote; it was not unanimous. We talked further until the final vote was taken. We found the defendant guilty. It was then, in the quietness of the aftermath. I heard God's answer to my pestering questions.
It is only by My Grace.
Suddenly, my vision blurred and I felt very fragile. I was stricken with an awareness that my own life is not impenetrable from sin and failure. I am pitifully delicate and weak. Although I did not commit this particular crime, I am not far removed from the man sitting in the defendant's chair. We are both God's beloved children who have failed in different ways to love him and honor his commands.
The Rev. Michelle Knight is a pastor at Calvary UMC in Brownsburg.
Last updated on January 14, 2004