My Trial

Sirens sound outside my house.  I rise from my chair to look, but before I reach the window, a bullhorn squeals.  I stop in my tracks.  “This is the Davenport Police,” says a gruff voice, “Come out of the house with your hands in the air and throw down any weapons.”

I frown, but turn to the front door and do as the man says.  After all, I raised by and need to listen to a DPD Officer, especially if I haven’t done anything wrong, right? !

When I open the door, my heart flutters in my chest as I see about twenty guns pointing in my direction.  “What’s this all about?”  I step out onto the porch with my hands up, trying to figure out what was happening.  Maybe they just have the wrong address.

Two officers grab me and lock my wrists in handcuffs.  “Hey, Ouch!  Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”  I ask again.  The officer looks at me funny, like I should know what this is about, and then recites my rights.  My mind swirls like alphabet soup, and I can’t put the letters together to make any sense.

After he finishes and asks if I understand my rights, I say, “There must have been a mistake.  I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“Tell it to the Judge,” he says as he hauls me into the squad.  “We’re taking you straight to court.”  He slams the door violently and gets in the driver's seat in front of me.

Straight to court?  I never heard of such a thing!  “Who’s my attorney?  Can’t I make some calls?,” I shout through the metal netting that separates the criminal from the officer. 

 “You don’t even know if I’m guilty!” I retort. 

The officer concentrates on the street ahead, blatantly ignoring me.  I must be dreaming seriously. This could NEVER happen in real life.  Too bad I’m handcuffed and can’t pinch myself...that always works in cartoons.

Once at the courthouse, the officer shoves me though the door and walks me down a long hall, leading to a massive door.  He heaves open the door and pushes me into a spacious room with tall ceilings.  A Judge sits high at her oak desk, and many other people fill up the seats in the room.  

 

Then I see him.  Seated beside the Judge is familiar face...the one I wronged.  But I can’t seem to remember his name, and I definitely can’t place what I’ve done to him.

The Judge slams her mallet on her table, “Here begins the trial for the murder of Jesus Christ, son of God.”

My throat burns as it all floods back to me.  His bloody death on the cross, and I just stood there.  He was dying because of me.  All of my lies and behavior nailed Him to that piece of wood.  A groan courses wildly inside me.  I did kill him.

“We hereby suspect you –” I startle as she juts her short, red-manicured finger at me. “– as the killer.”

The room echoes with horrified gasps.  I know my actions will mean a life sentence, but I also realize I am guilty.  My tattered emotions bubble from the depths of my stomach as I struggle to push the words out, “I’m guilty!  It was my lies and life that put Him on the cross!”  I turn to the Man seated beside the Judge, who I now identify as the Father of Jesus, tears overflowing from my eyes.

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t realize sinning would make Your Son die.”

Whispers begin slithering across the tall ceilings.  The Judge slams her mallet on the table in front of her again. “Order in the court!”  The crowd quiets as the Judge continues, “I hereby sentence you to death by fire.”

A hush more silent than an empty library falls over the room.  My heart slams in my chest, reverberating off my spine.  Not that...anything but that!  I glance up at the Judge’s massive desk, and she sits with her arms folded over her chest, firm in her decision.
 

But I plead anyway, “Please! I’ll do anything if you’ll just –”

“Take her away!” the Judge shouts as two guards yank me by each arm.  “No, please,” I cry.

“Wait,” a deep voice booms across the room.  I turn my head to see Jesus’ Father standing up through my blurry, tear-filled eyes.  He pauses with His eyes on me before He speaks into the silence of the courtroom.  “I want to drop ALL charges.”

My jaw falls to the marble floor.  “What? Why? I killed Your Son.  You must want me punished in some way,”

God steps down from his seat beside the Judge and comes toward me.  I draw a jagged breath, anticipating what He plans to do with me.  I curl my fingers into my palm to keep them from trembling as He faces me.

 

“You need to understand something.  I LOVE you so much that I sent My ONLY Child to die for you, so you don’t have to be punished.”

My hands unclench, and though relief sets in, my brows knit together in a frown, “But you don’t even know me,” I say to Him. “How can you…love me?”

He reaches up tenderly and gently touches my hair.  “I knew you before you were born. I breathed life into you.  My Son's dying for you was all part of My Divine Plan, because no human is perfect or will ever be.  But through my Son’s death, you are FORGIVEN.  All your sins have been cast into the depths of the sea.”
 

The guard's heavy hands lift off my shoulders, and my handcuffs are undone. “Are you serious?”  I humbly ask, “The charges are dropped?”

God smiles, sending warm rays of sun over my weary body and piercing my heart with His joy.  “Go and sin no more.”