The Last Trial
My trial was coming up and I was sitting on the bench outside the courtroom waiting to be called in. As I waited I heard a noise and turned to see the doors opening. A light so bright I could barely stand to look at it was seeping through the door getting brighter and brighter the more it opened. When my eyes sort of adjusted to the glow I noticed the light was emanating from one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. It was hard to look on this flawless creature, not all because of the light but because her face was flawless and the joy in her eyes was almost too much to bear. She glided from the room almost as if she was floating above the ground. She was laughing and celebrating. Her trial must have have gone well.
I was so drawn to her I wanted to get up and follow, to absorb some of the joy that emanated from her…I wanted to be in her presence just a little while longer, but I knew I couldn’t, I had been told to sit here and wait my turn. As lady reached the end of the hall and disappeared around the corner, I basked in the laughter that drifted back towards me until I couldn’t hear it any longer.
It wasn’t long before the courtroom doors opened again. I turned towards them again expecting to be filled with joy, but even before my eyes locked on the opening door I knew there would be no joy this time. Another woman emerged and she too was very difficult to look at, but for a totally different reason. I wanted to get as far away from her as I possibly could. Darkness poured from her and she seemed to age right before my eyes and when I was finally able to look closer I saw that there were millions of tiny little black boxes clinging to her from head to toe. For just a moment things cleared enough that I realized I knew this woman. She had been the leader of a Christian woman’s movement that promoted a belief that I always felt made God seem insignificant and barely necessary for our salvation. Her message made God our servant instead of our Creator.
She appeared to be a good person who just got confused about things along the way. At least that was what I had always thought … but maybe she hadn’t been confused, maybe she had purposely preached a message to make money and lead people in the wrong direction. Maybe she had never really believed in the forgiveness offered by Jesus at all.
As she walked away from me, she stumbled several times under the weight of the little black boxes but nobody watching offered to help, not even me. Many of those watching her were actually applauding and cheering every time she stumbled. Her struggles were bringing them the kind of joy I had received in the presence of the woman in white; I hoped that might mean I wasn’t as lost as I believed I was.
As she turned the corner and disappeared from sight the courtroom doors opened again and I knew this time they were opening for me. I stood and walked towards the door with trepidation and trembling. When I reached them, what I saw took my breath away and almost caused me to stumble. The room was so large I thought it would take me days to walk to the judge’s bench that appeared to be at least two stories above the rest of the room. The second thing I noticed was that the room seemed to be divided right down the middle into two distinct groups. The left was filled with men and women in black, their faces indistinct for which I felt suddenly relieved. The right side was filled with men and women dressed in the whitest garments I had ever seen. Seeing the woman in white who had emerged from this room had been hard to look at but this scene almost blinded me.
I walked on keeping my eyes straight ahead and sooner than I thought possible I was at the defendants table. I am the defendant. I sat down beside my attorney who was a striking man, dressed in pure, glowing white garments and when he turned and smiled at me I felt all my fears and anxiety fall away. I felt more peace than I had ever felt before.
While I waited for the judge to enter I made a mistake and glanced over at the prosecutor. On his table were thousands up on thousands of little black boxes filling me once again with fear. Instinctively I knew if I looked back towards my attorney my peace would return but seeing all those boxes made me realize I didn’t deserve the peace his presence provided me. I also knew if I looked at him I wouldn’t see judgment because of all those black boxes that were so obviously mine; but I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the pity that might be in his eyes. He was my attorney and I knew he would defend me whether I was innocent or guilty and he would defend me to the best of his ability; but I was sure when he agreed to take my case he couldn’t have known how many of those little black boxes he would have to defend me against. He was probably, right this minute, feeling sorry he had ever agreed to take me on as a client. He couldn’t help but notice I was a hopeless case, unworthy of his time and energy.
Since I felt too ashamed to look at my attorney again I sat with my eyes staring straight ahead towards the judge’s bench, which would soon be occupied by the one who would decide my destiny. It was a humbling and scary thought. The judge would probably be upset with my attorney for having taken my case. Now not only would he most likely throw the book at me, but he would probably lose all respect for my attorney.
I sat there remembering all the times in my life when I messed up, wishing I had listened to the small voice of conviction that had warned me more than once. More than having done so many things wrong, it hurt me more that I would also bring this man next to me down because of my mistakes. I really should just dismiss him and throw myself on the mercy of the court.
My attorney spoke to me for the first time, as though he had heard my thoughts, “The mercy of this court is exactly what we are seeking. This judge can be very merciful or he can be stoic and unmoved by tears and pleading. In your case I will do my best to touch his heart and gain his mercy for you.”
Before I could offer a response the judge came in and we all stood before him. He was huge and scary. The anger on his face made me realize gaining any mercy from him would be impossible; that my attorney could even consider this judge would be merciful with me was a laugh. But I had to trust him, what else could I do at this juncture? The judge looked down at me and spoke in a booming voice, “Taylor Madison, you are here today to answer for the life you have lived. Do you promise to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?”
The sins I committed during my life began marching thru my mind as I quietly said “I do.” The judge nodded and said, “Take the stand and we will precede.” I walked slowly towards the witness stand wondering if I could possibly lie about the things I had done. Or maybe I could come up with reasons and excuses that would make everything seem not so bad. Who was I kidding? Most of the things I did I did knowing they were wrong. I just always thought I’d have time to make up for them … to do so many good things that the bad things I did would be outweighed by the good. Sadly I didn’t have enough time to even make a dent in the bad things … nor had I really started trying.
As I sat down the prosecutor stood. He was huge and towered over me. As he was about to make his opening statement he reached out and picked up one of the creepy black boxes and threw it at me. It hit me in the chest and stuck there. Everyone sitting behind him, on the left side of the court room stood and cheered. The box, which I had unsuccessfully tried to remove, felt like it weighed hundreds of pounds, but I knew it couldn’t because the prosecutor had tossed it as if it were light as a feather. He began his account of all he would prove against me. He went back to my early childhood and finished with things that had happened just a few days ago. He continued to speak for what seemed like days, pointing out every sin in my life … the big ones and the small ones and even the ones I hadn’t known were sins. Then suddenly the accusations were over. During his speech he had thrown a number of those little black boxes at me and each one stuck. I was feeling so overwhelmed by their weight I could barely sit up straight. I couldn’t even imagine how I would have endured the weight of the boxes the second woman had carried out of the court room.
The prosecutor took his seat and my attorney stood. I couldn’t wait to hear the wonderful things he would say about me and maybe he’d even take away these black boxes. He spoke to the judge and prosecutor, “Taylor Madison is guilty of all these things your honor, but I hope to prove Taylor deserves the mercy of this court.”
I sat there stunned after hearing his remarks which couldn’t have taken more than about 10 seconds to deliver. He might look good and he might dress well but I began to think as an attorney he sucked. My whole future was on the line and I had been provided with someone from the bottom of the barrel to defend me? I now know I am doomed. I glanced over at the prosecutor and saw how delighted he was that my own attorney said I was guilty.
As I sat there feeling all hope was gone, my attorney stood and walked over in front of me and asked, “Will you trust and believe in me?” Again it felt like he had read my thoughts, but as he spoke I knew, just as I have trusted and believed in Jesus most of my life, I now needed to do the same with this man so I answered yes and he turned and walked back to his seat.
The prosecutor stood and approached me. “When you were 13 there was a boy named Michael who you claimed was your best friend, true?”
I said “yes.”
Isn’t it also true you stole a new model railroad car which he had received for his birthday?”
“Yes, but …”
He interrupted, “Just answer yes or no, we don’t need excuses here.” With that he tossed another black box at me and walked back to his seat.
My attorney came forward. “Tell the court what you were going to add.”
“I was going to say that I did take that model railroad car because I had wanted it before he did. He didn’t even know it existed until I showed it to him at the hobby store. My parents wouldn’t get it for me because it was too expensive, so I took his. Over time I began to feel very guilty so I went to him and told him what I had done. I returned the one I had taken plus I gave him one of mine that was my favorite.”
He reached over and removed the black box the prosecutor had tossed on my back, he looked at the judge and said, “Taylor repented and made it right.” He crumbled the box in his hand and returned to his seat.
The prosecutor returned. “During your teen years isn’t it true that you used to brag to your friends about girls you had ‘made it with’ when in reality you had never been with any of them?”
This was one I had hoped would somehow be forgotten. I had done this several times just as my buddies had and I know at least one of the girls suffered because of it. I hung my head and quietly said “yes.” I realized at that moment how much our words, whether truth or lies can affect other people. I guess it is true that sometimes things are best left unsaid if they will being someone down rather than lift them up.
The prosecutor tossed 10 more of the black boxes on my back and returned to his table. The left side of the court room went wild with foot stomping and cheering. There were tears running down the faces of those on the right. My attorney came forward and the cheering stopped. He looked at the judge and said, “I will take this one” and reached over and took several of the little black boxes from my back. When he turned to go back to his seat I noticed blood seeping through the back of is once unblemished garment.
This went on and on … first the prosecutor and then my attorney. One throwing little black boxes at me and the other taking them away. I noticed that each time my attorney took one of the boxes from me he became more and more haggard and bent over under their weight. I also saw in addition to the blood on his back, it was now running down his face and seeping from wounds in his hands and feet. I was overcome with grief, not just for the sins I had committed but because of the suffering those sins were causing my attorney. I also started realizing he seemed very familiar to me but I couldn’t remember why. I am trying hard to remember because I know now that whatever happens to me I will owe him more than I could ever repay.
As time went slowly forward and all of my sins and mistakes were paraded in front of the court I came to the point I started silently praying that there couldn’t be any more sins I had to answer for, but the prosecutor proved he had saved the best for last. We had come to my adult years.
The prosecutor threw hundreds of black boxes at me, even before asking any questions. Obviously he was pretty sure that I was guilty of the accusations he was about to make. “You claim to a Christian, right?”
I said, “yes I am a Christian.”
“Would you say you are proud to be a Christian?”
The question surprised me and I thought about it before answering. Finally I said, “I suppose that yes I am proud to be a Christian, but more than that I have never been ashamed to call myself a Christian.” The audience on the left began to boo and hiss at my answer but the prosecutor chose to ignore it.
He said, “You attended church right?”
I said, “Yes I did.”
He asked, “Were you involved in your church?”
I said, “Yes I was very involved. I served as a Sunday school teacher, worked all the fellowships, was a member of the church board and helped with any construction that was needed. I even went on a couple of mission trips to other countries.”
“You went to church every Sunday?”
“No, not every Sunday but almost everyone.”
He grinned at my answer. “And what did you do on the Sundays you were not in church appearing to be ‘the perfect Christian’?” I sat for a moment hoping my attorney would object, but as he had done most of the trial, when questions were asked I didn’t like he remained silent.
Finally I answered, “On Sundays I was not at church I normally was sleeping in, and just too tired to get up.”
He asked, “Why were you so tired?”
“I guess because I was out so late the night before,” I replied
He asked, “What were you doing on these nights you were out so late?”
“Most of the time I was with friends, dancing or just talking. Almost always I was witnessing about my belief in Jesus and trying to win others to Him.”
Again he smirked. “I see, that is very interesting. Did you ever drink on these occasions?”
“Sometime,” I said, “but I never got drunk.”
He said, “You never got drunk. Hmmmmmm, does that mean all the things you did and said on these occasions, you did with full knowledge that they were wrong? You can’t even offer the excuse that you drank too much and didn’t realize what you were doing, since you never got drunk, can you?” He continued glancing at a book he had in his hands. “I see here that it didn’t just happen once or twice but time and time again. Drinking, lust and inappropriate behavior. Now by your own words, you will admit you did these things over and over knowing they were wrong and not having the excuse of being drunk?”
I realized I had made a mistake. But then was there really any answer that would have been easier on me? If I had admitted to drinking too much on many occasions I was guilty of taking the first drink which led to more drinks. If I denied ever drinking too much then all things I might be able to blame on alcohol, I had to admit I did of my own free will, knowing they were wrong. I had trapped myself and there was no way out.
He looked at me, grinning widely, “You don’t really have to answer, your silence is answer enough.” With that he turned to the judge and said, “The prosecution rests your honor.”
I looked over at my attorney. Tears were running down his blood streaked face. As he began to rise out of his chair, his bloody hands slipped on the table and he almost fell. Several of those seated behind him on the right started to get up to help him but he waved them off. Finally under the weight of the many black boxes he had taken from me, he made his way to his feet and unsteadily approached the witness stand. Bent over, bearing no resemblance to the man I first met as my attorney, he stood before me. I was embarrassed, as many boxes as he had taken from me my sins still shouted to the spectators because what he took barely made a dent in what I carried myself. I was a sinner and I wore the proof and so did he. He looked at me but didn’t speak. I could see both sadness and love on his face. He just looked into my eyes but didn’t ask any questions. Instead he turned to the judge and said, “your honor, I have no questions for the defendant. The prosecution has made a brilliant case and I cannot deny nor defend what he has proven. Taylor Madison is indeed a sinner, he is guilty and I rest my case.”
I was once again stunned by his lack of defense but as his words sunk in I realized he was right. I was guilty and there were no excuses or denials that would alter that fact. I had professed to be a Christian, but too often in my life I lived for worldly pleasures instead of storing up treasures that really mattered. I couldn’t blame my attorney, he had done all he could to lift my past from my shoulders, but in the end, I realize I had committed more sins than even he could carry. I watched him walk back to his seat. He stumbled several times but would not let any of the spectators on the right side of the room come to help him. I was devastated, not because of the price I was going to have to pay but for the pain I had caused this man. He had been kind and gentle and had taken many of my sins upon his own shoulders to carry. Now tears were running down my face as I realized just how unworthy I was … how undeserving of all he had tried to do for me. He, himself, had done nothing wrong, but because I had he willingly suffered. The judge would not even look at me or my attorney. Instead he looked at the prosecutor and in a deep, angry voice that filled me with dread, instructed him to make his closing arguments against me.
The prosecutor stood, his face filled with glee as he walked over and stood in front of me. He did what I assumed was a little victory dance and then spoke to the judge. “Your honor, I have provided you with all the evidence against Taylor Madison and his own attorney has admitted he is guilty. So the prosecution has nothing more to add, except we ask for the severest punishment.” He almost skipped back to his seat as everyone on the left began stomping their feet and jumping up and down. Their man had been brilliant, hadn’t missed even the smallest of sins I had committed. As much as I could despise him, I realized he couldn’t have won his case if I had not given him the ammunition to do so.
The judge then turned slightly but without actually looking at him, asked my attorney if he was ready to make his closing statement.
My attorney stood, with difficulty but really didn’t seem as weak as before. He walked slowly over to the same spot before me where just seconds ago the prosecutor and happily stood. He looked at me and spoke barely above a whisper. “Do you love me?”
At first I felt it was a strange question, but finally I was beginning to recognize this man standing before me. I couldn’t quite grab hold of the memory just yet but I knew that I did indeed love him, “YES, I love you.”
As soon as that admission left my lips, he began to transform right before my eyes. The blood disappeared, the haggard appearance left his face and though he was still weighed down by thousands of little black boxes he stood erect and turned to the judge.
“Father, I died for Taylor Madison. I was laid on the cross and nails were pounded into my wrists and feet. A crown of thorns was placed on my head and pushed down till the needles were embedded in my scalp. I hungered and thirsted and was given vinegar to drink. I suffered more pain than I had ever imagined could exist. But the greatest pain was when you turned from me and you turned from me because I had also carried Taylor Madison’s sins to the cross with me just as I am carrying them now. I paid the debt for his sins and I paid it in full. I ask for your mercy concerning him. He belongs to me.”
In that instant he shrugged his shoulders and all the black boxes disappeared. The judge looked down at his son and spoke, “Yes my Son, you did all of those things for this man and still he sinned. What you did for him was not enough for him to put just a little more effort into living a life that would justify what you did for him. And still you ask for my mercy concerning him?”
Jesus turned and looked at me, the love that came from him, made me regret even more that I had not tried harder to be someone he could have been proud of, someone who was actually deserving of the pain he had suffered. Continuing to look at me he spoke again. “Yes Father, but I ask not only for your mercy but also for your grace concerning Taylor Madison. If you deny him this then my death will have meant nothing. I asked that he believe in me and he does. I asked that he love me and he does. I asked that he be a witness for me and he was. He is deserving of my love and forgiveness because I made him deserving when I died for him. What he couldn’t do on his own, I did for him. So I ask you Father, show him your mercy and grace. The defense rests.”
He turned and walked back to the defense table and all of those sitting behind him cheered and shouted their support. The one and only Judge looked down at me and spoke, “Taylor Madison, you are forgiven, your sins have been covered by the blood of the Lamb.” With that he looked down in love at his Son and left the court room.
I sat momentarily stunned at the turn of events. I was forgiven. I would spend eternity with Jesus. As I sat thinking these thoughts, the right side of the room erupted with applause and they all ran from their seats to welcome me home. They made me feel like they had been waiting just for me for a very long time.
Then in an instant Jesus was once again standing beside me. He held out his arms, embraced me and whispered in my ear. “I have a new name for you” and he told me what it was, a name that would be known only by the two of us. I also noticed at his touch my clothes became whiter than snow.
Finally he said the words I had always prayed I would some day hear, “Welcome home, my good and faithful servant.”
©2001 Sheri Kirkendall
