Bjcorbin's Blog

The music seemed especially loud at this morning’s service and the congregation was really into it, but I was way too tired for all of that. The ballgame had gone into extra innings last night, and so I didn’t get to bed until the wee small hours of the morning. My wife Karen had warned me that I’d be “tired at church”, when she headed off to bed around 10:00 p.m. But, as usual, I pretended not to hear her. She, of course, was one of the first people up dancing and clapping to the worship. Periodically, she’d turn and shoot me a look of disapproval for sitting in my chair. She acted as if I was embarrassing her. But I figured that I wasn’t the only one sitting, and that she just needed to get over it. At the church I grew up in the service would have been over in an hour, you could have set your watch by it. If the service ran over by even three minutes you could hear everyone grumbling in the parking lot. But at this church we did the worship thing for at least an hour, and then the pastor would get up and preach for another hour, so there was no relief in sight. Suddenly, the music shifted from the upbeat praise songs to the slower worship type songs. In the midst of that the pastor encouraged people to gather around the altar and to pray. Though I wasn’t particularly moved by all of this, I saw it as an opening to catch a little rest. While I wasn’t one to lay prostrate on the floor while praying, I’d seen other people do it lots of times. Sometimes they’d be there for the whole service. I always figured that they must be sleeping, and so I thought that this might be a great way to get Karen off my back, to keep the pastor happy, and maybe to even catch a little nap. I got down on the floor and buried my head in my hands, so that no one could see whether I was awake or asleep. After a few minutes I found myself drifting into that half-awake, half-asleep, dream state; as the sound of the music began to fade in my ears.

After what seemed to be a very short time something within me shuddered violently, effectively shaking me awake. But as I opened my eyes I realized that I was no longer lying on the floor in the church; instead I was sitting on a hard wooden chair, in what appeared to be a large room. As the fog in my head continued to lift I recognized that this room was a courtroom, and that I was seated at the defendants table. I was pretty sure that this must be a dream, but I was kind of curious about what might happen next, so I didn’t try to snap out of it. Though the sounds in the room were muffled in my ears, I sensed that the prosecuting attorney was making his opening statements to the jury. His back was to me, but I could see that he was dressed in a long robe and that he was wearing sandals. When he finally turned I realized that it was Jesus. I could see both sadness and compassion in His eyes as He made His way back to the table. I felt a knot forming in my gut as my mind desperately tried to conjure a scenario in which this arrangement might be a good thing. At that moment, my lawyer rose to his feet, grabbed a large book off the table, and moved toward the jury box. My hearing suddenly seemed to grow more acute as I could hear his expensive looking shoes click across the floor. In stark contrast to Jesus’ appearance, my lawyer looked like something off the pages of GQ magazine, and he moved in a very definitive manner. Though I hadn’t really had the chance to look him in the face, I sensed that he must be a relatively young man. As he reached the jury box he opened the large book and began to speak.

“Ladies and Gentleman of the jury, I think that you will find that reaching a verdict in this case will be fairly simple if you keep the definition of one term in mind, and that term is ‘follower’. Here in the Webster’s, that term is defined as one who follows the teachings or opinions of another; one that imitates another; one that chases another; or even as a part of a machine that is moved by another part of the machine. As we work our way through this proceeding I ask that you keep this definition clear in your minds. Thank you.”

Just as quickly as he had risen from the table, he thumped the dictionary closed, and spun to return. When our eyes met, I sensed something like contempt in his face, and as he moved closer I couldn’t shake the idea that this was Lucifer himself. A sick feeling washed over me as he sat down without acknowledging me. I tipped my chair back slightly, and slipped my foot beneath it, in hopes that I could exert enough pressure to cause me to wake up from this dream. Despite crushing my foot to the point that tears were streaming down my face the dream continued.

My thoughts began to swirl in the confusion of the moment. What is it that I’m accused of? Why would Jesus be a Prosecutor? Is my lawyer really Lucifer? Why can’t I wake up from this dream? I became even more confused when I looked to the bench and realized that the judges’ chair was empty. Just then, Jesus stood to his feet, and moved toward the Bailiff with a piece of paper in His hand. He addressed the empty chair as if someone were sitting in it, saying “Your honor the state wishes to enter this document as ‘State Exhibit A’.” He handed the paper to the Bailiff, and turned back to the jury, saying, “It is the signed confession of the defendant, Mr. Richard Davis. And upon this confession the State rests its case.” Jesus quietly made His way back to His chair as the courtroom was suddenly abuzz with reaction to the evidence.

My heart sank at the realization that whatever my particular crime might be I had already confessed my guilt. It suddenly made sense to me that Jesus would be the prosecutor, as He is always on the side of truth. I don’t know what argument my lawyer thought that he might bring to counter a signed confession, but he wasted no time in getting to work. He quickly stood to his feet and began to speak. “Your honor, if it pleases the court, the defense would like to call the defendant, Richard F. Davis to the stand.” He shot an impatient glance toward me as I stumbled to my feet, and every eye in the courtroom seemed to be on me as I shuffled forward. My foot ached from my attempts to expel myself from this dream, and I tried not to limp as I made my way to the Bailiff. After being sworn in, I climbed into the witness chair, took a deep breath, and wondered what was about to happen.

“For the record, please state your full name.”

“Richard Franklin Davis.”

“So, Mr. Davis, are you married?”

“Yes sir, I am.”

“And how long have you been married?”

“It will be sixteen years in June.”

“Well, congratulations, that’s very impressive in this day and age. And how did you meet your wife?”

“We were high school sweethearts.”

“Really and how long did you know her before you decided that she was ‘the one’?”

“Well, I guess I knew the first time I saw her. I remember telling my best friend that I would marry her before I ever had the chance to actually speak to her.”

“Ah, love at first sight. She must have been very attractive.”
“Definitely, she was a cheerleader.”

“How nice, and do you have any children?”

“Yes sir, we have two children.”

“And how old are they?”

“Well our daughter, Tiffany, is fourteen, and our son, Bruce, is twelve.”

“And how did you decide on the names Tiffany and Bruce?”

‘Well, I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but Tiffany was my wife’s idea. ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ is her favorite movie. Since she got to pick the girl name, I got to name the boy, and Bruce Springsteen has always been my favorite singer.”

“Ah yes, ‘The Boss’.”

“Absolutely!”

I was a little embarrassed by the enthusiasm that came across in my response, but I guess I was feeling somewhat relieved by the innocuous questions he was asking. I didn’t really understand what the point of all of this was, but I guessed that he was just trying to let the jury know that I was a regular guy. It, once again, made me wonder what I had been accused of, and I expected that the questions were about to get more difficult, but they didn’t.

“And so what do you do for a living Mr. Davis?”

“I’m a Tax Accountant.”

“That doesn’t sound like very exciting work, is that what you’d hoped you’d be doing at this point in your life?”

“No sir, truthfully, I always wanted to either play in a rock band or to play professional baseball.”

“Why didn’t you go into one of those fields instead?”

“I wasn’t a very good baseball player, and I wasn’t much into practicing my guitar, so neither of those things materialized.”

“So how did you settle on accounting?”

“I was always good at math, and they said that accountants made good money, so I decided that was the way to go.”

“And were ‘they’ right?”

“Right about what?”

“Right about accountants making good money?”

“Oh, yes, I make a good living.”

“And where is it that you live?”

“We live in the Cherry Ridge subdivision, out towards the mall.”

“That’s a very expensive neighborhood, even for someone who makes a ‘good living’.”

“Yes, well, my wife works also.”

“Really, that must be hard on your children.”

“I really don’t think that they mind. They understand that this is what it takes to afford the kind of life that we want for them. I actually think that it’s helped them to grow up a little faster.”

“And what exactly are your aspirations for your children Mr. Davis?”

“Well, I’ve encouraged them to do well in school, so that they can get into a good college, and eventually get a good job.”

“Anything else?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Jesus sitting at the table and I searched for something to say that might please Him.

“Well, I guess I’ve tried to teach them to be good people too.”

I sensed that my attorney had been trying to get somewhere with the idea that we lived in a nice neighborhood, and that my wife chose to work, but I couldn’t figure out where. I kept watching him, trying to figure out whether he was really defending me, or whether he was trying to set me up. Just as quickly as he’d shifted the questioning in that direction, he moved away from it.

“Mr Davis, who are the three people that you would say have had the greatest influence in your life?”

“I guess that would be my wife Karen, my mother, and probably my high school baseball coach, Mr. Simpson.”

“And what is it about these people that affected you so deeply?”

“Well, my mom was always there for me. My Dad had left when I was still a baby, so it was just the two of us. She was always a great mom, who took great care of me. My wife is really beautiful, and smart, and I’m just glad that she chose to spend her life with me. Mr. Simpson guided our baseball team to the regional finals in my senior year, and he’s been a kind of father figure to me ever since. We talk almost every week on the phone.”

“So would your answer change much if I asked you who your heroes were?”

“I guess I think of heroes as kind of larger than life characters, which for me would be, ‘The Boss, Mr. Bruce Springsteen’. He’s an amazing guy, and his music really speaks to me. For my eighteenth birthday my mother took me to the local tattoo guy, who etched ‘Born to Run” on my right arm.”

“Really, have you ever been to one of his shows?”

“Are you kidding, I’ve seen him at shows all over the country. Karen and I even planned our tenth wedding anniversary trip around seeing him in Atlantic City!”

Again I found myself somewhat embarrassed at my enthusiastic response. At first my lawyer seemed amused by it, but then he took another sharp turn.

“Do believe in the idea of God, or a ‘Higher Power’?”

“Yes sir, I was raised in church, and we are members of a church as well.”

Pointing towards Jesus, he asked, “Other than here in the courtroom, have you ever seen this man before?”

“I’ve seen pictures of Him.”

“You mean some artist’s rendering of His image.”

“Yes sir, I guess that would be accurate.”

“Have you ever had a conversation with Him?”

“I’ve prayed to Him.”

“That was not the question Mr. Davis! The question was whether you’ve ever ‘conversed’ with Him.”

“Not exactly in the way that you’re implying”

“Other than here in this courtroom, have you ever heard His voice?”

A sense of panic was beginning to rise up in me as I sensed that he was trying to make it seem as though I wasn’t even saved.

“I believe that God speaks through His Holy Word, the Bible!”

“Oh really, so can you tell the court when the last time was that God spoke to you ‘through His Holy Word’?”

I went completely blank at this question. I tried to conjure a picture of me studying the Bible or even praying, but I couldn’t. I sat there trying to find something to say, but nothing came. After a very uncomfortable period of silence, my lawyer again spoke.

“Mr. Davis, do you consider yourself to be a ‘saved’ person?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“When you say saved, what do you mean? Saved from what?”

“Saved from an eternity in hell”

“Do you fear hell Mr. Davis?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Your honor, the defense has no further questions, and rests upon the testimony of the defendant.”

The Bailiff let me know that I could step down from the stand, and I felt completely drained as I made my way back to the table. Though I still had no idea what I had been accused of, I somehow felt as though I’d just walked into an ambush. It wasn’t clear to me what the jury could derive from my testimony, but I was sure that I hadn’t represented myself well. My lawyer seemed strangely pleased with all of this, which only added to my sense of confusion. I once again pressed the leg of my chair onto my throbbing foot, in hopes of waking up before the closing statements were given to the jury, but it was to no avail. After Jesus waived His option to make a closing statement, my lawyer once again sprang to his feet, and swiftly moved toward the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as I mentioned at the beginning of this proceeding, I believe that reaching a verdict in this case will be quite simple as long as you bear in mind what it means to be a ‘follower’. Once again, Webster’s defines this as ‘one who follows the teachings or opinions of another; one that imitates another; one that chases another or even as a part of a machine that is moved by another part of the machine.’ In light of the defendant’s testimony, I cannot find one shred of evidence that he meets any of those criteria. As he testified about the most significant elements of his life, we learned that he chose his life’s mate based solely on his physical attraction to her. By his own admission he hadn’t even spoken to her, and yet he knew that this was ‘the one for him’. Again, in his own words, he chose his life’s work based on the potential to make money, and it sounds as if he’s guiding his children to do the same. In light of the definition, it would seem that money, and a nice home in ‘Cherry Ridge’, are the part of the machine that drive him. And what can we say that he’s been chasing? From his testimony, I gather that he’s chased his hero across the country. He’s even tattooed his body, and named his only son in honor of this man. Had my client been accused of being a follower of that man instead of this one (as he pointed toward Jesus), I’d gladly hand him over to the Bailiff. But that is not the case.”

Tears began to stream down my face as I realized that the accusation raised by Jesus was that I was His follower, and I found it difficult to catch my breath as I understood that my confession was the only viable evidence that he could present. A wave of nausea roiled in me as my lawyer continued addressing the jury.

“The prosecution has submitted this signed confession, and while I don’t dispute that my client did sign this document, I submit that by his own admission it was under duress. He was simply afraid that if he didn’t he’d be sent to hell forever. In my esteemed colleague’s own words, His followers know His voice and you can tell who they are by the fruit of their lives. So even if you apply the prosecution’s own criteria, you must acquit my client on the charge of being a ‘Follower of Christ’.”

My head dropped into my hands as heavy sobs bubbled out of me. I wanted to deny what he was saying, but I knew that he was right. I had no rebuttal. I wept bitter tears, and shook with fear. And, in my head, I heard the voice of the Jury Foreman echoing, “We the jury, find the defendant ‘Not Guilty’ of the charge of being a ‘Follower of Jesus Christ’.” I suddenly felt as though I was falling into a bottomless pit, and that the air was moving by so fast that I couldn’t pull it into my lungs. In the deepest part of my soul I cried out, “God help me!” and instantly everything became still.

I remained completely motionless for what seemed like a very long time. I was afraid to move. Afraid that this wasn’t really a dream, and that I might somehow set this whole thing back in motion. Paralyzed by my fear, I felt as though I could remain there indefinitely. But out of the blue I felt something moving along my back, and I began to hear the faint sounds of a voice. My ears reached for the sound, and it seemed to grow more distinct. The voice seemed very familiar, and it was calling my name. Suddenly, I realized that it was Karen’s voice, and that it was her hand rubbing my back.

“Richard, are you OK? Service is over honey, it’s time to go.”

I cracked open my eyes, and saw that I was still lying face down on the floor of the sanctuary. I carefully pulled my arms up, and tried to push myself into a sitting position. I was dazed, covered in sweat, and my whole body ached. The service had apparently just ended as most of the congregation seemed to be milling about in conversation. Karen looked very concerned, and kept asking if I was alright. But all I could do was nod incoherently. I was just thankful that this whole thing had just been a bad dream, and that it was really over. Karen seemed to want to get me on my feet, but I wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do it by herself. Just then, a man named, Marcus Freeman, stepped over to help her. A lot of people claimed that he was some sort of prophet, but I wasn’t sure that I believed in all of that stuff. Nevertheless, he seemed like a nice enough guy, and I appreciated his help. As they helped me up I tried to stand on my own, but the pain in my one foot shot all the way up my leg, and my knee gave way as they guided me into a chair. Another wave of panic began to rise in me as I realized where that pain had come from, and I could feel my arms trembling against my sides. In that moment, Marcus crouched down beside me, and said, “The Lord told me to tell you that the chair won’t remain empty forever.” He went on to say, “I don’t really know what that means, but the Lord said that you would.” All I could do was nod in agreement.

“Then Jesus said to His disciples, ‘If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me’. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.” Matthew 16: 24-25