A challenge to the spiritual life on a jury

Last week I served on a jury. After being registered to vote for almost 50 years, my number was finally picked.  As anyone who has served knows, there’s a lot of downtime.  I tried to use the time to pray.  It was a challenge in that sterile environment, but I found way. 

The case wasn’t that complicated.  Just a few witnesses.    The person was pulled over for an expired tag. When the suspect was asked to step out of his car, he instead started the engine, and squealed out of the parking lot.  Once he turned the corner, the police didn’t see him again.  Fleeing police to avoid arrest can be a felony or a misdemeanor, depending on several factors, including whether the suspect exceeds 15 miles per hour.  Common sense says he did, but since there weren’t any witnesses, the jury found him guilty of just the misdemeanor.  Getting to this simple verdict took two and a half days. 

During the many long minutes waiting in the jury room, we weren’t allowed to talk about the case.  In the silence, I tried to open a meditative space to hear the familiar voice of God. I heard and felt nothing.

In my search for God, I turned to the architecture.   That had been my go-to when admiring the beautiful cathedrals in Mexico.  The sweeping arches had a way of lifting my eyes to God. The intricate craftsmanship was designed to deepen one’s faith and give glory to God.

In contrast, the architecture of the Justice Center was designed with a different purpose in mind: to convey the power of the state.   In the presence of metal detectors and uniformed sheriff deputies, escorted from room to room by an armed bailiff, I was not awed but a little intimidated.  I felt this as a juror, and I was one of the good guys. 

The elevation changes in the courtroom reinforced this hierarchy of this power.  The defendant was on floor level.  The next level up was the jury.  The highest level was reserved for the judge, with a disproportionately large bench.  All eyes in the courtroom were not directed to the heavens but to the judge. 

I wasn’t going to find God in this architectural design.  When I asked, “Where are you?”, the answer came in the form of a new awareness.  God was present in the people: the willingness of the other jurors to serve a civic duty, the professionalism of the deputies, the earnestness with which the counsel approached their jobs, and the hopes and fears of the defendant about the outcome of the trial. I redirected my meditation to them, and found the connection I was seeking.  

When you’re having trouble finding God in a strange and sterile environment, look at the people around you.  Look into their hearts with the compassionate, loving eyes of God.  Recall that “God has sent the Spirit of his Son into the hearts of his children, who cry out ‘Abba'” (see Gal 4:6)  Listen for God’s voice gently saying, “I am here.”