In the courthouse I do not doubt his guilt. For now Grace covers these particular human systems which reach for Justice, which imitate it, which put on its clothes; and for now they are succeeding and I may trust in the process. Another item for my gratitude.
Months we spent in the presentation of love and truth through word and action. Grace for this; a challenge to give up that; a call to know the King of all the World. We were busy messengers, before and after the pillar of fire appeared to him.
We gestured toward it, the pillar of fire. “Look,” we said, “the Lord sent you this. Few have such a clear act of divine power. Believe in Him who sent it!”
Bubbles are longer-lasting and carry greater substance than what we recieved in response. As dawn’s light rose on his deceptions, consequences followed, and now I walk through a stark building passing men in chains, whom he will join.
The Door to redemption stands open, as it ever stood, one step away from the accused. A death opened it for him, the defeat of death invites him through. He knows this. It follows him, a fixed point of possibility, and further illuminates the depravity we now observe. Perhaps he has seen it and has sworn it off. He would not be the first to do so.
This whole situation has me thinking of baking, but without the joy that this kind of comparison usually brings. You can’t remove flour from dough. You have done a thing which cannot be undone. You now live in a world where this dough exists. The judge says “Did you make this dough?” and you respond and all of us are here, looking at the dough.
Now the heat of the oven and consequences within the courthouse draw the entire thing through another irrevocable change. The world is a little different now.
We can never truly undo an action. Many actions can be reverted, if they are simple enough, but the ‘undoing’ is an action itself. Flip a light switch, and flip it again, and now your first flip is undone. But what will never be changed was the fact that you flipped it on, and it remained there for a moment, then you reversed the action. You did not undo anything. You did two things which may give the impression of undoing. This is how we hide our errors instead of creating recompense.
Zacchaeus stood up and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.”
Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
From the story of Zaccheus in Luke chapter 19.
There existed a switch in the mind of the accused, as there does in everyone. It turned on not a light, but a darkness, the kind that you feel pushing on you. Flipping this switch was a choice he thought on, took action on, and indulged. He was paid in chains and vapor and begged for more and no part of this deal was ever hidden from him.
Superlatives are a funny thing. I may say “we have one of the best justice systems in the world, here in the USA.” It can, without any contridiction, also be true that our system is desparate for vast improvements. The Kingdom of God is the only place we will find Justice made whole.
We are in the holy courtroom. We are all accused, once we’re accountable. Rather, we are all guilty. “Accused” is only a status necessary down here because we are poor judges and must make rulings without omniscience. In the holy courtroom Christ stands near and says: “Allow me to take these crimes on, fully to my account. Out of love, I desire to take the worst of the consequences from you – that of death. The Judge will allow it. Both He and I love you.”
We are in the courtroom again, the human one. I watch as the accused is, well, accused. Justice seems to be as unimpeded as in can be, in a nation where we thrust the burden of beaucracy on top of change so that it happens more slowly. It’s good enough for now. I am thankful, and mournful, mourning what could have been if he had turned back before now. If he had stepped through the Door.
The Door floats at the distance of a small step next to every person in this room. The clerk, the judge, myself, the men in chains, the woman practicing law. It’s so close you could fall through it if you needed to. When others put you in chains – justly or unjustly – sometimes Christ’s Door is the only one left.
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