We the Jury

It came in the mail a few weeks back: my jury summons.

I've had five summons delivered to my mail box in the past ten years: every two years, like clockwork, even though it's supposed to be "random." I guess I am just a random type of gal. On the first two summons, my juror numbers were very high, so when I called the recording the nights before, I found out I didn't have to report at all. I was somewhat dissappointed by that, but was assured by co-workers that that was a good thing. Nobody should ever want to report for jury duty, or so I was told. The second two summons resulted in a trip to the courthouse. This was exciting. I filled out the paperwork and settled in with a book, pretending to read but actually spying on those around me. Both times, forty of us were called into the courtroom to begin jury selection. And both times I was singled out for being a pastor's wife and subsequently dismissed. No questions as to whether I could be un-biased, only clarification as to what my husband did for a living.

I was sure that the same result would prevail as I made my way to the courthouse this most recent time, answering my fifth jury summons. After filling out the paperwork and watching an extremely patriotic preparation video, I opened Pride and Prejudice and scanned the pool of prospective jurors.

Time marched on, and two MacWorld magazines and a vanilla latte later, forty of us finally made it into the courtroom to begin jury selection. The judge and two lawyers began the ardguis process of finding just the right group of twelve to fill the box. Not one question was directed at me this time. I was beginning to think I had a chance to make the jury for this week-long trial.

After the judge and attorneys had met in the judge's chambers for their final decisions, they emerged and announced that they would be naming the twelve jurors, plus one alternate. The forty of us waited with baited breath in the back of the courtroom for our names to be among the thirteen that were to be called. It was like the Miss America pageant. As a name would be called, the "winner" would make their way to their newly assigned jury box seat.

I was the ninth name to be called. That placed me squarely in the middle of the front row, right in the middle of all the action. I was so happy to be picked and looking forward to this unique opportunity.

The "losers" happily made their way out of the courtroom and resumed their normal lives. We thirteen, however, began a week in an alternate universe. The trial started immediately. The clerk handed out notebooks and pens to all of us, the judge gave us our instructions, we took an oath, and the opening statements began. We hardly knew what hit us.

Opening statements were all we had time for that day, so we deposited our notebooks and pens in the jury room around the long conference-type table and headed home for the evening, saying polite good-byes to the strangers we would be spending all week with.

At home that night, I proclaimed to my husband that I had met my first goal: being selected for the jury. "What's your second goal?" he asked. Jury foreman. That is what I would be secretly lobbying for now.

Dressed for success, I entered the jury room, grabbed my notebook I'd flung onto the table the day before, and quickly settled into the seat at the head of the table~my first subtle move at becoming jury foreman. There was coffee and water, and plenty of awkward pleasantries and polite smiles coming from this group of "peers" who had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.

The thirteen of us were quite a mixed bunch. There was a hair stylist, a night-shift motel manager, a pharmasist, a receptionist, a state worker, a dental hygeinist, an un-employed man, a group-home manager, a counselor, a shaman's girlfriend, a yoga instructor, a grass-seed salesperson, and me.

I had to quickly assess the situation and try to figure out how, by the time we were to deliberate at the end of the week, this group would automatically see me as the natural choice to be their foreman. Let the games begin. Literally.

We had lots of down time in the jury room, waiting for all those in the courtroom to prepare themselves and decipher intricate legal matters. So, the hair-stylist, having a natural gift of gab, started asking people what they did for a living. This was my opportunity. "I know!" I said. "Let's make it into a little game!" I suggested that we go around the table and try to guess what each person did, based on their appearance and what little interaction we had had so far. People were on board for this idea, so around the table we went.

Whenever we'd be rudely interupted by the proceedings of the trial, we'd just remember who we left off with so that the next time we were dismissed into the jury room we could just pick up where we left off. Everyone was enjoying themselves so well, that there was always a dissappointed "Ahhh" whenever we'd have to somberly file back into the courtroom.

The days went by, and we settled into an enjoyable group of acquintances and friends, of sorts. It was such an odd gathering of people that would probably never get the chance to interact in real life. We enjoyed keeping tallies of different happenings like attorney eye-rolls, objections, jury time-outs (when we'd be abrubtly sent to the jury room so that the judge could scold the attornies), and, our favorite, the pun-count (there was one juror that I affectionately nick-named Mr. Pun. He kept the stomach-churning puns rolling throughout the week).

On the afternoon before our last day, I suggested that we play the game Two Truths and a Lie. That went over huge! They went home that night with their homework: to come back the next morning with two true-to-life facts about themselves and one total falsehood. It would be our job to decipher which of the three tid-bits was the lie. Good practice for a jury, I thought.

We started the game in the morning, and continued on every "time-out" we had.

Then, it happened: both attornies rested their cases. Before we knew it, the judge was giving us instructions on how we were to deliberate. Our first line of business, he instructed, was to elect a jury foreman who would oversee the deliberations, but who's opinion would bare no heavier weight.

We filed into our cozy little jury room, followed by the clerk who placed our paperwork in the middle of the table. He told us to inform him when we had selected our foreman, then he left. At that moment, it was as if every head moved from the door he had just exited, to me. "Shouldn't it be Sharon?" someone said. "That's what I was thinking since day one," someone seconded.

Channeling my best Melinda Doolittle face of humility, I asked if this was ok with everyone, which was an overwhelming yes. I had done it.

So, I stood up and began to suggest that we take an initial vote, when someone raised their hand. "Can we finish your game first?" They actually wanted to finish Two Truths and a Lie first! It was hilarious. So, we finished our game, broke for lunch, and returned to get down to business.

That's when reality set in. We were responsible for drastically affecting the two lives in the courtroom. We were to be the judges. We were to weigh the evidence and pass judgement. We quickly realized that that is not an easy nor enjoyable task. Our initial vote was four yes, four no, and two undecided. We were split right down the middle. Thus began almost three hours of deliberations among these new friends.

Because it was a civil suit instead of criminal, we only needed nine votes to reach a verdict. It went the way I had originally voted, and it was my duty to stand and read the verdict aloud in the courtroom, knowing that I would be relieving one person and devastating another. That was not enjoyable or exciting at all.

I walked away from that experience so thankful that I am not responsible to be the ultimate judge of humanity. God is a righteous and just judge who knows our hearts inside and out. With Him, there will be no second guessing and deliberation.

I did not enjoy passing judgement on others, but I did, however, truly enjoy my time getting to know the twelve others that walked the journey with me.