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Easter Sunday - March 23, 2008 - St.
Christopher’s Episcopal Church
The Rev. Paul R. Moore
My sister, a court interpreter for the County of Dallas,
writes:
Most days in juvenile court I spend
long periods of time people-watching while I wait for my cases to be called. The
faces, especially, fascinate me.
There are the juvenile offenders’ faces. Always scared, often
covered by a sprinkling of bravado or sheen of sullenness. Sometimes a kid walks
up with hopeless eyes, and that twists a knot inside me.
The parents’ faces are usually scared as well. Scared for
their children, scared of the system, scared of what might happen and what
already has. They are also faces of love, frustration, relief. Sometimes all I
can see is anger.
The judges, the probation officers, the attorneys: it’s all
part of their daily grind. Still, every so often a special case comes along and
stirs their features into delight or exhaustion or something else.
Today, I had a special case.
There was the juvenile offender, caught after he and a buddy
attacked, beat and robbed a woman. He stood there chastened, head down.
There was the victim in the wheel chair she’s bound to for
the next several months. Her face was calm.
There were the victim’s parents, who dropped everything and
temporarily moved into their daughter’s house to cook, clean, drive their
grandchildren to school, and do anything else needed in this time of so many
needs.
And there in front of me were the offender’s mom and dad. If
heartbreak has a face, I saw it in duplicate today.
The hearing was brief.
The victim had participated in a plea bargain because she
wanted to make sure that – along with punishment – the boy received help and
hope. The attacker turned to the woman and apologized. Voice breaking, he
thanked her for helping him get another chance.
The judge’s face struggled between compassion and severity.
He approved the plea bargain.
The boys’ parents asked for permission to speak. The mother
asked the victim’s forgiveness for anything that they, as parents, might have
failed to instill in their child. The father, voice breaking, thanked the woman
for giving his son a second chance. “There is a big God,” he said, “And He will
make you
well,” and then his voice gave out and he just bowed his head.
Then, as everyone turned to leave, I saw movement in the
observer section of the courtroom. The victim’s parents stood up together. With
open arms and mercy in their eyes, they reached out to the attacker’s parents.
And as they hugged each other across the courtroom rail, it
seemed to me that I was looking at the face of God.
Easter is many things to many people.
More than anything, however, it is about resurrection. Resurrection is about
second chances. Without the resurrection of Christ our losses are tragic, our
deaths are fatal, But with the resurrection, all of those things become rather
pathways of grace and transformation by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Easter means that we, too, have a second chance with God,
with one another, and with the world around us.
Alleluia, thanks be to God!
Fr. Paul Moore+
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