A co-pastor at a church I served found herself before the bar of justice. She’d run afoul of the law. She looked me straight in the face and said in all seriousness, as though she believed I’d believe her, “The light was yellow.”

I replied, “Well, the fellow in the uniform with the 9mm on his hip, sworn to protect me from people like you who disregard the safety of innocents as me, says the light was red.”

When she got to court, it become evident the guardians of the streets had been very diligent. The courtroom was packed. It was so crowded; the judge offered a blanket deal to these perpetrators of vehicular offenses. If anyone would plead guilty to a lesser offense of being a hazard they could get off with a minor fine, no points, and no blotch upon their driving records.

Such a deal! Up until this point my colleague was determined to fight this alleged violation of justice to the end. But, no points! Did she say “no points?” Did she say nothing on the record? Well!! It was late. she didn’t need to hang around the court all day. There were souls to win. She decided to take the deal. She stepped forward with the rest of the anxious-to-keep-their-record-clean heavy footed perpetrators. 

One fellow didn’t step forward. He didn’t remain with the rest. He was seemingly stuck there between the ones accepting the plea bargain and the others. He was dressed in freshly washed clothes. His boots were polished to gleaming. But the clothes were spotted with holes-of-wear and the shoes bore the marks of one who labored hard.
He just stood there.

The judge, noticing him, asked, “How do you plead?”

No answer.

“How do you plead?” This time she pointed to him.

“You! Young man! How do you plead?”

He looked to her, pointed to himself, raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, you. How do you plead?”

“No comprende,” he replied.

He was Hispanic. He did not know the deal being offered.

The judge huddled a moment with the bailiff. The bailiff was shaking his head in the negative. Finally, the judge asked the crowd,

 “Does anyone speak Spanish?”

There was no response.

The judge then motioned him forward. He did so, respectfully. She tried to make him understand, even using a couple of Spanish words herself. But he didn’t. On and on the judge attempted to communicate.

Finally, she took the young man’s ticket from him. She stood up behind the bench. And with him watching carefully, she tore the ticket in half. She folded the pieces together and tore them again. She repeated the process until the ticket was nothing more than a stacked pile of small pieces of paper. Then she tossed the pieces of the ticket into the air, leaned forward and looked intently into the young man’s eyes, and said, “You forgiven! Your charges are dismissed. She pointed to the scraps of paper on the floor, “Nada mas!”

The entire courtroom erupted into applause. People smacked the young man on the back. Understanding came into his eyes. He bowed his head deeply toward the judge, and folded his hands in gratitude toward her.

When my heavy-footed pastor friend told me about it, I replied, “I hope you learned the lesson that in that story.”

“What lesson?” she asked.

I said seriously, “When you’re guilty as hell always throw yourself on the mercy of the judge.”