The Sentencing

They say you might have to die, Oscar.

It won’t be much longer now. Then we’ll know. You seem pretty calm considering the stakes, I’ve got to say. Maintaining such an unruffled demeanor is no small achievement, what with all those eyes, 12 pair to be exact, taking turns zeroing in on you from across the room, trying to read your mind from your manner. But nothing seems to phase you.

There’s something about your eyes, though. They look almost lidless. They stick out like billiard balls, as if maybe your tie is too tight. I guess maybe they’ve seen more than eyes were ever meant to see. And what they saw, no mind was ever meant to replay – but yours has, over and over again.

Conscience bites hard and it doesn’t let go, just like those pit bulls you spent your spare time raising and fighting. What did you say to it after that first time to get it to heel? Did you tell it not to worry, that it wasn’t that big a deal? It wasn’t like she was your real daughter after all. She was your stepdaughter. No flesh, no blood, no relation. Did it help to tell yourself that? But then she said she was going to tell on you and you had to keep that from happening. And you did. So here we are.

They say you might have to die, Oscar. It’ll make for good copy, you know. That’s why I’m here. This is a story people will want to read about.

But it’s not the one I want to tell. Telling your story has been humbling and has reminded me of things; it has reminded me that while the choices I’ve made in life have been different from yours and in most cases better, the net effect has been the same: alienation from God and a sentence of death. That’s what I need to tell: how I’d be sitting right where you are, condemned for crimes too numerous to recount, against Creator and creation alike, if not for a curious fact -- that my judge and my advocate are one and the same. And if not for an even stranger fact -- that my judge, the dignity of his position notwithstanding, gave it all up and took my punishment upon himself -- my eternal prospects would be worth even less than your temporal ones are now.

Watching our justice system at work has a way of reminding me of this story. But unfortunately it’s not the story they pay me to tell. I’ll have to tell it on my time. In the meantime, it looks like they are filing back in. All rise. Their eyes are avoiding you now.

It’s time, Oscar. It’s time.