I served jury duty recently.
We pay attention.
We speak to each other clearly, looking into each other’s eyes.
We know we are in the presence of something both much bigger than us and also entirely dependent upon us.
We are neither somber nor giddy but something far above ordinary daily emotions.
A jury of one’s peers. That is a “mic-drop” of a political practice. I try intentionally to imagine how things would be without that. The local magistrate does not like you, so has you killed, or takes away your property, or abuses your family, and you can do nothing. A friend connected it with “being heard.” Aside from the occasional wise-and-good king, few people with power can hear those who have less power. By requiring me to speak my story to my peers, I am ensuring being heard.
I felt so grateful.
Grateful that somehow that small band of brothers & sisters of the American Revolution somehow succeeded in launching this political experiment.
Grateful that even in my county’s courthouse the force of higher ideas still carries sufficient force.
Grateful for a day of being lifted up into much more serious places inside myself.
The only other place that feels this way is the Pre-Vatican II, traditional Latin Mass, which I attend regularly.
I served right after I registered to vote at 18 yoa. Good for you Michael. My experience was different. The defense lawyer tried his best to overcome overwhelming evidence of guilt with jury selection based on race. Not a good spot to be in.........