The Consecration of the Judge

A little over a year ago, I accompanied a friend to court for a misdemeanor state offense. Thinking that she would feel isolated and frightened, I wanted to provide some safety and grounding in the midst of an unknown and frightening world.

More than 200 people filled the court room, some with attorneys to accompany them and most, alone and seemingly uniformed about what to do. As though speaking a foreign language by the court clerks, the audience in the court theater was instructed to step forward to negotiate sentences with the public defenders or to wait to report to the judge if they were unwilling to bargain their plea.

“Stand for the Honorable Judge Penny Brown Reynolds,” shouted the clerk over the buzzing of the crowded conversations in the court. A petite youthful woman in a black robe stepped to the high desk in front of the masses and waited for silence before she instructed the participants in her drama about their roles.

My supportive role with my friend was relieved as I saw the depth of compassion and integrity of an intelligent, gifted woman directing the lives of the actors on her stage as she provided clarity, sound legal judgment, solace, spiritual guidance and firm decisions for each person who stepped before her regardless of culture, status, color or condition. Her intense focus and admonition was filled with compassion and authenticity. Her instructions provided a clear map for what would happen next and what recourse for action was available to the client and the courts. I was deeply moved by her unique and individual interaction and guidance with each and every single person who came before her. Even those who appeared compromised with chemical or emotional impairment were treated with honor and dignity.

“Getting drunk interferes with your ability to fulfill your destiny”, she said to a young 26 year old man. “I am here to help you be the best you possible. Since you cannot yet trust yourself to refrain from drinking, the court will support you by putting you in a urine drug-testing program.”

“Prostituting your body costs you something inside, in your soul,” I heard her say to a 59 year old woman arrested for pandering.

“I see every person that comes before my court as the best person they can be,” she informed a woman arrested for leaving the scene of an accident. “You need to stop beating yourself up. This is not the end of the world. You are a good person and you panicked.”

I was so moved that I wrote to this mapmaker who was planting seeds of possibility and healing in people’s lives within the state of Georgia court system acknowledging her for being a bright light of love in the midst of chaos and darkness and fear. I felt that I was the observer and record keeper of a miracle in action.

A year later, I received a hand written envelop with an invitation to attend the Service of Consecration to Ministry of the Honorable Penny Brown Reynolds. Sensing the importance of this event, I invited the friend that I had supported in court last year, to join me. There in a room of 600 people from state judges and politicians to representatives of organizations, to church members, we sat, embracing the diversity and the spirit of the human gathering in honor of a woman about to be charged to fulfill her spiritual destiny.

Passionate music rolled and thumped through the auditorium as sacred traditional hymns and the flavor of New Orleans jazz flowed out of the mouths and into the cells of everyone … those who sat stately or stood swaying and beating to the rhythm, those who sang loudly or hummed in quiet synergy, those who jumped and shouted or those who danced freely along the sidelines. Everyone was welcome and the spirit was freely expressed in the human channel of the moment.

Often moved to tears, I allowed my feelings to fill me and open me to the grace and expression of my soul. The culture, the color, the status, the neighborhood and pocketbook mattered not. That we shared a human love affair of mutual dignity and respect, that we honored our differences and celebrated the human pain and vulnerability of each of us in our lives, that we were called to witness a woman who had said for years, “I don’t want to hear that I am called to preach”…that was the mattering.

Everything that might have been important surrendered into the background as the celebration stepped into the foreground. The suffering of hurricane Katrina, the long day behind or ahead of us, hungry and thirsty palates, or the projects left undone were all left behind. We celebrated life. We celebrated community. We sang our soul’s song and lived in the moment.

At the reception following the consecration, I walked to greet the New Minister of Christ, the woman whose praises had been sung from the pulpit by her spiritual mentors and teachers, by the former governor and the mayor, by her family and her peers in the judiciary. The Judge and Minister looked at me with a confounded recognition. “I wrote you a letter,” I said.

Her face revealed her heart. “I read that letter often when I am having dark days, when I forget,” she whispered. I nodded with understanding.

“I am moved that you came,” she said shyly. “I hope I wasn’t too long and wild for you.”

“I came to honor you and to thank you for claiming and living your soul’s destiny,” I whispered in her ear as she hugged me deeply and fully.

Her hands crossed over her chest and heart in a deep-felt thank you as we parted. I felt honored in return and knew that I had been blessed again.

The circle had been completed and the spiral of new beginnings was opening for new futures beyond my knowing. The souls had found a home in the recognition of each other. We were both blessed and filled with grace that would live forever.