
Along with several dozen other prospective jurors, I recently was ushered into an Illinois state criminal courtroom. On our left sat the defendant, a young man, with his defense attorney. Seated directly in front of us, facing the judge, were two men and one woman from the state's attorney's office. Three state prosecutors? It looked like trouble to me.
Sure enough. The judge instructed us that we were to judge the guilt or innocence of the defendant on one count of first-degree murder and three counts of assault with a deadly weapon.
It was grim. This was not television. One victim was dead, three injured (one paralyzed, one blinded). The life of the accused man might be over. I did feel pity for him; if found guilty, his could be a wasted young life, in a far country, estranged from our heavenly Father.
In reply to the judge's interview questions, I affirmed that a family member is a policeman, that I know other policemen, and that I have been a victim of armed robbery. While the judge accepted me as a juror, the defense objected, so I was sent home.