You, the defendant, sit in the most ornate and beautiful courtroom in all of creation. The enormous judge’s bench is covered with intricately detailed carvings depicting scenes from the Bible. The gallery is abuzz with conversation. You hear the whisperings that judgment day has arrived.


A tall, physically-fit prosecutor enters the courtroom. He wears an expensive silk suit and is consummately groomed and manicured. Well-known for being as ruthless as he is shrewd and cunning, he carries a look and feel of confidence. Several assistant prosecutors follow, carrying his briefcase and volumes of large, leather-bound books. He sneers at you as he takes his seat at a table nearby.


The courtroom is called to order by a host of angels blowing trumpets. An archangel announces: “All rise, this court is now in session. All persons having business before this court shall come to order. The Most Holy, the Heavenly Father, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, is presiding.” God the Father enters the courtroom. His judicial robes flow with grace and dignity as he takes his seat behind the bench.


“Are you the defendant?” asks God.


You stammer, “Yes, Your Honor.”


God states, “I see that Satan, the accuser, is here on behalf of the prosecution. Satan, are you ready to proceed with your case?”


“I certainly am,” he states with confidence.


God turns to you and asks, Where is your attorney?”


“I’m not sure,” you timidly answer.


From the back of the courtroom, a modest voice speaks, “May it please the court, this defendant qualifies for the public defender, and I am ready to proceed on his behalf.”


“Very well,” states God, “please come forward and sit with your client.”


You turn around to see a humble and somewhat plain-looking man come forward. He isn’t sharp and polished like the prosecutor. His clothes are lightly dusted with wood shavings. “Are you an attorney?” you ask.


“Actually, I’m a carpenter. But don’t worry, you are going to be just fine,” he reassures you.


“I can’t afford to pay you anything,” you state.


“That’s OK, I never accept payment,” he says.


Unlike the prosecutor, your public defender does not have a briefcase or any assistants. He carries no law books. He didn’t even bring a pen or a pad of paper. Yet, somehow, his voice sounds familiar, and you trust him.


God asks your public defender, “Is the defendant ready to proceed to answer the charges?”