This picture is not an award-winning photo. It was snapped by me with a cheap camera on March 14, 2016. But it tells a story of Night and Day.
My friend Ben Decker was smiling, having a ‘good day’, despite his body being ravaged by cancer. I did not know that I was saying goodbye. He died just 18 hours later.
The symbolism of the picture still haunts me. The Light was shining through a window onto Ben, but the Dark side was still there. Ben and me were not much different- God’s light shining on a dark soul. A good guy and a bad guy inside the same body.
I met Ben in 2015. I was his Judge in Drug Court, a popular and successful probationary option which requires defendants to see a judge weekly and go through considerable drug testing and counselling. Typically, the program takes two years of hard work, usually with on-again, off-again sobriety. The bi-annual graduation ceremonies were the highlight of my judicial experience- a two-hour celebration and the clearest and best ‘church’ service in Lexington, all from inside the Courthouse where the ACLU could do nothing about all the God-talk from graduates who were invited to the podium for their graduation speech.
Ben Decker never made it to graduation. In 2015, just a few weeks after his first appearance in court, the Drug Court director Danielle warned me, “Judge, this will be Ben Decker’s last day. He is not eligible anymore due to his cancer diagnosis. He may not have long to live.” She was telling me to say goodbye to Ben.
So, on this day, I handled about twenty cases and saved Ben for last on the docket. Truthfully, I barely knew him.
I called his name- “Ben Decker”. He stood and walked slowly to the front of the bench. His hair was gone. He had just returned from a medical trip to Johns Hopkins. He was smiling but weak and sick. I presumed I would never see him again.
As clear as a Voice from God can ever be, I heard the Spirit whisper to me, “Pray for Ben”. Those were scary words from this Voice in my head. I was a real judge, in a real courtroom, wearing a real black robe. We were ‘on the record’. The room was full of lawyers, social workers, drug court workers, court personnel, including clerks who already thought Judge Philpot was a bit of a religious nutcase.
I dove in. It felt like another voice was speaking. “Ben, I have actually been accused by some enemies of praying in court, which is a complete lie. I have never prayed aloud in a courtroom in my life, but this is a special moment and I just wonder, could I pray for you right now? What do you say to that?”
Ben quickly nodded agreement, “Judge, that sounds great to me.” I bowed my head and Psalm 23 came flooding out of my mouth.
“The Lord is Ben’s shepherd, he shall not want …Make Ben to lie down in green pastures… Restore Ben’s soul… Even though Ben walks through the valley of the shadow of death, let him fear no evil…You have placed a banquet table before Ben in the presence of this enemy called cancer… Annoint his head with oil and heal his body, soul and spirit…surely goodness and mercy will follow Ben all the days of his life and he shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever… AMEN”
This prayer lasted only two or three minutes, but I am sure some people thought it might never end.
When I said “Amen”, I was relieved to note that the ACLU was quiet or absent and no news cameras there to report. Everyone in the room was wiping tears- me included. I came off the bench and hugged Ben and wished him well, promising that we would not forget him.
Danielle called me that afternoon, “Judge, Ben just told me he would appreciate it if you could do his funeral. He doesn’t have a church or a pastor.” I said Okay but soon forgot Ben as the routines of life resumed.
Almost a year went by, and the call came in- “Judge, Ben Decker is trying to reach you. I have his number. Apparently, he got some bad news from the doctors.”
We arranged to meet at a Panera Bread the next morning. He showed up with a smile. Even though he was sick, he looked good. His dark hair had returned.
The conversation was one of the best of my life. “Judge, you need to know that I am not afraid to die. I went back to my grandpa’s church down in Casey County and got everything right with the Lord.” He had the look of a man who was indeed ready for heaven. I shared the gospel message of Hope in Jesus Christ to be sure he understood that trusting Jesus was his only hope. “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners and drug addicts, not saints.” We prayed. He told me he wanted to be baptized. I called a pastor friend to make arrangements for a baptism on the coming Sunday.
But then Ben shocked me in a couple of ways. First, I asked Ben who his best friend was- hoping that he had a good support system. I knew he had a daughter from an old girlfriend when he was young. I knew nothing about his family or friends. His answer was sad, a reflection that drug-addicts usually end up with no friends or family.
“My best friend? I guess that would be YOU. Nobody else ever prayed for me.” I stared into his eyes. He was serious.
And then an even bigger shock, “Judge, you know my mother.”
“Really? What’s her name?”
“Winn Decker. She tells me you were her lawyer when she divorced my dad.”
My brain took a couple of seconds to remember. Sure enough— Winn was a Vietnamese immigrant who spoke very broken English, married to a Kentucky boy who wasn’t treating her very well. It was thirty (30) years ago. I vaguely recalled that Winn had a cute little boy she called Benji.
Her Benji was now my drug court friend Ben Decker. My book “Judge Z” was soon to be published, and I had dedicated the book to “all the children of Irretrievably broken families.” I realized that Ben’s 34-year-old life of drug addiction and pain was mostly the result of a divorce and no father being around- and I wept in thinking that I had been a participant in the tragedy of such divorces for way too many years. I had been part of the problem, helping people like Winn get the quickie divorces they wanted. The children would just have to adjust to a one-parent home.
Ben then told me his mother was still around town and wanted to meet me again. We re-connected with her and re-united with her in prayer and friendship for Ben. We discovered that she also had been praying for Ben and was quite devout in her own faith. She came to our house one memorable evening to show Sue how to cook Viet Nam food!
Ben never made it to his baptism. The water was waiting for him, but he was in and out of the hospital, always too sick to go. This went on for about three months.
On Friday afternoon, March 14, I went to see Ben after a long week in court. He seemed to be having a good day. I snapped the picture, not knowing it would be my last visit.
At 4am on March 15, my phone rang. It was Winn. Ben had collapsed overnight and was back in the hospital- in a coma. She asked me to come quickly. I arrived in time to help Winn make the decision to take the life-saving equipment away and entrust Ben to his loving heavenly Father. I held Winn’s hand as we prayed Psalm 23 again. I left in tears, and she called me shortly to tell me that Benji was in heaven.
And as promised, I helped with his funeral. He had no church. Winn and his stepdad Robert were sure that only a dozen or so people would be there. They arranged for a small Sunday school room at a Methodist church where Robert did some janitorial work. My pastor friend MJ Tolle, who was supposed to baptize Ben, also came with an amazing singer from his Pentacostal church whose voice filled the room. Winn was so happy that about forty people showed up and we squeezed into the tiny room. It was ‘standing room only’, filled with Ben’s old pals from the drug years. It was short and sweet as I told the story which you are reading- that thanks to a loving Father who sent His son Jesus to die on a cross- Benji was in heaven. “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.”
My favorite part of this story is the Obituary from the funeral home. I still remember helping Winn write it. It finished with something like this. “The funeral will be officiated by Ben’s friend, Tim Philpot.” Not Judge Philpot. Not Rev. Philpot. Just Ben’s friend. I like that.