Outside, the chill factor held steady at 27 degrees below zero; while inside, the spotlights from at least a half dozen television crews flooded the entrance with heat and light. Gary and I dashed across the church parking lot, ankle-deep in icy slush and freshly fallen snow, through a cordon of television, radio, and print reporters, into the rapidly filling gymnasium where the front two rows of prospective jurors sat waiting.

As we entered the gym, witnesses for the prosecution and the defense were signing in; but there were other witnesses standing ready in the memories of those jurors, unseen witnesses living and dead, lesbian and gay witnesses whose words still echoed, whose smiles still lingered, whose tears still flowed in the minds and hearts of those thirty-five United Methodist clergy in the jury pool. It was Jimmy's chief counsel, Doug Williamson, who brought these ghosts to life with the question that always makes the difference.

"Have you known any gay people," he asked them, "and if you have, how have they affected your life?" Suddenly, they were there in the gymnasium with us, all those lesbians and gays from the past who had influenced the lives of these United Methodist clergy men and women, walking up and down the aisles of that ad-hoc courtroom, telling their haunting, hopeful stories. And as we watched, Bishop Hadopp and his court, sitting before us on stackable chairs behind folding tables underneath the basketball hoop directly over the little wooden cross and the burning candle, finally listened to the jurist's replies.

I sat just four rows behind jurist number one who suddenly found herself facing a question that could not be answered with a simple "yes" or "no" reply. For a fleeting second she remained silent, then with clarity and calm she spoke the truth, her own deeply painful and awkwardly personal truth and her truth brought warm, fresh air rushing into that gym like the wind of God once flowed into a room above Jerusalem. "My older sister is a lesbian," she said quietly, "in a long-term relationship with another woman."

Maybe I imagined it, but it seemed to me that for the first time that day, everybody present at the trial leaned forward to listen. "When Sis came out to us, my mother was confused," the clergywoman confessed, "and so was I. But we are family. Today, my mother is a member of PFLAG [Parents, Family, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays].My sister and I are close friends."

"In seminary," another clergy began, "I had three close friends who were gay." "And how did that effect your life?" Mr. Williamson asked. "I had to face my fears and deal with them, honestly," he replied. "Did your friends go on to be ordained," Jimmy's counsel asked. "Yes, two of them," he answered, "and years later, they are still proving their call by their effective ministries."

"My ex-husband is gay," a second clergywoman offered, and I swallowed hard, fearing the kind of story that might caricature and demean gay men and lesbians who had entered into heterosexual marriage, hoping to resolve their secret struggles. "How do you feel about him today," Mr. Williamson asked.

"Oh, we've maintained a close relationship," she assured him, and I felt ashamed that I had assumed the worst. "We've spent a lot of time struggling to make sense of it all," she confessed, "but we are still friends."

"When I was young, and a member of a very fundamentalist church," a third clergy woman began, "a close friend confessed that she was gay. Unfortunately, I wasn't ready to understand her pain." "What happened?" the counsel asked.

"I lost her as a friend," the woman answered and you could feel the lingering pain in her voice. "What would you do differently next time," he asked. "I would love her no matter what," the clergywoman answered without hesitation, "and I would be there for her."

A former military chaplain remembered his service days before "Don't ask! Don't tell!" went into law. As an officer he felt it necessary to turn in the young recruits who confessed their homosexuality, "…but I couldn't help but be touched by their personal stories," he added.

One clergywoman admitted that in college the only man she had felt safe with was a gay man. Several clergy knew lesbian and gay couples in their congregations living together in loving, loyal, long-term relationships.

Other United Methodist clergy had gay neighbors who had become close friends. One remembered sadly having a "best friend" in college who threatened suicide and then "…just disappeared."

At least four different Nebraska clergy waiting to try Jimmy Creech admitted that they knew ordained gay ministers in the United Methodist Church. "Have you asked them to turn in their credentials?" Mr. Williamson questioned. "Have you considered bringing charges against them?" In turn, each potential jurist answered, "No." "And why not?" the defense counsel asked, "Because they are good ministers," each replied, "and good friends," several added.

No cameras were allowed in the courtroom yesterday. No tape recorders were rolling. I had to paraphrase these testimonials from my sketchy notes. But the heart of each story was clear.

These good clergymen and women from Nebraska had been permanently changed by the lives of lesbians and gays who had dared to tell their stories to friends and family. By coming out, they had left permanent, positive memories in the hearts of thirteen men and women selected for the jury. Now, if these jurists dare to follow where their heart leads them, they just might save the day (and in the process help save the church) as the court gathers this morning to begin phase two in the trial of Jimmy Creech.

EDITOR'S NOTE: Although Bishop Hodapp refused to let Mel White's camera crew video tape the trial, Mel's new video, "The Trials of Jimmy Creech" documents this man's amazing life journey through an intimate, revealing interview and press conference. The video is available by sending a check made out to VIDEO 3 for $10 (for duplicating, packaging, and mailing) to Soulforce Videos, P.O. Box 4467, Laguna Beach, CA. 92652.

As with all of Mel White's videos, others have permission to copy "The Trials of Jimmy Creech" and share the video with family and friends (or broadcast it on local television or cable access stations.) If a second, tax-deductible check is included-- to made out to UFMCC and sent to the above address--one-half of such a donation will go directly to Jimmy Creech to help pay his trial expenses and one-half will help underwrite mailing the videos to clergy across the nation with a personal letter from Jimmy Creech.