The Oxford County Courthouse Bible
Over the last half century or so, Ontario has built dozens of big new regional courthouses, many of them quite spectacular, but none with the quiet majesty of the stately limestone county courthouses they replaced. But that’s the subject of another story.
As each new county or region got its new courthouse, many of the accouterments of the old buildings were re-purposed. In Ottawa, for example, the panelling and woodwork of the main jury court room were carefully peeled away and re-installed in Courtroom 39, retaining all the aura and weightiness of the nineteenth century colonial era.
Given its monolithic windowless five storeys and more formalized security, the local judges promptly nicknamed the structure itself “Fort Flanigan” in honour of “Moon” Flanigan, the then chief judge. Again, that’s for another day.
But the subject matter of this parable comes from Oxford County, which had a special story.
As the move was undertaken from the classic old courthouse to the modern structure, staff recovered an ancient bible situated on one of the witness stands. What stories it could have told.
The good book had been used to swear in thousands of witnesses. “Do you swear that the evidence to be given by you touching the matters in question between the parties to this proceeding shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God.” Probably a thousand fingers had been crossed behind backs, but for most a solemn oath on the holy book was a matter of soul-searching gravity. For a few, even terrifying.
Obviously ancient, the good book had long since lost its structural integrity, and over the years had been held together with black tape, and more black tape, and still more black tape, until at last it was a football-sized, three kilogram mass of tape, leather, paper, and print. Nevertheless, it was sufficient to frighten most scofflaws into truthfulness.
One of the mover supervisors observed to one of the courthouse supervisors that perhaps the bible itself should be liberated from its casket of hockey tape and rehabilitated. The notion found favour and the good book was cut free from its sarcophagus.
Reverently and carefully the sacred volume was freed from its wrappings. Finally, all the tape was peeled away, and there lay the original volume, a scene right out of The Raiders of the Lost Ark.
There, on the oak table in a hushed courtroom of the old Oxford County Courthouse, solemn and leather-bound, lay the Oxford English Dictionary. I’m sure you appreciate the irony.
Many a lawyer across Ontario enjoyed a great laugh about the story, back in the ‘80s. But there’s something of a lesson to take from the Oxford County “Bible”.
You see, we often believe something to be true which is not true, and that false belief can control our lives. But ironically, this false certainty can be a miraculous thing. Whether it’s placing one’s hand on a heavily-wrapped copy of the Oxford Dictionary and believing that God would strike you dead if you told a lie, or whether it’s giving an employee or a stranger the benefit of the doubt, it’s often the hope and not the fact, which matters.
The real good book (not the Oxford Dictionary) says that “hope maketh not ashamed”. It’s often the hope and faith which we place in others, especially our children, students, employees and others over whom we have influence, that can turn fantasy into reality. More often than not, the impossible dreams of others come true, especially if we provide the tailwind.
Oftentimes, those around us are wrapped in layers of tape, fear, and insecurity, but secretly believing that they are capable of more than nature has given them. The miracle occurs when we join with them in their belief and enable them to actually become the Good Book instead of the Oxford Dictionary.
Miracles do happen– be part of one.