I only met with them one time when they came for marriage counseling. Gilly Gilbert and his wife, Lyla, were having troubles with their three sons. The two adult sons, who had moved out of the home, were drinking heavily and carrying .38 caliber guns. They were in trouble with the police and were wanted for questioning in a number of incidents. The youngest son was still living in the home.

Gilly was a rough customer. He was a construction worker who bragged that he had killed two men in a bar fight in his past. He threatened to kill both his sons if he caught them. I believed him. Lyla was the polar opposite of Gilly. Lyla was a five foot tall woman in her early fifties with mousy brown hair. Lyla was so quiet that she rarely spoke during our counseling session. After they left I wondered if anything had been accomplished in our counseling.

Not long after meeting with them, I received a subpoena to testify in a murder trial . . . of Gilly Gilbert! The report was that Gilly had come home from work and threatened their youngest son that he would use Indian torture methods on him if he didn’t do what Gilly wanted done. Lyla overheard this threat and waited until Gilly fell asleep in his Laz-Y-Boy recliner. She loaded a 12 gauge shotgun, and shot Gilly in the chest from point blank range. He died instantly. Lyla was arrested and held without bond in the Sutter County jail. The subpoena I had received was from Lyla’s defense attorney who wanted me to testify as a character witness for Lyla.

The trial brought news crews from all the major cities in northern California and was the biggest event to hit our little town of Yuba City in decades. As a witness, I was escorted into the courtroom to listen to the trial. After being sworn in on the Bible by the bailiff, I took my seat in the witness stand. Before either attorney could question me, the judge called for a recess and ordered both attorneys and me to his chambers. He asked me if I was aware of the “power of the confessional” and could not be forced to testify. I said that I was aware of the confidentiality of pastoral counseling but that I would waive my right and testify. The judge reconvened the trial and I was questioned by the defense attorney as to what Gilly had told me during counseling. After testifying, I was dismissed and left the courthouse. 

The trial continued for several days but in the end a jury found Lyla not guilty. Before she was released from custody, I officiated at Gilly’s graveside funeral service. There were only nine people in attendance at the service: Lyla, in her orange jump suit, me, the jail matron, the funeral director, the three sons and two girlfriends. Both adult sons were 45 minutes late and rolled up to the graveside in their Cadillac convertible drunk. They swaggered up to the grave and I immediately changed my message. I told them to look long and hard at their father’s casket because in a short while I would be standing over theirs if they didn’t change their ways. I urged them to come to Jesus Christ. He would forgive their sins and give them the strength and courage to make those changes. To reject Jesus was to choose eternity in hell. Both sons listened and then got back in their car and roared off.

Only one life, ‘twill soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last,

Irv