In the glare of courtroom lights, every second of that night is being replayed, dissected, and weaponized. Congregants describe trembling children and hymns drowned out by furious chants, their sanctuary suddenly feeling like a battleground. Prosecutors lean on those images, arguing that no cause—however righteous—grants license to breach a house of worship and intimidate the faithful under the banner of protest.

Yet the defense presses a deeper unease: if the state can brand this an “invasion,” what other acts of dissent can be relabeled as crime? They frame the case as a referendum on how far the government will go to shield its own symbols and allies from visible, uncomfortable outrage. When the jury finally speaks, it won’t just settle guilt or innocence; it will signal how much disruption democracy is still willing to tolerate at its most sacred thresholds.