The Witnesses
Story by Jill, photography by Kym van der Plas
The pot plant sits quietly on the kitchen bench. It’s a cactus, chosen because it is more likely to survive my “care”. It looks like an otherworldly observer. It bears witness to the fresh early light, coffee grounds spilling from the aeropress and me humming cheerfully while fighting with rebellious bits of egg shell in the frying pan. But this cactus also witnesses things which I do not want documented; bench clutter, unwashed dishes, the midnight microwave whirr for insomnia popcorn, the bored opening and closing of the fridge, a frustrated tirade and hot tears. But it doesn’t judge. It’s just there, a silent witness.
My iPhone feels more judgy. I think it knows me better than anyone. It witnesses my slide into anxiety or restless boredom, as I search for a distraction. It witnesses how many beautiful moments I’ve experienced and photographed, yet never returned to dwell on with thankfulness. It witnesses who I reply to. It also witnesses who I complain about and delay replying to. Please don’t put it on the witness list!
Years ago I was summoned to the witness stand. As a junior doctor, I received an out-of-the-blue court summons for an alleged assault case involving a patient I couldn't even remember. Thank the Lord for medical records. It was very stressful to prepare to be an “expert witness”. I learnt that the prosecutor was going to ask me “... if the wound penetrated both the epidermis AND the dermis (the outer and inner layers of skin)?” Which confused me, as it seemed difficult to assess confidently, without a microscope or the experience of a dermatologist, and now also the veil of time. Yet apparently it would determine the assault charge and therefore the judgement handed down. My mentor said, “Just bear witness, as best you can, as to what you found on examination”. I wasn’t able to prevent or undo what had happened, and I wasn’t called on to prove guilt or innocence. Just to bear witness.
I’ve noticed the theme of bearing witness in my recent readings in the gospel of Luke. It’s all very visceral, once you get past the familiarity of the stories and engage your imagination. Ordinary humans witnessing extraordinary things.
Zechariah witnessed an angel and it terrified him. An angel who intersected time and space with a personal message for Zechariah, from God! Zechariah is not only terrified, but doubtful. So Gabriel declares that he himself is a witness, and uses this to convince and rebuke Zechariah, “I am Gabriel! I stand in the very presence of God. It was he who sent me to bring you this good news!”[1]. I think what he meant was, “While I can’t explain the physiology of how your elderly wife will conceive, I bear witness to and I know the God who spoke it. And so, Zechariah, believe what I said”. Gabriel is a witness who opens a door into a realm beyond our experience. He is a being who moves between eternity and time, between the heavens and a simple town in the Middle East. Gabriel bears witness to the glory of God in his eternal throne room, and it strengthens our weak faith.
Mary was a front row witness to the most extraordinary life. The life of her son, Jesus. She witnessed the glory and shock of an angel breaking into her adolescent, backwater world and telling her she will deliver a baby, the son of God[2]. She witnessed Simeon prophesying a wonderful and terrifying future for her son, and her own soul[3]. She witnessed Jesus growing into adolescence, then confounding her and Joseph when they lost him at the temple. Remember her beautiful maternal pride, when she testified to the servants at the wedding in Cana, that Jesus would basically sort out the hospitality crisis, “Just wait and do whatever he tells you.”[4] And then the nightmare. She witnessed her grown, pure son dragged before the authorities, stripped, shamed, betrayed, broken[5], yet still caring for her as he bled and died[6]. What awful, primal grief she must have felt. She witnessed these raw things and “... pondered them in her heart”[7]. It didn’t make sense, yet. She was a sober witness to the confusing, unfinished middle.
How about the Samaritan woman? The purity of her enthusiasm to bear witness to Jesus. The Jesus who saw her. It turns out, the Jesus who had borne witness to her whole life, her sin and her pain. Jesus, who accepted her, loved her and invited her to drink and never thirst again. She didn’t care that her behaviour was undignified, running back to the village in the middle of the day, a social leper, to urge people to come and meet him. She didn’t care about what she didn’t know. She didn’t get all tangled up. She was just a joyful witness to her experience of Jesus[8].
I have two reflections on these stories of witness in the gospels.
Firstly, I think we can feel uncomfortable about being witnessed. Uncomfortable about our lives and our hearts being known. Like me with my iPhone. We feel vulnerable to judgement. But as Jesus witnesses us and sees us, he is neither like my iPhone nor a court room judge. To be witnessed by Jesus is safe. Yes he is God’s appointed judge[9], but he is also our safe refuge. For those in Jesus, ”... there is now no condemnation”[10]. We are known and met with unimaginable kindness and grace. We are forgiven. We belong. I believe that as we let ourselves be deeply known by Jesus, we can begin to heal. Like the Samaritan woman.
Secondly, Jesus witnesses our battle to be faithful in the unfinished middle, when we cannot yet see what we hope for[11]. I don’t know about you, but I have not yet witnessed the glory of God in his throne room, like Gabriel. I have not yet been overwhelmed by the presence of an angelic messenger, like Mary or Zechariah. I have not yet met Jesus face to face, like his mum and dad, Simeon or the Samaritan woman. “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.”[12] In this unfinished middle we all carry invisible burdens and battles. We can feel terribly alone, disheartened, even crushed. Yet Jesus witnesses us and sees us, and not in the style of my silent cactus! He meets us right there in the battles, with his grace and his help. Right there in our battle to forgive, rather than become bitter. In our battle to speak with gentleness, not anger. In our battle to persevere in prayer, when we don’t see change. In our battle to be thankful, when we want more. In our battle to hope and worship, when there’s still a long and painful race to run. These battles are all threads in a much larger story. And one glorious day, all that is hidden and unfinished will be revealed and make sense, and Jesus will say to us, “Well done!!! Good and faithful ones!!!”[13]
Imagine with me, a place without horizon, a great sea of people, the ground trembling from their joy and excitement. They are overwhelmed and can’t stop worshipping. In the centre there’s a line, a queue of people. These are the people of God, waiting their turn at the microphone, unable to contain their excitement to bear witness to the hidden work of Jesus in their lives. And as their testimonies unfold, there will be sudden shouts from far across the room, as strangers recognise threads of their hidden story. Their hidden story woven into one unimaginable story of redemption. We will see Jesus face to face, and he will wipe away all our tears[14]. And then we will weep with joy, as we bear finally witness to the fullness of his glory.
Amen.
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Jill—Regular Contributor
Jill grew up in Albany, studied in Perth & Sydney but now lives with 3 beautiful girl friends in a big ugly city in the Middle East. She helps lead a team doing community health programs and works as a GP with Syrian refugees. Learning Arabic was the hardest thing she’s undertaken. In her work she’s passionate about seeing the unseen people and helping Arab woman and teenagers learn emotional literacy and their God given identity. She enjoys textures, colours, photography and laughing at ridiculous ideas. This is a big year of transitions as she’s getting married in May, to an American!