Testimony of a Witness

I have heard from some in law enforcement that witnesses to a crime are the worst evidence. Scientific evidence is much more preferable because of the general inconsistency of your basic human. I, for one, am an excellent example of inconsistency. I totally spaced writing the entry for last week. 

Ironically, our Creator seems to prefer the inconsistent creature to the consistent scientific variety. Ever wonder why? I do, and I do still, so that’s not what I’m going to figure out here. Instead, I want to point out what we started out as witnesses of, the resurrection of Jesus.

Therefore, it is necessary that of the men who have accompanied us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us— beginning with the baptism of John until the day that He was taken up from us—one of these must become a witness with us of His resurrection.” (Acts 1:21-22 NASB)

When I was taught to write out my testimony, I was taught a format to use: what I was like before, what happened, what I’m like now. The idea being that I’m testifying to what Jesus did to me, and how I’m different, hopefully better. But what if you’re boring? What if what your Savior does in your life is so dull and interior that your testimony is a cure for insomnia? Wouldn’t it be cool to have a really cool, dramatic, gut-churning, testimony of what you have witnessed our Savior do? As it turns out, we do.

I heard Sunday, over and over, how great the name of Jesus is. The person using His name was trying to draw the people into worship, to focus us on Jesus, but there was this TV-Preacher feel to how she was doing it. It was focus on the name, and what He does for us rather than on Him. Not that this was necessarily the intent, it was simply the feel.

We all, every believer, every disciple, everyone believing God raised Jesus from the dead, confessing Jesus is Lord, all in that category have a testimony: Jesus is alive and active in my life. Rather than what I was like before, it’s far more important what He does. 

I talk to my wife every day, multiple times throughout the day, we do stuff together, we ask each other questions, we are close in ways that aren’t always obvious, and some that are. It’s not what I was like before she and I talked this morning, or over lunch, it’s that we talked, that we are together all the time, that we seem to share brain-cells, speak a weird symbiotic language made up of partial movie quotes and one-liners. 

know Jesus is alive because the very warp and woof of my existence is enmeshed in His existence. His Spirit dwells in me in this weird overlay over everything I do and think. I am permeated by my Savior. I wish that meant that I stopped doing stupid stuff, never went my own way, and he and I never had to wonder what the other was thinking. Technically, He knows, I don’t, sometimes I don’t what either of us are thinking, and He always does.

Those who read this and are married already know that perfection doesn’t describe human relationships. It doesn’t describe my walk with/before my Savior either. Not His fault, it’s entirely mine. But I walk with my Savior. The Creator of the universe lives within me, stays with me, and continues to relate to me because of the powerful transaction on the cross, the failure of His grave, and the continual intercession at the right hand of my Creator.

Was I saved from a life of terror, rampaging murdering and wonton destruction? Nope. Was I changed from a hopeless drug addict to a hope-filled evangelist? Not my story. My story is that I, frail, flawed, and fickle, walk with the Master of the universe. And that I do so because He invites me into this relationship, made it possible, and sustains it through His power. 

So, I too am one of those who know the story of Jesus, from the day of His baptism, through His ascension, and my “proof” is that He continues to walk with me to this day. It’s relational for me, as it was for them. I haven’t seen Jesus and shared a meal with Him like they had. I didn’t hear the voice of some Rabbi calling me to follow him, and leave everything to obey his voice. They did that. I’m not an apostle in any sense, truly. I’m simply a witness to my Master’s presence in my life.

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