Silent Witnesses

In God's Court of Justice

The past week or so has been quite the spectacle if you’re a fan of Judge Judy or The Jerry Springer Show. As our “justice” system did its own version of Soviet show trials, its brightest anti-Trump heroines were revealed to be caricatures of feminine courage. Their testimonies were not truthful, unless you wanted to know Fani Willis’ favorite alcohol—Grey Goose, in case you missed it.

Regardless of your feelings about the ever-triggering Trump, it’s disheartening to see our Constitution trampled under the new and dangerous precedents of lawfare. Gone is the idea of presumed innocence or evidence of harm; we will perhaps all be prosecuted with no evidence at all. Gone is the fear of perjury; a witness may tell lies comfortably if they please the political Left. Gone is the idea that a testimony must bear a resemblance to truth.

Of course, this isn’t a new phenomenon. Men of every political persuasion across time have have lied and cheated to evade justice; today’s wicked elites have simply removed its shame. We join the millennia of the disappointed; in the seventh century B.C., Habakkuk wrote, “So the law is paralyzed, and justice never goes forth. For the wicked surround the righteous; so justice goes forth perverted.”

Despite all this racket and ruin, though, a far better testimony still prevails. Unlike that of our show trials, it isn’t full of crude drama and shameless deceptions, and it’s offered by trustworthy, expert witnesses. No artful arrangements or executive privilege will escape its revelations, and no conflicting testimony will undermine its validity.

I was reminded of this testimony a few nights ago, when I opened our French doors on a crisp night, hoping to cool the house before bedtime. I stepped out onto our cold deck and looked into the oddly quiet darkness, feeling like I’d emerged from a wardrobe into Narnia. Just a couple feet past the threshold, a velvety universe hung over our yard in contented silence; the backwoods beyond were suddenly the Black Forest. I looked up, and—directly overhead—another surprise; it turned out that, while I was cooking, cleaning, and doing busy things in the glow of lightbulbs, a bunch of stars had gathered nonchalantly overhead. Another world was suspended in cosmic majesty, unbothered by the artificial glow of my household hubbub.

I used to spend far more hours outside around here; during Covid’s long pause, I spent many happy days gardening under the sun, and many weeks hacking a trail through our woods. Yet in the resumption of busy routines and harried days, I had forgotten that above those same woods, celestial wonders continued their nightly work—and mercifully, with none of the grumpy fatigue that plagued my own. Within that starry sphere sat silent witnesses of the holy God whose unshakable grip still sustains the universe he framed—however grim our side of the heavens looks.

We are prone to getting lost in the louder-but-lesser voices—the witnesses that blur the facts. The day’s depressing headlines grab our attention, immersing us in the noise of politics, crime and technology. Our jobs and errands send us scurrying here and there in a long line of little ants, racing the clock and carrying loads through clogged intersections. There are a few other hassles, too—appliances break, kids misbehave, or our bodies fail. With all that, we are the grand and tragic witnesses to our own very important story—which, as often is the case, is told in carefully curated social media posts.

If only we could bottle up that evening sky! As quickly as stars fade with the morning light, so does their peaceful testimony, and we begin a new day of mortal combat. Maybe we steal an hour of quiet in those promising early hours; yet after lunchtime, the gloves must finally come off. Trials and temptations begin making the rounds, and we must either succomb to their blows or fight them with the counsel of God—his truthful testimony written not just in nature, but in the pages of his word.

Picking up a Bible (or even opening a Bible app) is a heavy lift for modern minds. We’re more easily drawn to the quick hits of journalistic eye candy and social media, not to 2,000 years of redemptive history. The enemy (and perhaps a few dull preachers) has done a masterful job of convincing us that God’s word is a heavy and golden-edged book of dusty Sunday school stories and the more fashionable “teachings of Jesus.” We proudly imagine that the biblical witness is now irrelevant; our modern challenges require modern solutions. For answers in the here-and-now, we crave news updates, artificial intelligence, or feel-good podcasts.

We’re surrounded by evidence to the contrary, though; and it confirms the testimony of God’s word. The evidence is widespread but isn’t found in our political trials or click-bait headlines. Instead, its DNA is revealed in obscure lives rescued from deep within the world’s hostile territories—the Christian convert in Iran, the radical academic drawn to the gospel, the sex worker restored to wholeness. God’s fingerprints are revealed in our everyday stories, too—healing from addictions, marriages restored, and light shining into someone’s lonely despair.

Unlike creation’s dazzling testimony, these accounts spring from unlikely and forgotten places. Few of these witnesses pique the cosmopolitan interest of the world’s tastemakers, and the invisible work of their gospel transformation doesn’t conform to our three-day news cycles. Such humble and far-flung testimonies are of little interest to the expert class. Nonetheless—and without headlines—God continues his perfect work of revealing himself, renewing dead hearts and gathering his redeemed humanity from every dark corner of the earth.

If our leaders march on in defiance of truth, the ludicrous show trials will continue, and our liberties may suffer. Our people may continue to wither under a deadening secular influence. We may wonder when God will intervene, or why we must suffer. The wicked may continue their shenanigans with apparent success, deceiving only themselves. On this side of heaven, we will feel righteous indignation in the face of such shameless evil and injustice.

God’s courtroom, however, isn’t yet adjourned. Unlike our courtroom characters, his witnesses aren’t positioned only to draw a conviction; they are also there to point us back to the merciful Judge himself. Our judges wield the gavel, but He has wielded a cross. He will judge the world in righteousness, and the verdict will not be appealed—even now, his witnesses testify on the stand.