The Witness & the Witnesses

Every end of financial year, the fundraising emails arrive, and among them are the ones from organisations that advocate for religious freedom. They do important work — equipping Christians to engage with the law, defending the right to speak about Jesus in schools and workplaces and clinics. And yet, if I’m honest, I find it hard to feel the urgency. My own Christian life isn’t really hampered by the law. You could fairly say that’s exactly why I should care — by the time it does make life hard, it’ll be too late. There’s truth in that. But it raises a sharper question, one that cuts past politics altogether. What is actually the number one thing limiting my freedom to witness about Jesus? Be honest about your own answer for a moment. Because for most of us, it isn’t the law and it isn’t the culture. If we want to find what’s holding us back, we need to look in the mirror.

The real obstacle isn’t the law

Most of the time I don’t speak about Jesus, it isn’t because I’m banned or because it’s illegal. It’s because I’m afraid of something. Maybe even ashamed of something. The flip side of bold, effective witness isn’t our freedoms — it’s fear and shame. Here’s the test: if every limiting law were wiped away today, would it actually make a difference to how freely you spoke tomorrow? For most of us the answer is no, and that tells us where the real battle is. It’s not out there in parliament. It’s in here, in the heart.

A promise for a hostile world

This is the third time in his final night with his disciples that Jesus speaks of the paracletos — the Advocate, the Helper, the one he will send alongside them. The setting matters. He has just been speaking of himself as the vine and his followers as the branches, calling them to remain in him and to love one another. And then, abruptly, he turns from love to hate. “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first… I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you.” As we’re drawn into the love of God, we become distinct from what Jesus calls “the world” — those living at odds with their Creator. And that conflict overflows. Their hostility to Jesus, rooted in their rejection of the Father, spills onto those who belong to him. For many of us in a relatively tolerant place, “hate” can sound like an overstatement. It wasn’t for Jesus, who was handed over to execution by people convinced they were serving God. It wasn’t for the disciples, most of whom paid for their witness with their lives. And Jesus is clear-eyed about it: “the time is coming when anyone who kills you will think they are offering a service to God.” We watch it happen in real time as Saul, in religious zeal, drags Christians off to prison — before he becomes Paul.

The Advocate who testifies

So what does Jesus offer his friends as he sends them into danger? Not an exit. “When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father — the Spirit of truth who goes out from the Father — he will testify about me. And you also must testify, for you have been with me from the beginning.” Trouble is coming, he says, but you have things you must say, even in the danger. And notice the language: this is a courtroom. “Testify” and “witness” are legal words, and we’ve quietly softened them. We hear “testify” and think preaching; we hear “witness” and think a friendly chat about faith over lunch. But these are words you use standing before a judge, in the face of opposition. You don’t call a witness in a case where everyone already agrees; testimony exists precisely where there’s a challenge to answer.

Witness and martyr

The Greek word underneath both “testify” and “witness” is marturia. You can hear the English word that grew out of it: martyr. It began meaning witness, and came to mean someone killed for their witness. Built into the very word Jesus chooses is the assumption that testifying to him will meet resistance — that it may cost something, socially or even literally. And into exactly that opposition, he promises help. There are two witnesses here, working together: the Spirit, and the disciples. First, the Spirit witnesses — and what does he testify to? “He will testify about me,” Jesus says. The Spirit shines his light on Jesus. This is worth dwelling on, because it’s the consistent teaching of the whole New Testament: the Spirit’s defining role is to draw focus to Jesus, to what he has done and said. There is, you might say, a Jesus-obsession to the Spirit. Not because the Spirit is somehow lesser or subservient, but because in Jesus we see the glory of God doing his most glorious thing — reconciling rebels to himself through the blood of the cross and the defeat of death. So if you ever want to discern whether the Spirit is genuinely at work somewhere, look for the focus on Jesus. That’s where the Spirit points the light. And to have the Spirit in you is to become like him: increasingly fixated on Christ.

Why this steadies us

This is a deep comfort in the face of opposition. When those who oppose us look strong, the Spirit shows us a Jesus who is stronger still — one whom not even death could hold. When doubts rise, the Spirit works to strengthen faith and give peace. “Peace I leave with you,” Jesus says — not the absence of struggle, but his presence within it. The Spirit testifies to Jesus because in Jesus we have hope. And the disciples are called to testify too. They had a unique role: they were with Jesus “from the beginning,” eyewitnesses to everything he said and did, and their Spirit-empowered testimony became the record we now rely on. We don’t share their eyewitness role, but we share their Spirit, we face the same opposition, and we’re called to the same witness — confident precisely because those eyewitnesses preserved what we need to know.

On the rock, not in the dock

Here’s where the courtroom turns into something like an optical illusion. At first glance it looks as though Jesus is on trial, the world sitting as judge and jury, deciding whether he’s worth taking seriously. And we appear to be his nervous witnesses, pleading the case of a meek and mild Jesus while the world holds all the power. But zoom out and the scene reorganises itself. Jesus was never the one on trial. When we testify, we aren’t begging the world to go easy on him. We’re saying: come and stand with us, because it’s the only safe place there is. The world isn’t the judge — it’s the one under judgment for turning its back on God. And there is a way back, and his name is Jesus. None of us stands before the world; we all stand before God. And we don’t stand alone. We have an Advocate beside us, the Spirit of Jesus, who says of each of us: this one is with me. Our witness doesn’t rise out of weakness. It rises from the safest place in the universe. In a culture anxious about losing its freedoms, the biggest thing limiting our witness still isn’t the law — it’s shame and fear. We picture ourselves on the back foot, in the dock, pleading for poor Jesus if we say anything at all. But the truth is we’re not in the dock. We’re on the rock, held by the death-defeating strength of Jesus, with the living God dwelling in us. So the question to sit with is simply this: if that’s true, what is there left to be afraid of?

This post is adapted from a sermon preached by Murray Colville at St Hilda’s Anglican Church Katoomba on John 15:26–27, as part of our Holy Spirit series through John 14–16. Visit us at www.katoomba.church.