The One Witness

(Here's a short story that I wrote several years ago. Makes an excellent discussion starter or a sermon/lesson illustration.)

The courtroom grew still as the defense stood to call their first witness. Moments earlier, the prosecuting attorney had hurled accusations at the defendant. In a clear voice filled with anger and hatred, the plaintiff’s attorney had laid out the charges. He had done a brilliant job of presenting the case, and had been shrewd in presenting and questioning his witnesses. It seemed as if he had already sealed the case.

The atmosphere was growing more tense by the moment. “How can anyone defend such charges and refute such evidence?” I asked myself. “What? One witness? One is all the defense is going to call? They must be out of their minds.”

Panic hit me like a freight train when I heard my name. They were calling me to the witness stand. I was going to be that one witness. I felt helpless and wanted to run, but knew I could not. Obediently, I struggled to rise as the weight of reality increased by the second—I am the only witness the jury will hear, and my life will be the only evidence presented.

Everything began moving in slow motion as I started my long journey to the witness stand. All eyes were on me, and the silence in the courtroom was deafening. An occasional squeak from the wooden floor accompanied my journey to the witness stand. Its echo reverberated loudly throughout the courtroom. I could feel the defendant’s eyes watching every move I made. I longed to return his gaze, but doubt and fear swept away the courage to do so. I struggled with my feelings as my thoughts ran wild. “His future is in the hands of this jury, and I am the only witness…Can I turn the tide of opinion...What if I am not a good enough witness?”

I entered the witness stand, slowly drew back the chair, and sat down. Cautiously I glanced toward the defense table, and beheld eyes filled with love and compassion. For some inexplicable reason, the judge broke the deafening silence by slamming his gavel against his desk. Or did he?

Startled, I sat up and slowly recognized the familiar sounds of a thunderstorm. Relieved, I fell back on my pillow and listened to the steady rhythm of the ceiling fan with its occasional squeak. Thankfully, it was only a dream, but I could not get away from the question: “If I were the only witness in a case against Jesus, would my witness be credible enough to convince anyone of His life changing power?”