There are certain words or phrases that seem to be reserved for church or sacred settings. Words like liturgy or sacrament for instance. Another is ‘bearing witness’. So when I heard someone on the radio today use it twice, my ears perked up. The voice I was hearing was Minnesota author Tim O’Brien and he was speaking of his collection of stories about Viet Nam, The Things They Carried. Frankly, after he used this phrase I stopped listening to the show’s content and began to think about what we mean when we say these words. Just the sound of them carries weight, resounds with a poignant presence that sends the imagination to deep, echoing places.
Bearing witness. In my work, I have the privilege of bearing witness to people’s lives in significant ways. Over the past several weeks I have borne witness to a young family bringing their beautiful daughter to be baptized and celebrated by our community. To this this gathered, extended family marvel at this girl child, was true gift. If I am lucky, or blessed, I will be able to bear witness to her life as I have to her mother’s and her brothers’.
Over these same days, I have also borne witness to the passing of two dear ones. In their deaths I have been able to listen to others bear witness to these lives that were entwined with theirs. It is holy work and its importance is not lost on me though I must admit there was a time when walking this way with families was difficult and something I did not feel I had the gifts for. As the years have progressed, I have found myself more and more comfortable in this wilderness of death and grief, of memory and celebration.
What I have learned over this time is the importance of telling someone’s story, of speaking their name into the Universe so it reverberates with their truth. Of bearing witness. This learning has caused me to be, I hope, a better listener and a non-anxious presence in what can be a time of confusion and a sense of being lost in a land for which no one is prepared.
Today as I listened to O’Brien talk about his reason for writing his book, I began to think about how we have the opportunity every day of bearing witness if only we would take advantage of it. All this before someone actually dies. Each and every day people hold their lives out to us. Those with whom we share our homes, both human or creature. Those with whom we work or go to school. The barista who pours our morning coffee or the one who hands us the pages filled with the world’s news. The child that lives next door who is growing up before our very eyes and who is, even in this breath, on their way to adulthood. The clerk who takes our money for gas or a soda. The restaurant worker who places a bowl of soup before us. The stranger who stands on the street with a sign and hands outstretched. All these and more are opportunities for bearing witness while life still throbs in the bodies of these our fellow pilgrims. Who knows? You or I may be the only ones who will pay attention to their living this day. Wouldn’t it be a shame if we missed this holy chance?
Bearing witness. How will you bear witness this day to this precious life which is fleeting and fragile and filled to overflowing? Someone is waiting for us to notice. To witness. To tell the story.