Witness to Miracles
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In the book of Genesis, when Abraham believes he has been told by God to sacrifice his son Isaac, he saddles a donkey for the trip to the foot of the mountain where they have been told to go. The donkey waits and watches while Abraham and Isaac climb the ominous mountain together and then, miraculously, return together.
Generations later, after God appears to Moses at the burning bush and tells him to lead his people to freedom from slavery, the text says that Moses “saddled the donkey” to bring his family to Egypt. The medieval commentators had a field day with the fact that it says “the donkey” instead of “a donkey.” They say it’s because it was the same donkey! The same donkey bore witness to the terror of the binding of Isaac and to the people’s liberation from bondage in Egypt. Two dramas, generations apart, somehow falling under a single gaze.
Did U.A. Fanthorpe know this when he wrote his poem, “What the Donkey Saw?” It could have been “What a Donkey Saw,” but no, it’s “the donkey.” Maybe it’s the same donkey, this time witnessing the birth of the great prophet Jesus. In the poem, the donkey wants to make room for Jesus’ entourage; wants to make them feel wanted as history unfolds before their eyes. And the donkey renders his own prophecy: “I could see the baby and I would be going places together.”
He’s projecting into the future the Palm Sunday moment when Jesus will ride him into Jerusalem and be hailed as a king. The same donkey; the witness. It’s magical of course, but such a beautiful image of a single creature bearing witness to all the game-changing events in the Judeo-Christian narratives. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for the all-seeing eye of the cosmic consciousness.
The birth story of Jesus leans on its witnesses – Mary, first and foremost, Joseph, the Magi, the shepherds, and in this case, the donkey. These are not the kinds of witnesses you need in a murder trial to establish the facts. The facts, nobody would bother to dispute: A baby was born in a manger because there was no room at the inn for his parents who were travelling. No, here you need witnesses to establish the meaning of the facts. Not just what’s going on, but what’s really going on.
These were eyewitnesses of a special kind. They saw with special eyes. Their eyes saw through this baby’s fragility, the poverty of his family in desperate circumstances, disheveled and downtrodden. These eyewitnesses saw through all of that and saw the miracle — that this baby was the divine incarnate. How beautiful. How wonderful. And how hard it would have been to believe if it hadn’t been for these witnesses who were able to see with a special kind of sight and know with a special kind of knowing.
The story of “Erik and the Homeless Man” that Meagan read is a poetic mirror of the nativity story. This time it is the baby who is the witness who sees with a special kind of sight and knows with a special kind of knowing. The baby sees what everyone else misses. He adores the old man. He is delighted where everyone else is repulsed. He sees through the old man’s fragility, his poverty, his desperate circumstances, disheveled and downtrodden. He sees through all of that and sees the miracle – that this old man is the divine incarnate.
Not a miracle, the miracle. The same miracle. Jesus and the homeless man and each and every one of us in this room and around the world are incarnations of the divine. It’s all the same miracle multiplied a millionfold. One miracle, at once ordinary and extraordinary. One miracle that only awaits a witness.
Christmas is one time of year when we play the play the role of the donkey and intentionally witness this miracle together. We witness together the sacredness of life, the divine spark in one another. We affirm the inherent worth and dignity of all people; that all deserve to be loved. We declare that every night a child is born is a holy night and we mean it. We see with a different kind of sight and know with a different kind of knowing.
We all yearn to be seen and known like this year round. We yearn to be recognized, really deeply recognized, not just for what we do, what we accomplish, but for what we are. As the birth story of Jesus leans on its witnesses, so we all lean on our witnesses. We all rely on one another to be with us and bear witness to what’s really going on through all the vagaries of our lives.
We all rely on one another to provide continuity through our history, like the donkey, a single gaze, unflinching at our pain, but watching and holding it. Watching as we go up the mountain to make our sacrifices, not knowing how we will come back down, watching as we struggle for liberation, watching as parts of ourselves are born in the unlikeliest of places and watching as we ride on a carpet of palm leaves into an uncertain future.
And so we return here to this community each year to bear witness to one another as the wheel of life spins, as some of us get married and some of us become ill, some of us start new careers and some lose our jobs; some buy a new home and some become homeless; babies are born; loved ones die; generations rise and fade. We return to say to one another, “Whatever has happened to you in the last year, I still see you.”
We can do this for one another. Let us do it lovingly, compassionately, helping each other to feel wanted even when it’s crowded in the manger. And bear witness to the miracle that is each and every one of us. Watch. Watch while we change the world, delight a baby in a diner, or rivet the attention of a very, very old donkey.
