Where Is My Advocate?

Blog / Produced by The High Calling
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In December of 1955, at the end of a long day on the job, Rosa Parks declined to give up her seat on a public bus in Montgomery, Alabama. For a small act that catapulted the U. S. into confronting its own hypocrisy, Rosa Parks received the nation’s highest civilian award, the Congressional Gold Medal. Following her death recently, her body rested in state in the U.S. Capital rotunda. Her funeral was televised nationally. For her small act of great courage, she was driven by death threats and hate mail to move to Detroit, Michigan. In her biography Quiet Strength, she said, “Since I have always been a strong believer in God, I knew that He was with me, and only He could get me through that next step.”


“How could you do that to my son!”

From across my desk a student’s mother glared at me. Hands folded, I listened as a fabricated story of Dickensian torment, complete with being locked in a dark room, tumbled out of her contorted mouth into the space between us. I looked at her. “That’s not true,” I said finally. “Not one thing of what you are saying happened.” But the diatribe continued. No amount of anger on my part would have drawn my accuser’s attention.

I acknowledged her feelings, her point of view, the misunderstanding; I ended the interview furious and shaken. I’d been called a liar when she knew I was truthful. I was labeled cruel when my action had been anything but. She’d put my very integrity up for grabs.

My strongest impulse was to exonerate myself. Somehow to find an audience and shout, “This is unjust!” I wanted friends to rally and pat me on the back. But no fellowship appeared: no one to stand with me. I was left in a vacuum to carry on. Whether anyone else knew my side, God knew it.


Standing before the Sanhedrin, Pilate, and the bloodthirsty mob, Jesus knew the truth about Himself. He listened to the lies knowing no one would rise to His defense: not one disciple, not one recipient of his miraculous healings, not a family member. No one. No one in the entire world would step up and vouch for His flawless integrity. Ecce homo: behold the man . . . the perfect man.


And in my own sense of betrayal, I behold Jesus, the One who comes to suffer in silence, the One who suffered for all, trusting to a higher court for acquittal and redemption.