Recently, someone gave me a hanging ornament for my car: Jesus popping out of an imaginary window, speech bubble reading, “I saw that!”

I immediately hung it on my rear-view mirror. It made me laugh — and, I’ll admit, it worked. Every time I was tempted to do something I perhaps shouldn’t, there was Jesus, watching. I’d think twice and behave myself.

Then I stopped and wondered: what on earth does that say about my view of Jesus?

It reminded me of a mug I once spotted on a desk in Church House: “Jesus is coming; look busy!” Have we accidentally turned Christ into the boss from Hell while nobody was looking? Surely it’s the Archdeacon or Bishop who issues the ticking-off for slacking on the job — not God. If anything, Jesus had something quite specific to say about that kind of anxious, performance-driven existence:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11.28–30)

That’s a very different message. A very different way of seeing, and of being.

Jesus invites us to take on his yoke — to work with him, because a yoke only functions when two oxen pull together. He asks us to learn from him, for he is gentle and humble of heart. His burden, he says, is light. That’s a far cry from “I saw that” as a phrase of irritation, judgement, or outrage.

But what if Jesus is doing what he so often does — quietly subverting the world’s way of things? What if those words are spoken not with a glare, but gently? What if “I saw that” refers not to every slip or stumble, but to every small act of kindness done without an audience — every gentle word, every invisible gesture of compassion?

God sees all things, including the things done in secret. And very often, “I saw that” might just be whispered words of encouragement and praise.

Rev. Talisker