The deep places in our lives – places of resistance and embrace – are reached only by stories, by images, metaphors and phrases that line out the world differently, apart from our fear and hurt.
(Quotes from Professor Walter Brueggemann)
Imagination is a danger–thus every totalitarian regime is frightened of the artist. It is the vocation of the prophet to keep alive the ministry of imagination, to keep on conjuring and proposing alternative futures to the single one the king wants to urge as the only thinkable one.
The gospel is fiction when judged by the empire, but the empire is fiction when judged by the gospel
When serious people of good faith disagree, they’ve got to go back into the narratives and come at it again. One of the problems in the church is that people are not willing to do that. People have arrived at a place where they think they have got the answer.
Years ago, I heard of a tribe who had been gifted with a television set after the area acquired electricity and tv reception. At first, the eyes of the young and old were glued to the tv screen. Those making the gift possible left feeling proud that they had opened up the world to this “primitive tribe.” Some time later, the sophisticated moderns returned to see how the tribe was faring. To their astonishment, they found the tv abandoned and stored in the back of a storage tent. When they asked if the tv was broken, they were told that as far as the tribe knew, it worked perfectly well. They explained that they preferred the stories told by their elders. When asked why they had this preference over watching one of the marvels of today’s world, their reply was simple but profound. “The storytellers know us. The television does not know us. It is totally unaware of our dreams, hopes, tears, and loves.”
Over my years as a pastor, I discovered that stories make a much greater impact on parishioners than theological doctrines, arguments, and explanations. Since the time of cavepeople in the ancient mists of yesteryear, humans have been drawn and shaped by stories. Gathered around the clan fire at night for warmth, protection, and meals, people many thousands of years ago did not have television, the web, video games, Netflix, or Amazon Prime. They told stories which passed on the wisdom and lessons their ancestors had learned over many generations. Their myths, sagas, and legends addressed their identities, reasons for being, and destinies.
Once we become a part of the story and identify with its characters and plot, we as humans can become transformed.
Stories have a way of touching the heart. Stories invite us to become participants as well as hearers. Once we become a part of the story and identify with its characters and plot, we as humans can become transformed. The heart in biblical thinking is the seat of the will. It’s where we decide our priorities, goals, and how “to do” life. Once the heart is touched at the deepest level, there is the possibility of change, growth, and a deepening of our spirits and humanity. I think that’s why Jesus often taught in parables. Parables invite participation. Jesus’ parables were always about the changes and surprises which are necessary components of what he called the Kingdom of God. He rarely argued his points and never codified them in rigid dogma and systematic theology. He told stories which engaged those peasants living in small villages and hamlets—stories which allowed them to see themselves as subjects of their lives and as precious children of God in a culture which told them to expect nothing new and which constantly reminded them that they were nobodies.
Like the prophets of old, Jesus sought new ways to communicate the truth, presence, and will of God. While Jesus primarily used stories (parables), the prophets used poetry. All prophecy in the Hebrew Scriptures comes in the form of poetry and metaphor. Poetry is a way of enticing, suggesting, revealing, challenging, and allowing others to encounter deep truths. Poetry is often polyvalent and open-ended in ways prose can never be. As such, poetry requires interpretation and therefore participation. By their words, these prophets were creating opportunities for fresh possibilities which were not simply the shuffling of tired, old “realities.” Believing that God and God’s way and will were more real than the corrupt, greedy, violent, and paranoid realms manipulated by kings and their toadies, these spokespersons spoke truth to power, dreamed God’s dreams, and prepared their people for a future when all things would be made new.
Their visions, like Jesus’ Kingdom of God, were alternatives to systems of injustice and oppression which have plagued humanity for almost five thousand years (the time when kingship and empires began their mischief). Their poetry and Jesus’ stories created the space for newness to be born. They dared to challenge their hearers to trust that God’s way was more real than that of a world where the more things change, the more they remain the same. The propaganda of empires (even that of our own American empire) is designed to exploit and extract in order to enrich a very small percent of the population. Such propaganda is reflected in various forms of patriotism, in the practice of scapegoating and dividing in order to conquer, in twisted truth and outright lies, and in pandering to the base desires, fears, and prejudices of the gullible and uninformed. The goal is always to maintain the status quo or to find ways of increasing the inequalities which already exist. The power and control of Caesar are great and seemingly beyond doubt and accountability. Or at least that’s what all Caesars want people to believe.
But human history has been blessed with alternative voices which have demonstrated that the emperor has no clothes—in fact, he’s stark naked. His power and legitimacy are illusionary like the Wizard of Oz who hides behind his curtain pulling levers of pretense and lies. Those who have seen the naked truth of all types of empires (political, economic, social, religious) have communicated their truth through stories, poetry, metaphors, and hope—a hope which believes that what can be and will be is worth living and dying for in a world of arrogance, greed, violence, and stupidity. They have heard the story and have sung the song and have written their poetry and have spoken truth to the powerful and the powerless. Among these poets, storytellers, and troubadours throughout history are the Hebrew prophets, Jesus, St. Francis, Hildegarde of Bingen and her fellow Rhineland mystics, John Woolman, John Wesley, Sojourner Truth, Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King, Jr, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela, William Barber II, and so many others. Their lives, their witnesses, and their legacies are what can save this world. Their stories constitute the alternative meta-story of the God who makes all things new.
Today, much of the church in the United States is in turmoil. There are so many voices vying for attention, all of which claim to be defenders of the truth. Perhaps Brueggemann is wise in his advice that we all return to the stories which have formed our faith. If we return to those foundational stories and listen with our hearts to the deep poetry of God’s spokespersons, I believe we can find our bearings.
Stories transform lives.
I am frequently asked how I survived in ministry given my radically liberal views of God, politics, economics, and culture. Did I survive by lying or by saying what I believed in ways that most people could never really understand what I meant? Did I play the game of working until retirement when it would be safe to raise hell? What I did over and over again was to tell the stories, focus on the life (which constitutes the greatest of stories) and teachings of Jesus, share other stories about women and men who lived extraordinarily faithful and compassionate lives, and invite people to find their own way to become a part of the greatest story ever told—that of God’s great unconditional, indiscriminate, self-giving, and everlasting love. People may have disagreed with some of what I saw as implications from these stories, but they could not argue with the stories themselves (Those stories of and from Jesus were, after all, in red letters in their King James Bible!). After decades of preaching, I still hear from church members from the past who remember those stories and whose lives are still shaped and challenged by such tales.
Stories transform lives. Stories invite more stories to be created. Stories connect with other stories until finally we realize that all authentic life constitutes a web woven and held together by the stubborn and matchless love of our Creator. As Brueggemann suggests, we must return to those stories, poems, and metaphors which can create a different future and which will challenge a rootless and endangered present.
