Something
happens when we tell a story. The people who study this kind of thing tell us
that when we tell a story, something happens in our brains. With the right
equipment they can see it happen right before their very eyes. A different part
of the brain from the parts we use every day is activated. We are not just talking
about facts; we are painting images in our minds.
Once upon a
time, my father had a study with a drafting table, and in this was a old
tabletop AM/FM/SW radio about the size of a modern-day microwave oven. My Pop
set me up with my own little drafting table, and while he would work on these
great big drawings of I-don’t-know-what except that I was sure he was drawing
plans that would one day land a man on the moon, I would sit at my little
drafting table making my own designs of fantastic machines. And together, we’d
listen to the baseball game over that big radio.
And he did something
else. He taught me keep a box score… a record of every play of a baseball game
that was in this great big spiral bound book. I learned that one does not need a
television to visualize a baseball game, just a careful ear, imagination, and a
yellow number two pencil.
Stories are
important parts of our lives. They tell us who we are, what is important to us
and how we understand ourselves. The stories could be from books or movies or
plays or shows, or they could recall something as simple as a picnic or a day
at work or a funny thing that happened at the store.
One the
weirdest news stories I can ever recall has been unfolding this week, where a
fellow recently elected to Congress has been found to make up whole chapters of
his biography that must have sounded much better to him and to others than his
actual story. And the really weird part
is that he apparently acknowledges his deceit but is sticking to his stories. While
this kind of thing may keep psychotherapists in business, it really messes up
our understanding of how stories help us make meaning out of living.
And, as far
as I can tell, no one has asked the most fundamental question of all: if your
cause is just, then why do you need to lie about it?
It’s true… we
all love to buff, shine, and polish the parts of our stories that are not
flattering, or are inconvenient, or just plain painful. But Jesus said “If you …
are truly my disciples… you will know the truth, and the truth will make you
free.” (John 8:31-32) As the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King said and taught, we are
grounded in and speak the truth.
Tomorrow is
our annual celebration of the Rev. Dr. King. In our culture, it is the habit of
civic holidays is to celebrate famous people’s birthdays, but in the church’s
calendar, the commemoration of the Rev. Dr. King is actually on April 4… the
date of his murder and martyrdom by an assassin. The Church in recognizing his
death, also celebrates King’s life as a Christian witness, a pastor, a theologian,
and a prophet.
But that’s
not the only way that the Rev. Dr. King’s story has been distorted and co-opted.
This weekend we will undoubtedly hear over and over again a small snippet of
King’s “I Have a Dream” speech from the 1963 March on Washington. And we will
hear all kinds of people talk about that “Dream”, even though the context of that
talk—the call to racial and economic justice and a description of the racism
that is deeply embedded in our culture—has been cut out. And so, people who,
during his life—and since his death—hated his message, worked against his
mission, and even today work against the goals of justice, equality, and economic
empowerment that marked his real life ministry—even to the point of passing
laws about how we can even talk about our history of race, slavery, and
segregation—will without shame use his image and words to ease their guilty
consciences and salve their troubled souls.
We followers
of Jesus must avoid the temptation to domesticate and water-down the hard parts
of King’s life and work. Because the same people who domesticate the Rev. Dr.
King, also strive to domesticate and water-down Jesus and the work of God
through the people who follow him.
The truth is
that the story of God in Christ is one of transformation that challenges our
being down to our very core. And we, his baptized followers are God’s
storytellers. We are invited by God to share good news and to tell what we have
seen and heard. We are like the prophet Isaiah who today says that before he
was born he was called to be a “light to the nations,” not only to Israel, but
to the whole world.
The Psalm
today says, "I have spoken of your faithfulness and your deliverance."
And Paul talks of his apostolic calling and "the calling of the
Corinthians to give testimony to Christ, to tell of him."
And then
there is today’s Gospel lesson. Right after that great hymn to the Logos, the
word of God, that we heard on Christmas Day, comes a story of how people experience
and then tell the story of the Logos to others.
There’s a
whole line of people who tell each other they have seen Jesus and who they
think Jesus is. John the Baptist points to Jesus and because of that, John, the
Beloved Disciple, and Andrew decide to peel off from following John the Baptist
and start to follow Jesus. Then Andrew tells Peter who then goes to Jesus who,
after meeting him, follows him too. Next, in a part of the Gospel we don’t get
to hear today, Jesus calls Philip, who then goes and tells his brother
Nathaniel, who—while scoffing—goes to see to Jesus anyway and because Jesus
knows him, he decides to follow Jesus too. In all of this we, too, are invited
to “come and see” and to tell what we have seen and heard.
This is how the
Logos, Jesus, God’s Own Best Expression of Godself, is made known – through people
who tell the story. At the end of the first chapter of John, Jesus describes
the process to Nathaniel, it is just like Jacob’s vision of angels ascending
and descending to earth from heaven on a heavenly ladder. God comes to our
world, but no one knows it until, we go and tell. This is how God’s word works:
when people who have discovered God’s love and learned God’s love have also
shared God’s love.
When we tell our
Gospel story it becomes a part of us. The sharing of how God is in our lives
makes us more conscious, more aware of how God is at work in us now. Human
beings are storytellers. We are wired to tell stories because it is how we make
meaning out of living. And we tell these Gospel stories because we are also
wired to be at home with God. We are looking for a home. Looking for a place to
be.
In the middle
of today’s Gospel, Jesus asks the two disciples "What are you looking
for?" That question is for us, too. "What are you looking for?" It’s
kind of an odd question, really. He doesn’t ask "What do you want?"
He asks “What are you looking for?” The
heart of the story that they meet Jesus, and he meets them!
The Gospel is
not just about information. Anyone today can look on Wikipedia, search on Google,
or go to the library and find all the information they want. We don’t lack for
information. No, the Gospel is compelling because it tugs our hearts much as much
as our minds.
Notice that two
disciples did not ask Jesus “what are you doing?” They asked, "Where are
you staying?" Yes, the disciples were curious, but what they are looking
for is a different kind of information.
They are looking for a place to be, a
place to rest, a place—a person with
whom the can “abide.”
And that’s
what we are all looking for—often without knowing it—a place to stay, a place
to be.
Once upon a
time, the poet Kathleen Norris moved to the plains of South Dakota, where her
family had lived and had deep roots. One day, she went to a tavern and had a
conversation with an old cowboy, who sought her out because she was from
"one of the old families." He wanted to tell her about a side saddle
he owned, made by his great grandfather as a wedding present some 150 years before.
She tells of how they mused awhile on the subject of their ancestors, when
suddenly the old man said, "Who are we and where do we come from?"
That's the real question, isn't it? Before Norris could reply, he smiled and
said, "And here we are telling each other lies." "Stories!"
she said, laughing. "Call them stories!" "Stories!" he
nearly shouted back, pounding one hand on the bar. "That's who we
are!"
One of the
things I have discovered and enjoyed the most in my short time with you all at
St. John’s is the variety of stories—encounters with God in Christ in a variety
of ways and places. In this and other congregations, in the thrift store, in homes,
hospitals, and even jails.
Jesus turned
to Andrew and the Beloved Disciple and asked them "What are you looking
for?" To people who wondered if they had a place in God’s story, Jesus
said “Come and see.”
The thing
that moves people from "What are you looking for?" to "Come and
see" to proclaiming to others “We have found the Messiah!” is the story
the church is called to tell. It is, in fact, the only story the church
has to tell! For all the things we do, for all the activity, for all our programming,
and worship, the only thing we have to offer is the story of our home, from
which we draw hope, strength, and power. The home to which we invite people to
“come and see” is a person, Jesus Christ, and the best way to tell his story,
without apology and never watered down and perhaps the only way to do that is with
our lives.
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