What stories do you have to tell? What stories about the ways that God is at work in your life, about what you’ve seen and experienced? What stories of joys and struggles? What stories do you share; which ones do you keep buried deep inside? What stories do you have to tell?
During this little sojourn in Oberlin, I’ve been volunteering at the local retirement community. Almost everyone I visit has at least a bachelor’s degree and have worked in all kinds of jobs. They’ve been, literally, around the world. They're in their late 80's and 90's and they have had so many experiences. They have stories to tell. And my job is to listen. Week after week, I’ve been amazed, awed, and inspired.
Over the past several weeks, the Wild Word Project blog has had guest bloggers on Wednesdays. They’ve shared stories about the ways they’ve seen God at work in the world. The stories will continue to come. Whether it’s here at church, or at dinner on a Friday night, or on Facebook or a blog, we all have stories to share. Happy and incredibly sad. Dramatic and mundane. God is at work in this world in and through and around us. So what stories do you share?
A few weeks ago, we saw Toni Morrison in Oberlin. Her first grade teacher, who is now 101, was in the front row. Ms. Morrison read from her new book and answered questions--both from the moderator and from students--about writing and living with her characters and letting them go. Someone asked her about the relationship she had with her mother. She responded that she had a relationship that was by no means perfect. They disagreed and argued. But, she knew she was loved. “And,” she said, looking out at an auditorium filled with hundreds of people, “if my mother was talking in this crowded room, I would be able to hear her voice.” This world-renowned author spoke of her process and her books and her incredibly complex characters, and yet, that is what sticks in my head from that night. In a room filled with hundreds, I could hear my mother’s voice.
And it got me thinking about today. And this week. What voice do you hear above all the rest? What story sticks out for you?
There are plenty of stories to hear, aren’t there? Stories of tension--among neighbors or politicians or countries. Stories of deep grief--among those who mourn the loss of spouses or children or parents or friends. Among those who mourn the loss due to violence or famine or curable disease. Lives that end much too young. Lives that are ruined for one dumb decision. Stories of war and distrust and discord. Misguided assumptions that lead to deep hurt. Stories of rising seas in some places and drought in others. Unemployment and hunger and checks that just can’t be stretched until the end of the month. Stories that make us wonder what is going on and when will it end and what can we do.
Two thousand years ago, a young man, who some saw as a trouble maker and rebel rouser, who others saw as a prophet and teacher and one who could cure, told his disciples to find a donkey and her colt so that, according to Matthew, the prophecy might be fulfilled. And the disciples put their cloaks on them and he sat on the donkey, riding into Jerusalem, on a path which people covered with their cloaks and palm branches. And those crowds shouted hosanna. Hosanna, in the Hebrew those first century Jews spoke, meant “Save us now.”
From what did they want to be saved? From oppressive government, from slavery, from fear? From hunger, from disease, from the questions that kept them up at night? We do not know. We only know their cries, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” They trusted, that day, that he was Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee. What stories had they heard? What stories did they tell themselves? About him? About themselves?
The stories fly all around us. Some are true and some are not. Some are the stories we tell ourselves in order to get by. Some are the stories that make us strong. That make us who we are. For better or for worse.
And in the midst of all of those stories--the true one and the false; the beautiful and the incredibly sad; the ones that tear at our heartstrings and bring tears to our eyes--into the midst of all of them, enters the one whom we know as Christ. The story teller and the one about whom we tell the greatest story ever told. Into the midst of all of these stories comes Jesus, the word made flesh who lives among us. Son of David. Savior. Messiah. Son of Man and Son of God.
Perhaps it is during this week, the one that begins with the cries of “Save us now,” that we hear his story most clearly. The story of his last days. His triumphant entry into Jerusalem and his trial. The dinner he shared with his disciples and the way he got down on his knees and washed their feet. We hear the story of the one who betrayed him. The stories of the journey to the cross. The last words and the last breath. These stories that are the cornerstone of our faith. These stories that form the only foundation that has any chance of holding us up in the moments of deepest despair. It is this week that God’s story rings clear and true, amidst all of the other stuff that threatens to get in the way. This is the voice that we hear during this Holy Week--the story of the one that would not stop even at death to save us. Who could not be held back, even by a tomb.
This is the week, perhaps, we hear it most clearly. The love. The passion. The grace. The mercy. That all of this--the trial, the death, the resurrection--is for us. For each of us. No matter what story we tell about ourselves. No matter what story others tell about us. No matter what. This is for you.
Easter is coming. But before we skip ahead to next Sunday, we pause to listen, to hear once again, the stories of Thursday and Friday. We’ll gather at the table, as Christians have done for 100,000 Sundays and then some. We’ll hear the words of forgiveness. We’ll sit in a sanctuary stripped of its decoration. And we’ll hear once again the greatest story ever told. Of giving everything for us. The story that is full of promise. That is full of hope. The story that rings clear and true for us. This week. And every week. Each and every single day of our lives. Easter is coming.
Perhaps you’ve seen this video already. But even if you have, it’s worth watching again. It was created by David Lose and Karoline Lewis at Luther Seminary. It tells the story as the world would have us hear it, and the story as it is turned upside down.
So which story will you tell? The one the world would have us tell? Or the one that turns the world upside down?
Amen.
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