Christmas Story 2018

Click the link for a pdf file of

No Strangers

My Christmas story for 2018.

Enjoy.

Sixth Week of Lent: The Star Thrower

Once in a lifetime, perhaps, one escapes the actual confines of the flesh.Once in a lifetime, if one is lucky, one so merges with sunlight and air and running water that whole eons,the eons that mountains and deserts know, might pass in a single afternoon without discomfort.

-Loren Eiseley

Stories are the lifeblood of the spirit. I have a handful of such stories that have formed, informed, and built my life over the past 45 years. The wondrous preacher Fred Craddock, the amazing Tony Campolo, pastoral care guru Howard Clinebell all contributed. Only Loren Eiseley contributed a unique and enduring story in the midst of some of the most scientifically enriching writings of his day.

Loren Eiseley was called a spiritual wanderer and naturalist in the title of a 1986 essay by Joan Rosen in the Language Arts Journal of Michigan. Rosen wrote:

Nature is Loren Eiseley's teacher. In the creatures of the natural world, in the stars, in the flora and fauna, he witnesses the miracles and wonders of the ages…. [When Eiseley] describes Thoreau as "a spiritual wanderer through the deserts of the modern world” in "Thoreau's Vision of the Natural World" in the essay collection The Star Thrower he is describing himself.

Trained as an anthropologist he had a poet’s feel for words and an amazing eye for the unique and wondrous things of the world. Some quotes from Eiseley that shape his ideas and his incredible spirituality:

If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water

he wrote about the very beginnings of life on our planet, coming out of the primal seas. But there was a growing of life that at some point produced the human race and then:

For the first time in four billion years a living creature had contemplated himself and heard with a sudden, unaccountable loneliness, the whisper of the wind in the night reeds.

That loneliness, sadly, can turn to hubris. The result as we are seeing can be dangerous. Eiseley, who died over 40 years ago saw it coming:

When man becomes greater than nature, nature, which gave us birth, will respond.

Humanity is on an incredible pilgrimage within nature, as Thoreau and Leopold, Dillard and Olson have seen. It is not easy and never ends. Eiseley was one of the tour guides for me.

The journey is difficult, immense. We will travel as far as we can, but we cannot in one lifetime see all that we would like to see or to learn all that we hunger to know.

Of all the descendants of Thoreau, Loren Eiseley stands alone in my estimation. Some of his anthropology and science have been changed in these 40 years. We have broader and deeper understandings of the world and how we have come to be where we are. But his foundation is as unshaken as it was when I first read him well over 45 years ago. He calls us to pay attention equally to both the little and big things. He calls us to be aware- mindful in our 21st Century language- of what we do and how we live. He calls us to see within us the spirit of one greater than ourselves.

His greatest story, told and retold countless times over these years, often without attribution, has become almost a trite motivational trope. I found a number of “quotes” that were supposedly from Eiseley, but are paraphrases, retellings of retellings of the original. It is powerful, mind-boggling, and more than just a nice motivational story. It is the story of our calling as humans with nature and each other. Here is a very short version of "The Star Thrower." What a perfect way to prepare for Easter in a week and a half:

In a pool of sand and silt a starfish had thrust its arms up stiffly and was holding its body away from the stifling mud.

"It's still alive," I ventured.

"Yes," he said, and with a quick yet gentle movement he picked up the star and spun it over my head and far out into the sea. It sunk in a burst of spume, and the waters roared once more.

..."There are not many who come this far," I said, groping in a sudden embarrassment for words. "Do you collect?"

"Only like this," he said softly, gesturing amidst the wreckage of the shore. "And only for the living." He stooped again, oblivious of my curiosity, and skipped another star neatly across the water. "The stars," he said, "throw well. One can help them."

I had seen the star thrower cross that rift and he had reasserted the human right to define his own frontier. He had moved to the utmost edge of natural being. I had been unbelieving, hardened by the indifference of maturity. I arose with a solitary mission, to find the star thrower beneath his rainbow. I found him on a projecting point of land in the sweet rain-swept morning. Silently, I sought and picked up a still-living star, spinning it far out into the wave. I spoke once briefly. “I understand,” I said, “call me another thrower.” Only then I allowed myself to think. He is not alone any longer. After us there will be others. We were part of the rainbow – like the drawing of a circle in men’s minds, the circle of perfection.

I picked and flung another star. I could feel the movement in my body. It was like a sowing – the sowing of life on an infinitely gigantic scale. I looked back over my shoulder, and small and dark against the receding rainbow, the star thrower stooped and flung one more. I never looked back again. The task we assumed was too immense for gazing. I flung and flung again while all about us roared the insatiable waters of death, the burning sun, for it was men as well as starfish that we sought to save, a thrower who loved not man, but life. -Link

The Loren Eiseley Society.

All About Grace- An Audio Version

Last Sunday I posted the text of my sermon from that morning. It was a short story about grace and Jesus. I recorded it on my iPhone and then added some stock and my own photos and posted it on You Tube. If you want to hear me tell the story, just click below.

All About Grace- A Story

I preached this morning, something I don't get to do as much any more. I was in the mood to write a short story. The scriptures pointed me to the ideal of grace. Here it is for your reading.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always enjoyed novels and stories. They are a way to listen, share, and learn. They can sneak in the back door with truth. Jesus told stories, but we call them "parables." They share truth even through stories of things that never happened. For many years I wrote a story every Christmas for the candlelight service. As I prepared for today a theme came up on the Internet on one of those idea seeds and I said- yep! The theme was a historical story in a woodworking shop with a scale.

As I started to write I saw this woodworking area that was part of the courtyard of an ancient house. It would be wrong to call it a “shop” as it was just a wide area on the side of the house. It was well arranged and, like the house, it had a good roof, as much for a place to sleep outside in summer as to keep out the sun and the winter rains.

Various tools of the time were scattered. We might recognize some of them- and wonder how anyone could do such fine work with such primitive tools. But have no fear, years of training, apprenticeship, and then hard work do work miracles. There was no workbench. That came much later in history. The Craftsman, and his sons, worked on the ground, bending, kneeling or sitting. Different projects at different stages of progress stood against the wall of the house or leaned against one of the poles that held up the roof. For one, the plow from their neighbor Avram had hit a stone too big to pass by. He would be repairing its gash. Door frames for the new doors for the synagogue were curing in the sun.

But what caught everyone’s attention when they stopped by was the smell of the fine cedar wood The Craftsman was using for his most important task in months. He was to build a new box for the synagogue. It was to be the place where the Torah scrolls were housed between the Sabbaths. In a couple hundred years these boxes would be known as “Arks” after the Holy of Holies at the Temple. In those days, though, the great Temple in Jerusalem was still the center of religious life and no one would even consider using that name for a mere local synagogue. Synagogues were not for worship as we know it- and as Jerusalem described it. The regular pilgrimages to the Temple provided the central rituals of sacrificial worship. Jerusalem was for true worship. Synagogues were more like schools. They were places to hear the Torah read and explained. At that time in history they were not much more than large rooms, maybe 30 feet by 30 feet. Benches sat along the walls with the local copy of the Torah- the five books of Moses- kept safely in a wooden box- brought out on the Sabbath when the community came together to hear and learn.

It wasn’t a large town. It sat on a hillside about 12 miles from the nearby Sea and surrounded by farming land. The 400 or so inhabitants were more like an extended family than a modern village. Humble, poor- and proud of their heritage, the new box for the scroll was a noteworthy addition after the old one had finally fallen apart. They had raised enough support to import this fine cedar wood from Lebanon. The Craftsman, the local woodworker, was chosen to make it instead of going to a nearby city where the care and respect wouldn’t have the same value attached to it.

The Craftsman’s two boys were most interested in that Torah chest. The expensive cedar showed that it was important- and holy. It was connected with the one God. The Shema, “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One”, was the first creed of their faith; and those mighty words were on that scroll.

“Abba,” said the older son as he ran his fingers along the fine piece of cedar wood. “I know the Torah is from Moses; and Adonai, the Lord God, blessed be His Name, gave Moses the Aseret ha-D’varim.” (That’s the phrase the Torah uses to refer to what we call the Ten Commandments.)

“Yes, my son,” the father smiled. He enjoyed it when his sons showed interest in the Torah. They would grow into fine men of the faith. “As we heard from the Psalm last Sabbath, the words of ‘Adonai are more desirable than gold, yes, than much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and the drippings of the honeycomb…’ ”
“Why, then, Abba, are they called simply the ten d’varim and not the ten mitzvoth?” (In English d’vrim is translated “sayings” or “words”. Mitzvoth are “commandments.”)

“Are these ten, then, NOT mitzvoth, ten requirements like all the other 600 mitzvoth?”

The Craftsman paused a moment and walked over to the piece of wood his son was admiring and touched it gently. “You are wise, my son, to have figured that out. It is an important piece of wisdom.”

The boy beamed- as any child would when given such praise by their father.

“Does that mean they are not mitzvoth and we don’t have to obey them?” the younger boy asked. “Obeying them makes us righteous, doesn’t it, father?”

The Craftsman glanced beyond the courtyard to the hills outside the city. He was remembering one of his neighbors when he and their son were young.

“You know Miriam who lives up the hill over there,” he pointed. She and Yosef, may his memory be blessed, had a son my age. Yeshua. We spent a lot of time together. There was this one Passover when we all traveled to Jerusalem. On the way home we couldn’t find Yeshua. It turned out that he had simply been sitting in the Temple listening to the elders.” The Craftsman smiles and shakes his head remembering. “No one wanted to rebuke him for something as holy as that. All saw Yeshua’s joy at having spent that time there.”

The Craftsman’s son nodded, no doubt thinking, "Yes, Abba. Get on with it." He had heard the story many times. It was part of the folklore of their town.

“Yeshua was quiet at first as we finally headed home,” the Craftsman continued.

“About a day from home we passed by Samaria. I made some kind of childish comment about the Samaritans not being righteous people because they have a different Torah, not the real one like we do.

“Yeshua stopped and pulled me aside. ‘Oh, Baruch,’ he said, shaking his head sadly. ‘We are all part of the same people in the heart of Adonai, blessed be his name. The Torah is words. They give us a way to know what Abba Adonai wants us to do. But righteousness is not following laws. It is living and being open to the ways of the Lord God- in spirit more even than in word.’

“I was upset at what Yeshua was saying. I looked around to make sure that none of the adults heard him. ‘But how will Adonai know we are his people if we don’t follow his mitzvoth?’ I asked. ‘How can the people of God stay together if we lie to each other, steal from each other, are envious of what others have?’ ”

“Just then a young boy came running at us from the village we were passing. He was a little older than us- and was obviously a Samaritan- our people didn’t live near there. We could hear him crying for help. One of his sheep had strayed and was caught in a thicket. ‘Help me,’ he kept yelling. ‘My family needs that lamb.’ Yeshua started toward the boy. I called to him, urging him to stay away. ‘He is unclean, Yeshua. Our parents will be angry. We can’t go near him.’

“Yeshua ignored me. I was afraid- I didn’t want to become unclean. I stood there and watched as Yeshua went with the boy toward a bunch of branches. Together they worked and got the lamb out of the thicket. It was a little ragged, but it survived its ordeal.

“All I did was stand there,” said the Craftsman. “I stood and was afraid of Adonai because Yeshua had just broken a command. How would he be punished?” Baruch stopped talking and rubbed his hand gently across the cedar wood. He turned to see both his sons looking puzzled. They had never heard this part of the story before.

“What happened, Abba? Did Yeshua get punished?”

Baruch smiled. “No, my sons. We never told anyone. As I watched him that day I knew Yeshua was right- the joy on the Samaritan boy’s face was enough to convince me. Yeshua never questioned what he should do. He just went and did it., I learned that day that to be righteous is not in words or reciting mitzvoth. To be a righteous one is to do what is right to help another.”

“But Abba, some say Yeshua is not a righteous one. They say he leads people away from the Torah with wrong teachings. Remember last year when people chased him from town?”

The Craftsman did remember that painful Sabbath. “I don’t know about those things, my son, though I, too have heard people say that. Many do not like to have their beliefs tested or challenged. Especially about things like the Torah. I learned much from Yeshua when we were growing up. He was a good friend and showed great compassion. I even learned to love the words of the Torah even more because of him. He showed me that they are alive.”

His sons gave another confused look.

“Someday you will understand what that means,” the Craftsman smiled. “These words are priceless. When we say them out loud how many shekels could you pay to get them?”

“You can’t weigh them," the one son responded. "They are just, well, words”

“Correct. They are air and my scale over there couldn’t ever weigh them. There’s nothing there. But they are alive and real when we as the people of Adonai live them. To make them into dead laws kills them. They are far more important than that. They won’t get us into heaven, only the Holy One, blessed be his name, can do that. But he gave Moses these words so we can find the way.”

The Craftsman rubbed his hand across the cedar and smiled then held it out to the boys. “Smell this, my sons. One day soon this will be the fine smell of our Torah, absorbed into it and always there to smell. Then, when you smell cedar it will remind you to breathe in the wonder of these holy words.”

“I smell fresh bread. When’s lunch, Abba,” the younger boy piped in. “I’m tired and hot.”

The Craftsman laughed as he put his arms around the boys. “That, too, is a holy smell from the house. Let’s eat!”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Note: I recorded the sermon on audio. I may put it together as a You Tube presentation. Will post it if I do.] 

Shameless Self-Promotion

It is now available for you, your family, your friends. I have published my Christmas Eve stories and reflections through Amazon. It is available as

a hard copy book and as

a Kindle eBook.

The Tuning Slide- Making It a Story

Weekly Reflections on Life and Music

Where words fail, music speaks.

― Hans Christian Andersen

Who knows what Frank Foster had in mind when he wrote the wonderful Blues in Hoss' Flat or what Count Basie thought as he put together the band playing the number? It is a fine tune with lots of style, flair and pure joy. Most of us don't think much about the meaning behind the songs we hear or play, especially if they are instrumental. It is just a song.

But don't say that too loud. Music has probably been telling stories since the first cave dweller pounded in some sort of primitive time. Last year at the Big Band Camp at Shell Lake we did the Blues in Hoss' Flat. But first we watched this video- a classic by Jerry Lewis from his movie, The Errand Boy. Take a couple minutes and enjoy it.

Lewis is, of course, pantomiming a "chairman of the board" leading a meeting. Does it help to know that the original Basie album was titled Chairman of the Board? Even if it doesn't, Lewis' interpretation is a wonder to watch. I can never hear the number without this pantomime playing in my head as well.

My first real introduction to "serious" music appreciation was back in junior high (dates me, huh?) when the music teacher dropped the needle at the start of an instrumental piece. She gave us the simple instruction, "What do you hear?" No name, no introduction, just that question. Through the speaker came the opening bars of one of the great works of American music of the 20th Century, An American in Paris. It didn't take me long, even with my 7th grade ears, to hear a street scene, car horns and soon I saw people scurrying to and fro. After a few minutes, she stopped and asked what we heard. I don't remember what anyone else said. I'm not sure I even said anything myself. But when she told us the name and what Gershwin was doing I was blown away.

I had heard the story in the music. I had heard what the composer was trying to tell me without having words get in the way. That one day in class 55 years ago changed my life. I don't always hear stories in the music I listen to. Sometimes I look at the name a composer gave to a song and try to put it to the music. For example, I don't know what Miles had in mind when he titled one of his numbers, Solar. But I hear the sun and energy, light and bright skies when I listen. But then Bruce Hornsby, Christian McBride, and Jack Dejohnette put a different arrangement of the same song on their album, Camp Meeting. Now the sun and light and energy are placed in a different context. I still see the power and light, but now it's in the spiritual context of a tent or camp meeting. Same notes, same basic song - but now a whole new story is being told.

Isn't that what we try to do when we play? More on this sometime in the new year. For the next few weeks spend some quality time listening to instrumentals, stories without words, and find the stories they tell you.

You're Right... Too.

Listening to the re-broadcast on Prairie Home Companion last evening made me think of an old Yiddish story.

Two men come to their Rabbi to have him solve an argument they've been having. The first man told his side of the story, explaining it well.

"You're right," said the Rabbi. "Let me hear the other side."

The second man then explained his side of the story, also explained clearly and well.

"Hmmm," said the Rabbi thoughtfully. "You're right."

At that the Rabbi's right hand man leaned over and whispered in his master's ear. "Rabbi. They can't both be right."

The Rabbi took but a moment and looked at his assistant. "You're right."

Garrison told a story from Lake Wobegon about the local town council arguing who was to pay for the capture and relocation of a bear that had been wandering town. One side, the interventionists, he called them, felt it was essential to spend the money to protect the children of the community. "If even one child's life is saved," they argued, "it will be worth more than we have to pay."

The laissez-faire side, argued however, that it far more important to teach the children to watch out for bears and how to avoid them. After all, there will be other bears in life.

He thought it was a wonderful argument and discussion. Why? Because it was an argument in which both sides were right!

Which reminded me of many of our current political discussions in which one side must, absolutely MUST be wrong and the other side MUST be right. The facts or nuances be damned.

But sometimes, perhaps more often than we are willing to admit, both sides are right. That is the truth as I have often seen it, because each side does have a piece of the truth. No one usually has all the truth, but isn't that how we make honest, informed decisions? Isn't it when people are willing to look at both sides as having truth in them that we can find the ground of agreement instead of always and forever finding the grounds of disagreement?

It is the only way to truly run a democracy since, by definition, bot sides of the argument are often made up of people whose opinion is important to bring to the debate. Both sides are right and deserve to be heard and respected.

Perhaps I'm just a dreamer, but we have 37 days until the mid-term elections. Do you think we might have some of this willingness to listen and discuss happen?

A Great Weekend

Spent a four-day weekend in the Twin Cities, doing some fun things. But before we left I had my first gig of the summer with the Rochester Salvation Army, celebrating Donut Day. I stayed calm- and watched a lot of donuts being enjoyed.

Friday evening went to see the movie, Chef. Don't miss it. It is fun and engaging with excellent cinematography of food. It also has a heart-warming story. Nothing radical or revolutionary. Just a very well-done story that makes you feel good.


While at the Guthrie Theater on Saturday we got a good look at the mighty Mississippi. It was tearing across St. Anthony Falls and under the stone arch bridge like there was no tomorrow.

 

Sunday was a baseball day. Too bad the Twins lost, but it was still fun being there in the spring sun. Lots of jumping around, though.

Monday we first went to Como Conservatory. As usual the flowers were magnificent. The second picture below is a Bonsai bougainvillea in bloom. The white wall behind it and the light makes it look like a ceramic model. No, it was as real and as stunning (if not more) than the picture shows.

Finally, a stop at the Mall of America where the GRAMMY Museum of LA has a traveling exhibition of The Beatles. I had to try the guitar with skiffle great Lonnie Donegan and sit at Ringo's drums. Hey, compared to the still living Beatles, I'm still young.

Still the Better Story

As Christmas looms, the story is still reverberating in my wandering mind. I posted a few weeks ago about looking for the “real” Christmas, getting past the greeting card sentimentality to something with substance.

Then I saw Life of Pi and found my thoughts broken into new perspectives and rewired. The power and truth of “story” was the theme, of course.  The importance of “truth” beneath, beyond, and yet infused with some semblance of fact and connection. (It was a movie far deeper and yet more accessible than last year’s Tree of Life. But I wander.)

I got this far in that post:

None happened as we see it
No matter how hard we try to preserve
Christmas
or try to keep Christ there.
It was dark until the angels called
the shepherds out of their fear.
Then it was dark again.

And then I realized that such a story won’t get us closer to God. It lacks the mysterious, the mystical.

It needs both visions working together to be real. 

Truthful.

For both are true. 

The darkness was real and palpable to those shepherds both before AND after they angels sang their promise of “Peace on Earth.” Hatred was as real both before AND after the angels chanted “goodwill to all.”

What then is “The Better Story?”

A Virgin winces in childbirth

Kept company by her betrothed and no doubt a midwife.

No room in the Inn meant a respite from the crowds and the possibility

Of privacy for this unique first-born’s moments.

No noisy nosy bystanders. Just a Holy Family for all holy families to come.

Which is the story that will lead us to believe in God?

Shepherds bored in the nearby hills, wincing from the sudden light

Changing this from one more dark and lonely night.

Common people with an uncommon visitation news that

For them and all common folk a savior has been born.

They and they alone are there, stand-ins for you and anyone who might need that news.

 Which story do I want to believe?

God, wrapped in strips of cloth, Comforted and

Held in safety and compassion by a

Loving Mother as he feeds and she stares in awe.

Like any Imah or Abba, Mommy or Daddy watching the

Fruits of Creation, breathing, falling asleep with no care.

Unaware of the commotion of life or the lack of peace

He has come to transform.

 The beginning of a

Revolution of faith that even now we fail to grasp. Even now

We try to rewrite it into a different story. One that contains too many attempts

At finding just-the-facts .

But here we rediscover the importance of The Story. 

The Story of Christmas

Christ’s Mass

Nativity- The Birth-

Filled not with “facts” but with “Truth” shining like a

Many-pointed Star, in any and all directions,

Unlimited;

Infinite;

All-encompassing;

Swaddling humanity in strips of the eternal cloth

Of Grace and Love.

May the peace and joy of Christmas be reborn in you this year, hearing the story as it leads us all, again, to believe in God.

Merry Christmas.

Ken Burns On Story

The documentary movie maker who redefined documentaries on PBS talks about story. Story! The way to tell the truth and make sense with it. Whether it is a documentary or "fiction" story, the truth will shine when we find that connection.

Chaplain Mike at Internet Monk had a wonderful quote from one of my favorite writers- Frederick Buechner. It says so much about the power of story- and truth.

The Gospel is bad news before it is good news. It is the news that man is a sinner, to use the old word, that he is evil in the imagination of his heart, that when he looks in the mirror all in a lather what he sees is at least eight parts chicken, phony, slob. That is the tragedy. But it is also the news that he is loved anyway, cherished, forgiven, bleeding to be sure, but also bled for. That is the comedy. And yet, so what? So what if even in his sin the slob is loved and forgiven when the very mark and substance of his sin and of his slobbery is that he keeps turning down the love and forgiveness because he doesn’t believe them or doesn’t want them or just doesn’t give a damn? In answer, the news of the Gospel is that extraordinary things happen. Henry Ward Beecher cheats on his wife, his God, himself, but manages to keep bringing the Gospel to life for people anyway, maybe even for himself. Lear goes berserk on a heath but comes out of it for a few brief hours every inch a king. Zaccheus climbs up a sycamore tree a crook and climbs down a saint. Paul sets out a hatchet man for the Pharisees and comes back a fool for Christ. It is impossible for anybody to leave behind the darkness of the world he carries on his back like a snail, but for God all things are possible. That is the fairy tale. All together they are the truth.

• Telling the Truth, p. 7f

No Juice

I mentioned yesterday the talk by author Kent Nerburn from last week. He spent a little time talking about telling stories (of which he is a master!) He talked about once being told that philosophy was

stories with all the juice squeezed out.

He went on to say that stories are essential to people and their self-identities. Which is why stories are neither fact nor fiction- they are far more important than that. Jesus' parables are perhaps the best examples in history of the truth of that. When asked many a question, Jesus would answer with a parable- a story- that was far more real and profound than simply a bunch of facts or expository sermon.

Even some of the most profound of his teachings are found in the context of a story. Think, for example, of the amazing power of John 3 which gains its power because it is in the midst of a story that illustrates it.

We must continue to tell stories, true stories of hope and peace, life and grace. We need them in this oh so difficult world.

Watching Radio - Again

Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion were in Rochester, MN, last Saturday for their live show. If you listened, that was me applauding from Row BB in the upper level. What fun it was. Keillor is such a charming host and his style exudes calm and wonder, tinged with irony for good measure.

What struck me first was that his warm-up is just like the show. About 4 years ago we went to the Letterman show in New York. There the warm-up was noisy and boisterous. Jokes got us going. Yelling and cheering and clapping along with the band playing loud music. Just exactly what you would expect on a TV show.

But the PHC warm-up was Keillor coming out on stage, talking in his down-home style, then singing a couple of duets Andra Suchy as they walked up the center aisle. In other words it was just like the show.

Link to picture of warm-up duet.

The second neat thing was watching him pace around the stage when he wasn't on himself. he's watching and checking and talking to a stage manager. He would then sit and listen to the music. Then he would roam a little more moving to the music being played. He truly seems to enjoy what he is doing and likes the music. His foot is always tapping time, even swinging out and stomping a little as he started the opening theme.

Probably the neatest part was watching him tell the News from Lake Wobegon. He stands center stage front and starts talking. He roamed back toward a music stand two times, seeming to check an obviously very short outline. No notes in hand; no apparent script. He just tells us the story. At one point he moves around front and sits on a park bench, leaning back and talking as if it was just coming out of his head for the first time.

Link to picture of GK on the park bench.

Such storytelling is a lost art. To see someone like Keillor do it is to have your faith renewed in the possibilities of stories as an oral medium.

Then, there was even a 5-7 minute post-show song with the local singers, Sweet Dreams. It was nothing short of wonderful.

Link to picture of GK with Sweet Dreams after show.

All in all, it sure is fun to watch radio.

Link to page of last week's show: Zumbro Olmsted and The Mighty Mayo

The Mystery of Writing

I just finished Stephen King's writing memoir, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. It is an easy read and actually a lot of fun. It originally was published ten years ago now and was finished as he was recuperating from a near fatal accident when he was hit by a van while walking along a back road in Maine. The first part is a memoir of his youth and writing career. He then spends most of his time talking about the craft of writing and then ends with recounting the accident and how, in essence, writing got him through.

There was not a lot in the book that I didn't know about writing. He covers in his own unique style some of the important tools of writing- grammar, theme, etc. But what was refreshing about the book was his personal approach and a reaffirmation for me of the craft of writing.

One particular piece was affirming to my own style of writing stories. I have often described it as while stories flow from the imagination, they also have a life of their own. Each story has a plot line, or a starting point, or even a vague understanding of where it might be going. But sooner or later in the crafting of the story it gets out of hand. The characters begin to say or do things that no one, least of all the writer, expected. People appear and disappear but the story continues on to its appropriate ending.

King described a very similar process. He talks about it as it was an archaeological dig, unearthing things that are hidden. In the action of putting words down in some sequence or theme, the writer is actually digging through the story and telling it, describing what he or she sees.

In the end, as I have said before, these stories can often be far more true than any collection of facts. They go beyond facts to the truths- paradigms, hopes, fears, myths, wisdom- of humanity.

A New Story - 20th Anniversary

This year is the 20th anniversary of the first in a long series of Christmas Eve stories. Christmas Eve, 1989, I decided that instead of a short homily for the Christmas Eve Candle Service I would write a story. The idea came when we took our daughter and a friend to see the movie Prancer. A line jumped out at me about the baby Jesus from the school's nativity scene was lost. I thought, "A Lost Jesus" and a story was begun.

Come Christmas Eve that year I pulled a stool into the center of the chancel while the congregation looked at me as if I had lost my mind. I gave some brief introduction about this being my Christmas gift to them, sat down and told the story. I skipped the next year and then wrote another in 1991- and didn't stop. It became a Christmas Eve tradition. Even non-members mentioned it to me recently when I was back for a funeral.

We moved in 1999 and the tradition continued through 2003. That was the last story when I went into "secular ministry" outside the parish January 1, 2004. So, it has been six years since I last wrote a Christmas Eve story. One kind of started a year or so ago, but it went nowhere. I decided that this year it would. A couple weeks ago I sat down and started to write.

Then I realized that I am preaching this Sunday in Waconia. I was going to take one of the old ones and share it. But why? Here is a new and perfectly good one. Why not?

So a tradition is renewed. I will tell the new story this Sunday. I am kind of surprised by how excited I am by it. I know the people in this congregation have no idea what this would be all about. It's not part of their tradition. But it is mine and I hope that a story can give some new insights.

After all, stories are where dreams and visions can be brought to light. It is where Truth can be experienced and shared in ways that don't have to be limited. I have written here a number of times about the power and importance of stories. I hope that some of that will come through on Sunday.

Maybe someday I will even work on some stories that are not just for Christmas anymore.

Happy Stories are Uninteresting

Movie director and writer Judd Apatow (Knocked Up, 40-Year Old Virgin, Funny People) was on NPR's Fresh Air last week. Terry Gross asked him about the unhappy, dysfunctional and odd stories that he tells. His answer was simple. He essentially said that happy stories don't make for good drama or tension or even good comedy. They leave no room for movement, growth, or failure.

Although I generally agree from a literature/story/drama point of view I am not sure that this need always be the case.

Most of our stories, if we told them in a straight-forward way would not elicit a lot of interest. Just think about the times you had to watch someone's home movies, slides, or baby pictures. That's because most of us tell our story in a way that emphasizes the sameness, the every-day-is-pretty-much-the-same idea. Even when we try to make it sound interesting, well, it isn't. I have a hunch that part of the reason for that is that we live in the middle of that life and it doesn't look odd or strange.

I thought about that a little the other week when writer Frank McCourt died. His powerful book, Angela's Ashes was not a story of a happy childhood. Alcoholism, poverty, abuse. The elements of dysfunction show up in abundance. His ability to overcome them and become the teacher, author, and human being he became becomes a success story. Even with a happy ending, it is still a story of drama.

But most of us can't look at our lives that clearly. For several years I have been wrestling with a memoir. I realize that my story is not one of great tragedy or great triumph. Most of the time I see my life as having been putting one foot in front of the other and trying my best to do the next right thing. Generally successfully. Even my pre-recovery drunk-a-logue is fairly pedestrian.

But the idea of a "new story" that I posted yesterday has opened the doors again. Life is not a series of BIG THINGS making for great drama. Life is doing what comes along- and then reflecting on and learning from those events. In the sameness of our stories can be the mirror that reflects to each of us the way has been led and unfolded.

In other words, insight and observation with a different eye can move us into the meaning and challenge of life. It can reveal new truths hidden in facts long assumed as common. It can reveal new depths of moving water underneath seemingly quiet pools and lakes of memory.

Fortunately, that doesn't take dysfunction or tragedy. It simply takes being awake- emotionally, spiritually- in whatever ways we can. To look and see, to listen and hear, to touch and feel- become the ways we wander on our own pilgrimages through our own version of life.

A New Story is Always Ready to Be Written

From William Alexander:

What's your new story? In the darkness, where we've put the discarded parts of our selves- not the least being the guardian angel, assumed to be a self-indulgent phantom... left over from the magical thinking of childhood. I believe that as elders, if we are fortunate and do the work, that very mind of the forgotten child, ever present, awaits just beneath consciousness.

--William Alexander, Hi, I'm Bill and I'm Old. Hazelden, 2008.

But the new story? It is not rootless- or it shouldn't be. It is clearly based on something- that magical thinking of childhood. When one takes time as age makes time shorter, we will discover what we have always known- about ourselves and our world and never have been able to see. We discover serendipities and synchronicities. We discover the stories, shaped by The Story, that prodded us forward without knowing.

We may even discover our guardian angel that has been hovering just out of sight. We will hear the movement of the air that allows us to move forward.

Back to Alexander:

Now that I am old, the walls have fallen away and the masks have turned to dust. What's left, if I am lucky, is my true character and my true calling revealed.

--William Alexander, Hi, I'm Bill and I'm Old. Hazelden, 2008.

In the end the new story always ready to be written is the one we have been working on since we knew how to move in the direction life calls us. It is always new for what we have done cannot be changed. All we have to write in is today. Not a bad place to be.

Truer Than Truth

I was watching one of the TED talks the other day from Isabel Allende, one of my favorite writers. She started out by quoting the old Hasidic Jewish question:

What is truer than truth?

The answer, as any longtime reader of this blog might guess is:

Story.

Only in story can we truly explore truth in all its dimensions. Only in story can we get to the heart of issues and concerns, told with a passion and hope and power that cannot be found when we have to stick to facts.

A number of years ago I was part of a long-running public discussion of homosexuality and the Christian response. Needless to say I was on the side of a more open and accepting approach. In the discussions I eventually got around to telling stories about people I knew and how they felt they were treated by the church. These were true stories, but I told it in a story format.

Was I taken aback when the other side of the discussion challenged me to stick to facts and not bring these stories of people into the discussion. "Why do you always do that?" they asked. They knew, they hinted, that it was hard to respond to issues of the heart. We were responding with emotion as can only be found in story. For people invested in "ministry" to people this was next to impossible to deal with. It becomes an easy cliche then to talk about loving the sinner but hating the sinner, which in the context of the story was hard to explain.

But as I pondered the quote from Allende's talk I found myself asking if it is possible for evil to take center stage in story. That's what, in so many words the others involved in the discussions I was in would have claimed. We were misusing story to further our own, to them wrong, aims.

Those who would ban books might say that it is possible for evil to be presented in story. That's why we must prevent some books from getting into the hands of young people or, in reality, anyone. Some have said that the Harry Potter books, especially in the early years were evil, promoting anti-God behaviors. They were evil.

I would guess that it is more than just possible that those with less that good purposes can write stories that promote bad or wrong or sinful things. We all might be able to name such books. But I am not sure that this as much a worry as we might think. I have a hunch that we know truth when we hear it, especially in story. In fact, probably more likely to be heard in story than in essay or oration.

In short, I think that in the end truth does win out. Even when we don't understand it on an intellectual level but on the level of truth truer than truth.

Story.

To Tell a Better Story
Donald Miller (Blue Like Jazz) has become the postModern evangelical writer to read in the past year or so. I would agree that he has quite a wonderful way of bringing the Gospel to life for this postModern age. Here, from Christianity Today is an example:

"Okay," he starts, "what are some of your favorite movies?"

A murmur of response—"Come on!" Miller encourages—and then people start shouting out titles. The Matrix! A Beautiful Mind! The Straight Story! Finding Nemo! The audience oohs and aahs at each other's choices. Little Women! Napoleon Dynamite! It's a Wonderful Life! The shouting goes on for a while; they forget this is a workshop.

"Okay, great," Miller says, bringing attention front and center. "Now, call out your favorite parts of the Nicene Creed."

Awkward giggles throughout the room—they know they've been had. Then one man pipes up: "It's a wonderful life!"

Miller laughs along with, maybe louder than, everyone in the room. He's enjoying that his point was made for him: We know our movies better than we know our creeds. And now self-help banalities—Your life can be wonderful—compete for our attention with the classic truths of the Christian story.

In the next half hour, Miller delivers a variation on a theme ascendant in evangelical Christianity: Truth is rooted in story, not in rational systems. The Christian mission is not well served when we speak in terms of spiritual laws or rational formulas. Propositional truths, when extracted from a narrative context, lack meaning. "The chief role of a Christian," he says, "is to tell a better story."
--Christianity Today online

Two things struck me in this that really resonated with what I believe.

First, that theology, rational systems, and formulas for faith are empty when separated from their underlying story (experience). That's what I talked about in my sermon Sunday and is a central foundation of how liberation theology's Base Communities returned the Gospel to the people in Latin America. As a Christian we have, as Miller says, "a better story" to tell. It is an all-encompassing story. Religion and spirituality in general have such a story which is what makes them so powerful. These are stories that go beyond- transcend is the fancy word- our daily lives and infuse them with meaning.

The second thing I liked about what Miller said is challenging us to take the story as seriously as we do the stories our culture presents, such as movies and TV shows. We even miss that often these "culture stories" are actually retelling of our story. I still remember the first time I read the 3rd book in Tolkein's Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Return of the King that the language and style was right out of the Christian story of the return of Jesus. It made a great story "better."

I was once asked why I think evangelism is important. Why should I share my faith? My answer was that for me I have heard a story, experienced a reality in that story, that is far more truthful that many truths. It is one that has changed my life and moved me in new directions. If I am so willing to share with others the latest great movie I have seen or the inspiring book I have just finished, why am I so reluctant to share the very roots of my life?

Miller does this well, of course, in his books and lectures. I am glad for the challenge he gives us to live our lives in the story- the better story- the Good News.

A Project Off the Ground
I'm excited. I went to a printer yesterday to begin the final stages of publishing my own book. From 1989 through 2003 I wrote a yearly Christmas Eve story. It became a tradition for me and the congregation back in Wisconsin and I continued it in Minnesota was well. There were a number of attempts to get it published, but to no avail.

Well, with the ease and cost of digital printing - that is going to change this fall. I have put the stories all together along with a few reflections on events that apply and it will be available this October. Prices and information are still up in the air, but it will finally be in print.

Yay!

Maybe it will be the start of a whole new career? But that doesn't really matter. It is neat to think I will be able to share these stories that have meant so much to me and others over the years. Maybe it has something to do with what I posted yesterday from the Neruda poem. The writer's obligation is to do what he or she can to set us all free from whatever it is that imprisons us. Christmas is the start of the Christian version of that.

Neat!