Sunday, June 17, 2012

Storytelling

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Marshall, Texas on Sunday June 17, 2012, the 11th Sunday in Ordinary Time. Happy Father's Day.

Podcast of "Storytelling" (MP3)


1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
Psalm 20
2 Corinthians 5:6-10, 14-17
Mark 4:26-34

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.  Amen

On August 1, 1981, a small cadre of subscribers to one New Jersey cable television provider was introduced to the fledgling moments of what has become a juggernaut. At this moment, the screen showed the launch of the Space Shuttle Columbia on not just its maiden voyage, but the maiden space voyage of the shuttle program. It was followed by shots of the launch of Apollo 11 and still photos of an astronaut looking at a strange flag. The flag, while its logo did not change, its color schemes did. The image was the logo of a brand new cable network. In that moment, using the images of the greatest technological achievements and the greatest journey of exploration humanity has ever known, MTV started its journey.

The first video shown was by a New Wave Synthpop duo called “The Buggles” titled “Video Killed the Radio Star.” How's that for a prophecy?

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Ted Turner isn’t above some sweet adulation. A few years later, Turner started the Cable Music Channel. Turner’s enterprise was geared to play a broader mix of music than MTV’s Rock and Pop format. After only one month of losing money, Turner sold the venture to MTV showing that flattery goes only so far. The Cable Music Channel became the domain of MTV’s first sister venture. Where MTV was geared toward a younger audience, this new venture was geared toward a slightly older audience. Video Hits One, VH1, became the Adult Contemporary version of Music Television.

Soon the MTV family of networks decided that a little variety was in order. Beyond music videos came music video news, live concerts, and concert movies. From this came movies with a rock and roll motif. One of the early examples of the reality TV craze was MTV’s “The Real World.” This eventually devolved into a debacle known as “The Jersey Shore.” Let me just add that if you have never heard of these shows you will become no better informed about life by learning about the MTV Networks versions of this particular genre.

But among these shows is one that allowed musical acts tell the stories behind their songs. “VH1 Storytellers” allowed artists to tell the stories about their music, writing experiences and memories. Then they would perform the song in front of an intimate audience. One of the great things about “Storytellers” is that it would allow bands and songwriters to share details about songs that might otherwise be missing. It would also allow the artist to disavow spurious interpretations of their songs.

There is one singer that may never appear on “Storytellers” because of the importance he places on the listener’s experience. Seal Henry Samuel, more commonly known as Seal, wrote in a set of liner notes that he doesn’t put lyrics to his songs on CD’s because he believes how the listener decodes the music and lyrics is at least as important as the work he puts into writing and recording the songs. Of course no matter how important this was to him years ago, Seal’s lyrics are now found in his CD booklets.

I tell this overly long story to make some points about storytelling. The first point I want to make is that some stories work for some people and don’t for others. If you haven’t paid a hoot-and-a-holler to music on television then this story just bored you to death. You may have wondered where it was going, then again, you might not have cared a lick and prayed I would finish so we can get to Catfish Express early enough to avoid the line. That last phrase was code for the notorious expression “beat the Baptists,” but that’s another point.

The choice of words in telling a story is the difference between making a news report and spinning a yarn. Good storytelling includes words and phrases that mean something more to the listener. We’re church goers, we’re mainline Protestants, we start worship at 11:00 AM; so when I say “beat the Baptists” I’m saying more than just “get to Catfish Express early enough to avoid the line.” That little phrase tells the world not only who we are but who we aren’t. It provides a grain of context to the story that ordinary reporting does not.

This goes to another point, one made by Seal, listening to a story is as important as telling the story. Creating the message is what communication experts call this encoding the message. What the listener does is decoding the message. Further, listening, decoding, is the one element of storytelling the speaker has no control over. I can try to encode, to mold my words to touch everyone, but I know not everyone will decode, will hear the story the same way. This encoding and decoding process is one of the ways storytelling goes awry.

I’ve mentioned context, but culture is another important element to good storytelling. This is where I want to start talking about holy writ. One often shared complaint is that scripture is “no longer relevant.” Now, of course I disagree. What kind of Minister of Word and Sacrament would I be if I didn’t disagree? Now this I will say, the most basic and most important truths of scripture are still quite relevant. The themes of scripture remain true to all human existence too. What may or may not be as relevant are the methods used to share the gospel.

At issue here is that life in the ancient Mid-East under the rule of the Roman Empire is completely different from anything we experience here in 21st Century East Texas. If you say that the geography, topography, and climate of the Texas Hill Country isn’t that different from ancient Palestine I would agree with you. There is some shared reference there. What I would remind you is that in ancient Palestine you couldn’t drive ten miles to the Chevron for an Icee.

Much that seems so obvious to us now meant something different in everyday life in the time of our Lord. One pertinent example is that in the next few months there will be increased chatter among Presbyterians about “biblical marriage.” It is vital to us to note that in Genesis there are several different kinds of “biblical marriage” and only one of them is “one man to one woman.” Frankly, that is the only wedding service the Session will approve in this sanctuary and I’m fine with that, but to say it is the only scriptural form is wrong. This is what happens when we impose the framework of our culture over the words of another.

Culture, context, language; these things fall neatly into the encoding and decoding of the gospel message. If the message is shared in a way that can’t be deciphered by the listener then the message is lost. If it is shared with loaded language then a different message may be sent. When loaded or jargon filled language is used walls can rise before the message can be fully sent. In fact, what I just said about marriage might have proven that very point.

Storytelling is a wonderful way of sharing a message, sharing the gospel, but it is not without its pitfalls.

Mark’s gospel tells us that Jesus chose to speak using parables, ancient stories loaded with broad concepts and multilayered messages. Some people find that very annoying. Some days I find it annoying!

Why didn’t Jesus come right out and say what he meant? Why did he leave behind all these cryptic sayings, loaded with innuendo, destined to be interpreted and reinterpreted, instead of a crisp code of laws or a stack of essays with titles like “How to Be a Good Disciple,” “A Brief Definition of the Kingdom of God” or “Seven Key Features of the Coming Kingdom and What This Means to You.”

Instead we have this culturally ancient, cross-eyed, cryptic, incomplete, awkward, and at times seemingly absurd yet eternally true collection of sayings known as the parables of Jesus.

A list of rules never changes, never adapts. Written essays are like insects encased in amber—beautiful and precisely formed, but no longer vital and alive. It takes the fluid format of a parable—a story that can never be told quite the same way twice—to keep breathing mysterious and glorious new life into the Good News. This way these stories are still vital 2,000 years after they were first told. With their many facets they are far more illusive and mysterious than hard and fast rules.

If you still think Jesus would have gotten his points across better with hard and fast rules, I ask you to remember the last time you sat down and really enjoyed reading Leviticus or the first few chapters of Numbers.

Then consider this; if the hard and fast rules and customs of family status and inheritance were followed in our reading from the Old Testament, the Call of David would never have happened. If Samuel had just anointed the eldest son as tradition dictated, Jesse’s eldest, the boy whose name means “God is Father,” Eliab[1], would have become king. Instead, the Lord is in charge and Samuel follows. He anoints the eighth and youngest son of Jesse. The rules were broken and it worked out pretty well.

We come to know that by preaching to his ancient and modern disciples in parables, Jesus lets us make the Good News become our own story, our own experience. None of us are farmers and few of us are gardeners, yet as we are swept up in these stories about seeds, we ourselves become part of a new parable—the parable of our lives. Taken all together, our individual experiences of the kingdom, our personal stories of God’s work and witness in our lives, end up creating a new gospel.

Know this; we are mistaken if we think our tradition stems from only the four gospels of the scriptural canon. As well as Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; the church has two millennia of other gospels to celebrate; the books of Augustine and Aquinas, Luther and Calvin, Bonhoeffer and Barth. These “gospels” have become vital parts of our tradition because of their eternal reliance on the power of God and the reconciling work of Christ.

There are still other gospels that may not be quite so well-known, but have tremendous influence in our lives in this part of the body of Christ. We also remember “The Gospel According to Grandma;” or “The Gospel According to Mr. Al, Vicke, and Miss Marie;”[2] or “The Gospel According to That Kid at Camp Whose Name I Can’t Even Remember.” These personal parables enlighten our lives and the gospel.

All of us are in the process of writing our own gospels—our own accounts of experiencing the Good News of the coming kingdom in our midst. Writing a gospel through the very act of living is part of being a disciple of Christ. Sharing our gospel through the very act of living is also part of being a disciple of Christ. It is why Jesus gave the power of the parable to all those listening to his words. Storytelling is one of the most basic practices common to all human communities.

Stories connect us to one another, to our ancestors, to our world and to our Lord. In this week’s gospel text, Mark notes that when Jesus spoke to the crowds around him, he “spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables.” Jesus knew that only parables had the ability to make the Good News of the kingdom a potent reality for every listening ear.

The mystery of how this works is glorious. People want proofs, rules, and standards; and Jesus gives us parables. William Sloane Coffin, created a godly monologue about our want for rules and God’s gift of parables in these words from a 1980 Advent sermon:

These creatures of mine are very clever.  They are always looking for evidence to make intelligently selfish decisions. That’s why their evangelists, instead of the freedom they need, give them all the proofs they want. I have told these evangelists there are no proofs for my existence, only witnesses. Nevertheless they go on proving one ineffable mystery after another with all the ardor of orthodoxy stamping out heresy. But I am the Lord God, and will not seek to overcome selfishness by appealing to selfish motives. So, as the prophet promised, I will send my people a son. I will seek to captivate their hearts, not conquer them. I will seek to open their minds, not crack their skulls. They, of course, will continue to fight me as they always have, but the contest between us will not be one of power—only of endurance. I will show them that true conquerors are not those who can inflict the most, but those who can suffer the most. I will show them that love never ends.[3]

  How is it that the stories of a Jewish carpenter recorded so long ago resonate so clearly with us now? Well, that is one of the blessings of our Messiah the wonderful storyteller. Words that could have been codified to provide hard and fast rules have value for the time they are written. Parables offer something better, truth, truth that resonates over time. This is the true value of the parable. This is the value of storytelling. Thanks be to God who is the author and teller of the greatest story ever told.

[1] Brown, F..  Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon, The.  Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2001, page 45.
[2] These are the men and women who provide Children’s Sermons at First Presbyterian in Marshall.
[3] Coffin, William Sloane, The Collected Sermons of William Sloane Coffin, The Riverside Years, Vol. 1, Louisville, Westminster-John Knox Press, 2008, page 387.

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