Narrative Theology

Well they've done it. They've created a label for what we're up to around here.

N a r r a t i v e T h e o l o g y

Turns out what people like Steve Coan and I have been doing has been being done for a few years now. You can google it and find books, blogs, commentaries--even a wikipedia article about it.

Narrative Theology.

In a way, I'm disappointed with the label. In another way, I am comforted, because it seems God is up to something all over the place. And I like that.

Here's a post at a blog by a guy named Ben Sternke that's worth reading. (I added Ben's Blog to my list of "Blogs I Read," off to the right, and that's his picture above.) Ben is a "Ministry Coach" at Heartland Church in Indiana. It will take me hours to get through all this stuff.

Here's a preview of his post:

Christianity is first and foremost a story. It is a history. It is not a set of "timeless truths" or abstract doctrines that we tap into from week to week. It isn't a static system of truth, it's a dynamic story, an unfinished narrative that we live within, and a narrative that we have a part in working out, we help to move the story toward its conclusion.

Sound familiar? Keep reading...

...If we understand Christianity as a story, and read the Bible like the story it is, we realize that the story is going somewhere. And we are part of that story, we have a part to play in moving the story towards its conclusion. We have something to do, and it isn't just to "play nice until Jesus comes," it's to build for the kingdom.

I think he's been stealing our material. (Just kidding.) I hope you enjoy some of what he's written.

--Jon

The Burial of our Shimmering Self

If I had read and simply posted this two years ago, I wouldn't have had to write anything else in this blog. I believe it to be the defining phenomenon in human history, the single(!) insidious plot of the evil empire--the redefining of everything that God gave an original meaning to.

From this one notion hang my entire worldview--my theology, my humanology, my spiritology, my cosmology, and whatever other -ology you can think of.

This notion explains why it's so important for us to have a grasp on how truth works, what lies are and why they are so destructive, and how central identity is in living a rich, full life.

What is this notion? It's spelled out in today's Ransomed Heart Ministries daily mailing:

*****

We come into the world with a longing to be known and a deep-seated fear that we aren't what we should be. We are set up for a crisis of identity. And then, says Frederick Buechner, the world goes to work:

Starting with the rather too pretty young woman and the charming but rather unstable young man, who together know no more about being parents than they do the far side of the moon, the world sets in to making us what the world would like us to be, and because we have to survive after all, we try to make ourselves into something that we hope the world will like better than it apparently did the selves we originally were. That is the story of all our lives, needless to say, and in the process of living out that story, the original, shimmering self gets buried so deep that most of us hardly end up living out of it at all. Instead, we live out all the other selves which we are constantly putting on and taking off like coats and hats against the world's weather. (Telling Secrets)

Think about the part you find yourself playing, the self you put on like a costume. Who cast you in this role? Most of us are living out a script that someone else has written for us. We've not been invited to live from our heart, to be who we truly are, so we put on these false selves hoping to offer something more acceptable to the world, something functional. We learn our roles starting very young and we learn them well. The Sacred Romance, 79, 80

*****

May you first discover who you believed yourself to be, and then may you find who you really are.

Which is another way of saying, may you find Jesus in yourself. Which is another way of saying, may you walk in truth. Which is another way of saying, may you shine like a Christmas tree light in a dark world.

I love you all.

--Jon

Lights

I had a dream. And in my dream I gazed at a lovely Christmas tree, standing in the corner of an otherwise cold, dark, and lonely room.

The tree was decorated with ribbons and tinsel and pretty things. I took in the tree as a whole, then looked more closely at each of the pretty things hanging on it. Someone had taken great care in choosing where to hang each ornament, for they were all beautifully arranged, and seemed to silently speak together of the joys of the season. But I could not tell if it was Christmas day.

There were ornaments on all sides of the tree. I crouched to see some of the ones hanging near the floor, at the back of the tree. It was then I noticed a tiny, shining red light, hanging just above the lowest bow, at the farthest point away from me. I leaned close, so that I could see it more clearly through the branches. In an instant I could see another, and another, and another--finally a whole string of lights were visible to me, wrapped all the way around the tree, from top to bottom.

But none of the others were burning, save the one at the bottom near the back.

I stood again, and looked at one of the dark lights, right in front of my eyes. I could not tell what color it might be. With some anticipation, I gave it a gentle tap with my finger. It did not respond. So I held it firmly with one hand, and gave it two or three firm whacks with my knuckle. Still no light.

I moved to the next, and made the same attempt to bring it to life, with no success. The next, and the next, and the next. At last I gave up hope of seeing any more of the beautiful lights.

I was stirred more deeply by the darkness of these lights than by the beauty of the rest of the tree. I could tell, even in the dim light of the room, that this string of lights would be simply exquisite if only they would shine. Even the tree itself might be thrice as lovely.

The lonely red light looked the more lonely for all the unlit bulbs.

The room was cold and damp, so I put my hands to my mouth and blew hard into them, to warm them. I felt the warmth penetrate my finger tips as the heat of my breath escaped around them. The ornaments and tinsel swayed slightly in the gentle breeze of my breath.

And the light just beyond my hands glowed very faintly for a moment. If I had not been looking directly at it, I would not have noticed at all.

I stood still, wondering if I had seen what I had seen. I blew again on my hands. The ornaments swayed again, and the light glowed faintly--briefly--once again. A gorgeous, beautiful blue! I blew harder this time, allowing most of the air to escape unhindered through my open fist. There was a twinkling sound from the ornaments tinking together, and the blue light shined very brightly--but only for a moment.

Without thinking, I cupped the tiny light between my palms, drew in a deep breath, and slowly released it onto the bulb, as if to catch the light. The glass around the filament seemed to smile as the light grew to full brightness--and stayed lit! I let go of the bulb, and as it settled back into place, it immediately cast a lovely blue glow through the nearby branches!

I reached for the next light, cupping it gently, and blew onto it. Yellow! I let it fall gently back into place, carefully, so as not to cause it to go dark again.

I stepped back to gaze at these two bright lights, and noticed the blue and yellow reflections on the ornaments that were close by. The effect of these two alone was more fantastic than I had imagined the whole string would be. The ornaments took on new colors, the tinsel danced around them.

These two alone had given new life to the upper half of the tree.

I blew on each bulb, pausing to admire the wonderful color of each one before moving to the next. Greens, oranges, purples--even whites. It took many minutes--and no small effort--to reach through the tree to all the lights in the back. The needles of the tree scratched at my face, but I could not notice.

Eventually, every bulb was burning brightly. I stepped back, and the sight took my breath away. The tree had come alive! It moved, it shimmered, it twinkled, it glowed.

And then it shared the warmth of its newfound life with the entire room. It was then I realized, yes, it was Christmas Day.