When I was a high school teacher, one of the first units every ninth grader in my English class had to complete was “Story Elements.” This was essentially a mash-up of short stories intended to introduce the freshmen to the elements of a story: things like setting, character, conflict, plot, climax, resolution, theme, etc.
It was one of my favorite curriculums because we were able to cover a lot of characters in brief periods. It was an immersion of sorts into criticism and interpretation for students that were just emerging from early adolescence with their full palettes of emotions. Now we were dabbling into abstract thinking and the full complexity of the human experience.
The characters were rounder. The plots were denser. The villain was as human as the hero. And cultural context and setting was vital to creating empathy and understanding of themes. As we saw the universals of the human experience – our fear of death, our need for love, the conflict between appearances and reality, man’s war with himself and others, our relationship to the supernatural and natural world – we began to see ourselves and our stories mirrored in the symbols and stages of Story wherever and whenever it was found.
I’ve carried the love of literary criticism and character study into my love of scripture, stories full of complex characters and complicated plots. Far from simple morality tales, the biographies in the Christian canon include men and women of questionable reputations and motives redeemed through often dark and twisted plots and circumstances. In them, too, we see ourselves – and others.
Ultimately for Christians, we accept this epic as The Story – the narrative of existence that becomes the grid for interpreting our own story and the meaning of our life. We look to the faces of the characters here for a hint about what life is about, where we might find real happiness, love and beauty, and, ultimately, who God is.
We meditate on the symbols - bring them into our context with hope that they will carry the same mysterious Presence and potency in our setting. It is on the testimony of these storytellers, the scripture authors and letter writers, that we base a great deal of decision-making and hope. Here, we find “words of life.” Where else can we go?
And it’s that question that prompts this blog. As a Pentecostal, I believe strongly that God is still writing His story, that He never stopped talking, that He’s still interacting with sketchy characters and sketching them into something new. I have high regard for the “word of our testimony,” still believing it to be a primary medium for understanding who God’s interested in and what He’s up to. And even after exposure to the scandals of scripture, I continue to be astonished at where He shows up, always favoring the broken over the befit, the notorious over the noble. And it’s these stories, the rake-made-righteous played out over and over in a thousand places, that give me hope in my own daily battle with self-disillusionment.
Stories, it seem, can save us.
So this is an invitation.
For all the would-be storytellers,
the pent-up penitent seeking a place for confession,
the grappling-with-grayness confused who write to know,
the tent-revival testimony givers with shaking hands and spirits,
the bewildered by beauty, drunk on life itself,
the tongue-twisted fumbling for words strong enough to exorcise pain,
the new,
the old,
the in-between everything,
the whimpering and wailing,
the easy and the extreme,
give us your story.
It just might save us.
It was one of my favorite curriculums because we were able to cover a lot of characters in brief periods. It was an immersion of sorts into criticism and interpretation for students that were just emerging from early adolescence with their full palettes of emotions. Now we were dabbling into abstract thinking and the full complexity of the human experience.
The characters were rounder. The plots were denser. The villain was as human as the hero. And cultural context and setting was vital to creating empathy and understanding of themes. As we saw the universals of the human experience – our fear of death, our need for love, the conflict between appearances and reality, man’s war with himself and others, our relationship to the supernatural and natural world – we began to see ourselves and our stories mirrored in the symbols and stages of Story wherever and whenever it was found.
I’ve carried the love of literary criticism and character study into my love of scripture, stories full of complex characters and complicated plots. Far from simple morality tales, the biographies in the Christian canon include men and women of questionable reputations and motives redeemed through often dark and twisted plots and circumstances. In them, too, we see ourselves – and others.
Ultimately for Christians, we accept this epic as The Story – the narrative of existence that becomes the grid for interpreting our own story and the meaning of our life. We look to the faces of the characters here for a hint about what life is about, where we might find real happiness, love and beauty, and, ultimately, who God is.
We meditate on the symbols - bring them into our context with hope that they will carry the same mysterious Presence and potency in our setting. It is on the testimony of these storytellers, the scripture authors and letter writers, that we base a great deal of decision-making and hope. Here, we find “words of life.” Where else can we go?
And it’s that question that prompts this blog. As a Pentecostal, I believe strongly that God is still writing His story, that He never stopped talking, that He’s still interacting with sketchy characters and sketching them into something new. I have high regard for the “word of our testimony,” still believing it to be a primary medium for understanding who God’s interested in and what He’s up to. And even after exposure to the scandals of scripture, I continue to be astonished at where He shows up, always favoring the broken over the befit, the notorious over the noble. And it’s these stories, the rake-made-righteous played out over and over in a thousand places, that give me hope in my own daily battle with self-disillusionment.
Stories, it seem, can save us.
So this is an invitation.
For all the would-be storytellers,
the pent-up penitent seeking a place for confession,
the grappling-with-grayness confused who write to know,
the tent-revival testimony givers with shaking hands and spirits,
the bewildered by beauty, drunk on life itself,
the tongue-twisted fumbling for words strong enough to exorcise pain,
the new,
the old,
the in-between everything,
the whimpering and wailing,
the easy and the extreme,
give us your story.
It just might save us.
 |
| Amanda Martin Creative Director of Becoming Twitter @RenovatorAmanda |
Shortly after meeting Jesus I had the words "I was written" tattooed in Greek on my arm. Symbolic of two things. First, that He spoke of me and wrote of me before time began - that knowledge is a huge cushion that I crash back to again and again. Second, it is symbolic of what you wrote here - I just love the beautiful stories He writes. I love that He is writing mine. I love that I get to be a part of others, get to learn from others, get to know Him more through others. Excited to see the stories on this page. Thank you. The teaching at Renovatus has been an incredible blessing to me over the months since I discovered the podcasts. I can't thank you all enough for doing what you do :)
ReplyDeleteThank you for stopping by and what a beautiful response! We want to hear YOUR story. We're ready when you are :).
Delete