While I was in seminary and working one summer as a chaplain with a small group of seminarians (Lutherans, Catholics, Presbyterians) at Loyola Medical Center and hospital in Chicago—there was a writing-and-reflection exercise that we had to do as part of our curriculum called “Story Theology”.
We had to write down a one-page, front side only, story about something in our lives, preferably not referring to our professional or vocational lives (like interactions with patients or reflections on our training) in the hospital, or in the church. But rather a story from our personal lives, currently or deep in our memory banks. Didn’t have to be anything profound or intense, necessarily, just a story from our lives. Not our thoughts/feelings about the story, our interpretations; just what happened.
Then, we would bring that story to the group (of 7), and together we’d reflect on it “theologically”. Hence the name for this exercise: “Story Theology.” The word “theology” is simply a fancy word for “talk about God”. This was “talk about God” through a story, usually a very simple story.
So, for example, a colleague of mine wrote about being carried by her uncle when she was little and on a trip to the Philippines. I wrote about an adventure I had with my brothers. Not the feelings or the thoughts, just what happened. One colleague, I remember simply wrote about a bicycle that he had seen a few days earlier, just an old rusty bike, locked to a street sign in a Chicago neighborhood.
Then as a group, we’d take a whole afternoon on one such story and think about “where was God” in the story? “What aspects of the Divine are revealed?” What are the implications from these reflections for pastoral care, ministry, theology or rituals – there was a whole list of questions that helped us dissect our simple stories, but not to take away from the beauty of the simple story, rather to find meaning, insights—even God—in our stories, in ways we probably hadn’t ever considered on our own.
It was a unique experience – taking a whole afternoon to reflect on a short story about looking in the mirror and seeing first gray hairs or tripping and falling at the grocery store or playing catch with your dad in the back yard.
Iit was important training, for me, in learning how to see God and talk about God being deeply imbedded into everyday life. (I’d encourage you to try this…)
Maybe this doesn’t sound like anything new or profound to you, maybe it’s easy for you to find God deeply imbedded in everyday life, but put yourself in the shoes of intense and anxious pastors-in-training. Our heads were so filled with books and papers and lectures and the experiences of others, it was really easy to stop trusting and paying attention to the wisdom of our own experience…and I for one realized that I was missing God all over the place.
Sisters and brothers in Christ, God is all over the place. In our Gospel today, Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth and the life.” Last week, we could pin God down in the image of a Shepherd. But today we realize that he’s also…all over the place. We also hear today that God goes ahead of us to prepare a place, and that God the is our rock and our shelter even now, and long before us. God is all over the place.
And I think it’s easy to forget that. Just like I was once so inundated with books and lectures in seminary that I missed God in the simpleness of life…
so can we all miss Christ—the way, the truth, the life right here, right now—in our being inundated with (maybe not books and lectures, maybe so but..) the pressures, the stresses, the headlines, the bills to pay, the appointments to make on time, the projects to finish, the kids to feed, the sleep to catch up on. It’s easy to miss it – the presence of God, the talk about God. But regardless of whether we notice it or not, God is all over the place…[pause] like junk mail, God just keeps arriving and arriving. And we can be tempted to want to just put God in the recycle bin, in the church.
I really don’t like calling the church “God’s house”…because that’s not enough, God’s house is much bigger. The world is God’s house! The forest is God’s house, the oceans are God’s house, the city streets are God’s house, the volcano is God’s house, immigrant and the stranger is God’s house, hospital bed is God’s house, the preschool and the boardroom is God’s house. The spider monkey and the octopus is God’s house. The lawyer and the homemaker is God’s house. We are God’s house. You are God’s house. What did Jesus say, in my Father’s house there are many, many rooms? God isn’t just up there waiting…because that’s not enough. God is right here acting and moving and watching and loving this world – the way, the truth, the life here and now.
As you might know or have heard, I was a preaching conference in Minneapolis this week before attending our Synod Assembly in Irvine. (And at this point you’re probably saying to yourself…hmmm…maybe you should have stayed a little longer J)
But as it always does these seasons of our lives, the issue of the church being in “decline” came up – not enough money, less and less people – it’s across the board, not just Lutherans, it’s a post-church age. One of the preachers made reference to this in his sermon, but then he did a little “story theology” about the changes in the Christian church. He inserted “God talk” into the story of the “church these days”, which might sound funny. Why would there not be God talk around/about the church today? But so often, we can forget about God’s action and presence, even when we use God’s name throughout our worship services, and maybe even in our everyday lingo, like when someone sneezes. We can use God’s name and still forget about God’s action…
This preacher, whose name is Tom Long, did a little story theology on the story of the “church these days”…and said that [pause] whatever is happening to the church these days – and everyone’s got their theories about why – whatever is happening to the church these days, “we have to remember that God is doing it.” God is up to something, God is all over the place, even in the church. God is clearing away, God is going to seed, just beneath the surface that might look like nothing. God keeps arriving and arriving. God keeps breaking out in unexpected ways, rising from the tombs, rising from the pain, rising from the doubt, rising from the tears, rising from the poor, rising from the stranger, rising from the martyr Steven who cries out words of forgiveness and mercy toward the very people who are killing him with stones. Whatever is happening, God is doing it. And our God is not a God of death—like all we’re hearing these days about a God who picks a few for eternal salvation and leaves the rest of the world, billions of people, not to mention the creatures of the planet to suffer and burn in hell—NO. Our God is a God of life, who doesn’t even just come down from above, but who rises up from below, from the ashes and the graves and the sorrow and the pain and the confusion and the despair. God keeps rising. Rising from this world, and rising from you.
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