Reblogged from Kairos Southern Africa:

A teenage boy had just passed his driving test and inquired of his father as to when they could discuss his use of the car. His father said he’d make a deal with his son: ‘You bring your grades up from a C to a B average, study your Bible a little, and get your hair cut.Then we’ll talk about the car.’ The boy thought about that for a moment, decided he’d settle for the offer, and they agreed on it. After about six weeks his father said, ‘Son, you’ve brought your grades up and I’ve observed that you have …

I found this gem on the very serious Kairos Southern Africa blog. It seems so incongruous, but I’m glad that in the midst of the serious socio-theological issues they are dealing with, there is room for a smile. I salute them.

I am reading Ian Morris’s book, Why the West Rules—for Now.  It’s a fascinating look at the patterns of history and what they reveal about the future.  One reviewer called it, “The nearest thing to a unified field theory of history we are ever likely to get.”

I enjoyed Jared Diamond’s Gun’s, Germs and Steel which also looks at why the West has its nose in front or, as he puts it, why we have more “stuff”.  Morris runs through innumerable other such studies that fall very roughly into what he calls “long-term lock-in” or “short-term accident” theories, including the succinctly put summary of British poet and politician, Hilaire Belloc in 1898:

Whatever happens we have got
The Maxim gun, and they have not.

Morris is an archaeologist and ancient historian (I presume the “ancient” part refers to his work rather than himself) and his broad sweep (he calls it “chainsaw art”) takes one on an archaeological, geographical, sociological and biological journey from 2.5 million years ago to 2010.  His ability to keep a vast range of material together and keep the reader interested is impressive as is his wide reading.  Morris writes (as one critic put it) “with wit and clarity that will delight the lay reader.” I agree.

His arguments, conclusions and theories do not concern us here.  I was simply challenged by his comments on Christianity.  If he is a man of faith, it doesn’t show; he writes impartially, but sympathetically, about all the major religions, from emperor worship to the “modern” great faiths.

I am also not particularly interested here in how accurate his understanding of the growth of Christianity may be, but in how others view Christians (and our squabbles) from the outside.  Let me quote a rather lengthy passage (slightly edited) from a section dealing with the dramatic growth of Christianity in the West and Buddhism in the East, each from a handful of followers to 100 million or so in about three or four centuries.

Jesus wrote no sacred texts, and as early as the 50s (AD) the apostle Paul was struggling to get Christians to agree on a few core points about what Christianity actually was.  Most followers accepted that they should be baptised, pray to God, renounce other gods, eat together on Sundays, and perform good works, but beyond these basic premises, almost anything was possible.  Some held that the God of the Hebrew Bible was merely the last (and lowest) in a series of prior gods.  Others thought the world was evil and so God the Creator must be wicked too.  Or maybe there were two gods, a malevolent Jewish one and Jesus’ wholly good (but unknowable) father.  Or two Jesuses, a spiritual one who escaped crucifixion and a bodily one who died on the cross.  Maybe Jesus was a woman, some suggested, and maybe women were equal to men.  Maybe new revelations could overrule the old ones.  Maybe Jesus’ Second Coming was imminent, in which case no Christian should have sex; maybe its imminence meant Christians should practice free love; or maybe only people who were martyred in horrible ways would go to heaven.

For Buddhists, multiple paths to nirvana were not a problem.  For Christians, however, getting into heaven depended on knowing who God and Jesus were and doing what they wanted, and so the chaos of interpretations forced believers into a frenzy of self-definition.  In the late second century most came to agree that there should be bishops who would be treated as descendants of the original apostles with the authority to judge what Jesus meant.  Preachers with wilder ideas were damned into oblivion, the New Testament crystalized, and the window on revelations closed.  No one could tinker with the Good Book and no one could hear from the Holy Spirit unless the bishops said so; and no one had to renounce marital sex or be martyred, unless they wanted to.

Morris is writing about Christianity’s first couple of centuries.  Once again, one can argue about the detail, but for “chainsaw art” he is not far off.  What about today?  What would an alien from outer space, or more to the point, what would someone outside of Christianity have to say about our internal squabbles, denominationalist standoffs, conservative-liberal warmongering, and a whole host of divisions fervently defended on all sides.

So much of our faith becomes a hearty defence, even open warfare, against what we do not and will not believe.  What we do believe, what we have to offer the world, is lost in the melee.  The great gift we have, what Jesus called his disciples to on the night before his crucifixion, was not just God’s love, mercy and healing, but God’s love, mercy and healing lived and practiced in a broken and divided world.  Jesus didn’t simply talk about these things; he modelled them for his followers in his daily decisions and interactions.  He cared enough to stop and listen and touch; he depended on God enough to get up early and pray; he balanced his prayer and reflection with moving forward into new opportunities for ministry.  Ultimately he demonstrated that God’s love for us and our love for others are more precious than life itself.

You and I are not likely to reduce or even contain the bitter theological turf wars that deny our faith (although I should only speak for myself; you perhaps have more influence than I).  The real question for every Christian is whether we will allow ourselves to be conduits for peace or for war?  Am I willing to let go of my “turf”, turn from arguments and the building of theological and liturgical castles, and put the practicing of God’s love, mercy and healing first; building others up rather than putting them down? 

I am convinced that relationship is more important than rightness; intimacy more fruitful than rules.

The following story was inspired by our minister who preached on the story of the wise men, and asked two questions.  First, which star are we following?  There are many to choose from in our over-stimulated lives.  The second had to do with the transformation of the wise men (they went home on a new road): on what new roads are we travelling?

 This story will, I hope, help you think about those questions.  For one, the wise men themselves were not always sure which star they were following, and unless our encounter with Jesus makes a difference in our lives and in our world (and leads us to new paths) then that encounter means very little. 

My father had me working with camels from childhood, almost before I could walk.  He was Master of the Stables for the late King Belzeor and I used to help him with his work.  It was hard work but I loved it and learned to love the camels too.  When I was growing up my favourites were Grouch, Rat and Sweets.  Those weren’t their real names but that’s what we called them.   Grouch was a real grouch, even for a camel, but he was a hard worker.  Rat wasn’t as bad as she sounds but when she was tiny she was skittish about rodents; rustle in the straw near her and she’d jump.  Sweets loved anything sweet—would steal dates from your pocket if you gave her half a chance; not everyone could handle that, but Dad was a master and I learned everything from him.

When King Belzeor died his son Balthazar took over.  About the same time I took over from my dad as Master of the Stables.  Like his father before him, Balthazar was a Magus, respected far and wide for his wisdom and learning.  He studied the heavens and could read the stars.  I was lucky enough just to be able to read a scroll.

A few years ago there was huge excitement in the household.  The master was setting off on a journey. That wasn’t so unusual but what was strange was that he didn’t know where he was going or how long it would take.  When we discussed the camels he would need I asked him about the roads he would follow.

“Roads?” he said. “Not roads; we’re going to follow a star.”

“Well this is going to be fun,” I thought.  Finally the stars had gone to the master’s head.  But he told me about a new star he had discovered to the west, which had appeared about four months before.  Two other Magi had also recognised this new star as something unique, and they would be joining us.  They believed the star represented a new-born king.  They seemed to think he was a Jew but why the birth of a Jew (even a king) would cause such excitement or warrant his own star, I had no idea.  My master and the other Magi seemed to think that this king would somehow be greater than his people.  Well I didn’t know much about politics but as far as I knew Jews and everyone else to the west were ruled by Rome, so this new king would have quite a mission ahead of him.

Anyway, crazy as it sounds, we followed a star.  Early each morning while it was still dark we would break camp and the master would point to the stars in the west.  “There it is,” he’d say. “Let’s be on our way.”

At first we didn’t know which one was the new one, but it wasn’t long before we could distinguish it and we would look for it in the dark.  We would follow it until a few hours after the sun came up then we would camp during the heat of the day.  Late afternoon we’d break camp and be on our way until just before it got dark.  Initially the star wasn’t around in the afternoons, and as the months progressed it would appear at different times of the day, but the Magi would do some calculations and use those for when the star wasn’t visible.

We had been on the road (not that we travelled much on a road) for about six months.  What a journey it was.  I could tell you a hundred stories—another time perhaps.

About six months after we started, the party nearly broke up.  I thought the Magi were going to come to blows.  They were usually so calm and peaceful we never heard their discussions.  This time their arguing was intense and loud.  We had crossed the Jordan River and had driven through Jericho, on our way, we thought, to Jerusalem.  That’s the Jewish capital where their king, Herod, had his palace.  But Balthazar had other plans.

“The star is not leading to Jerusalem but more to the south,” he said.

“Maybe,” said the others. “But the star is probably leading us to where the child was born; we want to know where he is now.  Surely the Jewish King will know where the next King of the Jews is, if he’s not in Jerusalem with him.”

But my master was not convinced; he wanted to follow the star. “We’re not following an earthly king, but one that’s known to the heavens,” he said. 

 “True,” the others said.  “But after so long in the desert, surely we owe it to our party to have a short rest in the city.”  I wouldn’t want to be disloyal to my master but, I must say, that sounded like a grand idea.  “And the star’s been with us all this time,” they added.  “It will wait for us.  A couple of days won’t hurt anyone, surely?”

Then they said we could hardly enter Herod’s territory, on our way to find his successor, without at least seeking an audience, and my master finally relented.  So we travelled to Jerusalem and spent a week there while the Magi met with King Herod.

I didn’t meet the King, of course, but I heard all about the visit.  It seems Herod didn’t know what his visitors from the east were talking about.  If there was a new heir to the throne he certainly hadn’t been told.  But, for all that, he was a gracious host, almost as eager as the Magi to know more and to join the search.

Herod’s wise men pointed to Bethlehem as the birthplace of this new king.  They quoted their scriptures:

“Bethlehem in the land of Judah,
You are by no means least of the leading cities of Judah;
for from you will come a leader who will guide my people Israel.”

“Clearly a gift from God,” Herod told them.  “Go to Bethlehem and find the child.  Then come back and tell me where he is so that I may also worship him.”

“Murder him, more like it,” was the reaction from the more cynical stable hands.

Jerusalem was great.  The King’s stables were lavish but the camels were restless, so it was good to be back on the road again.  We left early in the morning, well before dawn, and the star was there, just to the south-west where Bethlehem lay about eight kilometres away.  Would the child still be there?

As we reached the base of the last hill before Bethlehem, and looked up to the village, the star seemed to rest on top of the hill.  We stopped and stared.  Could this be the end of our journey?  We waited for the star to set but it didn’t move.  It seemed to be sitting on the hill, waiting for us, until it faded away in the light of the rising sun.

My master and the other Magi were very excited.  “The child is here,” Balthazar said.

I’ll never know how he did it (I’m not sure even he knows) but my master proceeded to lead the way through the village to a small cottage.  What a stir we caused.  I’m told that Bethlehem is where the famous King David was born but you wouldn’t know it.  The villagers don’t seem to have seen anyone royal or famous for the last thousand years.  They stopped and stared and followed along behind. 

But when we arrived at the cottage there was something about it, and about the couple who welcomed us, that made us catch our breath.  I can’t explain it but I’ve seen a lot of rich and powerful people, and people who like to think they are rich and powerful—aggression and contempt is what they do best.  But not this couple; they weren’t overawed by our pomp or frightened by our numbers.  There was a quiet confidence; a conviction that they were in the right place, doing the right thing.  But there was humility about them too, suggesting that they might not be too sure just what the “right thing” was.

And then there was the baby.

He was just a baby; just like any other baby.  But then, somehow, he was so different.  Perhaps it was his parents; perhaps it was the sight of these three powerful sages kneeling down in front of him, offering gifts.  Whatever it was, we all felt it—even the camels were still.

We wanted to know more, to do more.  I know it sounds strange (the whole thing was crazy from the start) but I wanted to follow this baby, this child, this…King.

I could see that Balthazar also felt it.  Tears had poured down his cheeks as he offered his gifts.  As he gave the child’s mother a gift of myrrh I heard him say to her, “I brought this gift for your son’s anointing, but myrrh is also a sign of suffering, and I fear the swords that will put him on his throne will pierce your heart.” 

I had no idea what my master meant (perhaps he didn’t either) but it was clear that the encounter with this family, this child, had transformed him.  “We are not going back to Jerusalem,” he told us that evening.  “We’re going to find a different path; a new road.”  And I felt sure that he was talking about something more than just the route we would take home.

I still don’t understand it all, but I knew at that moment that it was time to leave the star behind and follow this child, whatever it might mean.

Last week was Epiphany Sunday.  It’s the day we celebrate the coming of the wise men to Jesus, a symbol of his being presented to the world, the gentile world, our world.  This story is not meant in any way to improve on the Bible story, let alone replace it.  We have become so familiar with the Bible stories that we often fail to hear them anymore.  I hope that this (and other stories I write) will help us hear the story of the wise men differently and receive new challenges.

Related articles

• A Pregnancy, a donkey and a whole bunch of questions (wonderingpreacher.wordpress.com)
• Small Camel (catherinemjohnson.wordpress.com)
• The Magi (bongodogblog.wordpress.com)

Two things were significant for me in this book.  The first was his understanding of preaching; there is a chapter on the theology of preaching which helped clarify my own thinking on the subject.  The second was his call for us to rediscover the art of storytelling—to fill the minds of our listeners with people rather than with ideas.

Theology of Preaching

I am wary of preaching law.  Most people (those who are listening to our preaching at least) know they have failed.  They just don’t know what to do about it or where to turn.  Law preaching tends to be either another round of condemnation leaving the listeners without hope, or some sort of motivational talk: Seven Steps to Spiritual Perfection.

Jensen says, “The law always kills.”  But most of our preaching on law “doesn’t kill; it just wounds people.” “Cheap law” he calls it; the counterpart of what Dietrich Bonheoffer called “cheap grace”.  And if we are only wounded, all we need is little of that cheap grace.  With just a little bit of help from God, in other words, I will be able to improve my life and all will be well.

“Costly law, in contrast, really kills.  It leaves me without hope in the world.  I respond to cheap law with the vow that I will be a better person.  I respond to costly law with a deep cry for help.”  Sinners slain by the law long for “a word that sets them free; that forgives their sins; that gives them resurrection life.  That’s what good preaching does!  It gives people life.  It announces, proclaims, life.”

Preaching is a saving event.  What we have to say—our ideas—are not nearly as important as what God wants to say and do.  The goal is not to transfer my words and ideas into the listener’s mind but to allow the Spirit of God to act in the life of the preacher and the hearer during the preaching event.

A Post-Literate World

Jensen’s main focus is on thinking and preaching in story.  He writes about the earlier shift from oral communication to the written word, and the shift today from print to electronic communication.

In an oral culture the communication is with the ear.  In a written culture the eye is used for reading; sounds are not important.  The transition from oral to written culture affected our preaching.  The words on a page can all be seen at once and can be revisited, dissected, and rearranged.  We can organise the words into a hierarchical structure of ideas.  So we turn the ideas into three points and try to help our congregation understand what we have so carefully formulated.

Jesus communicated the reality of the Kingdom of God in the form of stories:

• The Kingdom of God is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard.
• The Kingdom of God is like a farmer scattering seed on the ground.
• The Kingdom of God is like a man who found a treasure hidden in a field.

But, in the world of print, we tend to organise Jesus’ comments about the Kingdom of God into a series of ideas: “The Kingdom of God has six characteristics.”

Thinking in Story

In today’s electronic world it is not the ear or the eye alone but a variety of senses that are massaged simultaneously, along with our emotions.

Educationalists and psychologists today would agree with Jensen when he urges preachers to engage more of the senses.  They would also agree that storytelling is more effective than the sharing of ideas neatly packaged.

It’s a bit scary, I must admit.  When I preach ideas, I’m trying to change your mind; I’m trying to get you to understand our relationship with God the way I have come to understand it.  And ideally, at the end of my sermon, you will say: “I understand what you are saying; I understand something new about God and what he wants to do in my life and in the world.”  It’s all very measurable.  But when we hear a story we may end up interpreting it very differently from each other; as we are drawn in, God’s Spirit begins his transforming work and the storyteller has little or no control.

Scary or not, it can have exciting consequences.  Jensen tells of having preached a story-sermon at a seminary.  It was just the story and when the story ended he said, “Amen” and sat down.

“Two days later a very bright student came to my office to tell me that this form of preaching didn’t work.  He and another student had discussed the text for two hours the day before and could not agree on what my open-ended story meant.

“‘Let me get this straight,’ I said.  ‘I preach a sermon on this text which led you and your friend to have a two-hour discussion of the text, and you reckon it doesn’t work?’”

If you are struggling with the organising of ideas into “three points and a poem” then this book is well worth reading.  I particularly like the idea of filling the minds of our listeners with people rather than with ideas.

What about you?  Have you had any experience of storytelling from the pulpit?

Some of the stories I have written and enjoyed using:

• Blind Faith: Bartimaeus’s Story
• Does God run? The Older Brother & the Prodigal’s Father
• The Treasure Hidden in a Field

See also:

• Other stories by Wondering Preacher

For Christians, Christmas is a more obvious time for new beginnings.  The birth of the Christ child marked a new beginning for the human race and for our relationship with God and with his creation.  On the other hand, Easter and the resurrection of Jesus marks the end of what Christmas began, the earthly ministry of Jesus.  It marks the beginning of new possibilities through forgiveness and reconciliation with God and with one another, while Pentecost marks the birth of the church through the coming of the Spirit.

Each of these is a good opportunity for Christians to take stock, plan, and set goals.  How much more meaningful for our plans to be linked with God’s activity and to be formulated through the inspiration of the Spirit of God, rather than via a man-made calendar?

Perhaps we’re a bit nervous of God being too closely involved in our plans and resolutions.  New Year resolutions are traditionally loose affairs: I’ll do my best but don’t anyone hold me to them.  Resurrection resolutions or Pentecostal planning have a more serious ring to them.  ”I did my best” just won’t do anymore.

Whatever our preference we need an opportunity (and not just once a year for that matter) to take stock of where we have come from and where we are likely to end up if we continue as we are.  Is there somewhere else or something else we would like to aim towards?  If we are content to allow our future and our place in the world to be determined by others or by outside forces, there is of course no need for such introspection.  But don’t tell anyone because such lethargy in a world obsessed with Success, with Becoming, and with finding one’s Purpose is rather scandalous (perhaps more of that in another blog).  For now, the New Year is a good opportunity to ask questions about one’s journey through life and its spiritual, emotional, social, and physical aspects.  It invites us to lift our eyes and see a little further than the next footstep; to ask for God’s mercy and to receive his guidance for the journey that lies ahead.

God bless you whatever your journey holds.

THANK YOU

Thank you too for sharing my journey this past year, especially those of you who have signed up to receive my ramblings each time I post. It’s such a privilege to have you here and I am grateful for your presence; you inspire me to keep writing, and to write meaningfully. If you care to visit, do please leave a comment to give me an idea of what works for you and what doesn’t.

Blessings

Related articles

• New Year Flood (wonderingpreacher.wordpress.com)

We had a delightful evening with some wonderful friends last night.  We are all a bit old for the midnight Auld lang syne bit so we said our good nights at a reasonable hour and tootled off to our respective homes and beds.  The neighbourhood did it’s best to keep us awake past midnight with fireworks resounding in our ears, but it was a poor effort and we managed to slip off into dreamland just after the witching hour.

After Church this morning, while cleaning up outside, I turned on one of the garden taps and the entire ‘mechanism’ came off in my hand.  The water spurted up into the air taking with it the tap, which disappeared down the drain–the only one, of course, without a wire grid.  The drainpipe drops about a foot then disappears around a bend, large enough for the kitchen sink let alone a garden tap.  I ran to the back of the house, pulled open the hatch that covers the water mains, and switched off the water supply.

Relief.  Of course the problem then was that we would be without water for New Year’s Day lunch (to which guests were coming) and beyond–not a good plan.  But that was not the only problem.  Cutting off the mains did not deter our intrepid tap.  Water was still pouring out.  Somehow it managed to swap its allegiance to the hot water system and was now spewing boiling water into the air.  In spite of our having a pressure geyser the flow continued until the geyser was empty so I had to switch off the electricity too.

New Year’s Day is not the best time to find plumbing supplies but we finally contacted a plumber who was still in town and had a spare tap (the right size) in his truck.  I met him at a convenient point across town, collected the tap, and raced home.  It fitted.  I turned on the hot and cold taps, ran all the air bubbles through the system, and switched on the geyser.  We were up and running, two minutes to lunch.

Our quiet time reading yesterday was Isaiah 35, a magnificent prophecy about abundant water in dry places.  Our garden is no desert.  We’ve had so much rain these last few days that the garden had no use for the additional water that poured out generously from the open tap; and the prophecy said nothing about hot water, for which our garden also had no use.

A garden tap directing water through a hosepipe onto flower beds or onto a dirty car, or a bath tap directing hot water into a bath, are useful to all concerned.  A maverick tap that showers all and sundry with hot and cold is of no use to anyone.

I pray that I will be a conduit of healing streams in desert places during 2012.  I pray that my writing, my prayers, and my contact with people this year will not be a shower of unnecessary words, glossing over hurts and ignoring pain but will be under the loving control of the Spirit; dare I call him the heavenly plumber?

I was reminded of how Eugene Peterson interprets Psalm 16:3 in The Message:

“And these God-chosen lives all around–what splendid friends they make”

Splendid friends indeed.

Our new minister began her journey with us on Christmas Day.  Ministers in the Methodist Church of Southern African move to new appointments in December each year (our summer), and their first service is Christmas Day; pretty scary I’d think!  But I hope and pray that the vibe we experienced would have given her a real sense of belonging to this new community of ‘splendid friends’.