In the grip of story
Wednesday, August 9th, 2006I wish I could have listened to Jesus tell his own parables. What a storyteller he was. He was awake to the world, he paid attention to the moments he was living and found things to feed his imagination…an imagination wrestling with how to communicate so much with the people he so loved. Wheat and fig trees, sheep and vineyards, oxen and estranged sons became the paint with which he colored the canvas of his days, bringing life to concepts no propositional presentation could. How brave, and trusting, to allow his audience to filter his stories through their own experience of the world, and through the exercise of their own wills, arrive at their own conclusions.
I love spending time with people whose heritage is still infused with the value of oral tradition–or who just know how to tell a good story. Whether around a campfire, from a podium or on the written page, a well-told story grips me. It slips past my mental defenses and grips the core of who I am, leaving me to consider the world and what is real in ways I may not have otherwise.
What are the stories I respond to most? Why? What does it look like for me to be more awake to the world around me? What are the stories which are uniquely in me, that I have been given to tell?
posted by Amy Wevodau