Sacred Storytelling

Understanding human life, I see each person as a tapestry of stories, some concealed
within the heart, that unfold over time. Yet, one of humanity's gravest sins is our failure to
cherish each other's sacred narratives, opting instead for quick judgments and dismissals. 
All this came to mind a few weeks ago when my church was going about the ordinary
springtime activity of getting bids for lawn care. We have two properties - the church and its
surrounding ground and the parsonage I live in, which is about fifteen minutes from the church.
While the trustee chair told those seeking bids that it was solely for the church, as we had
alternative arrangements for the parsonage, I was interrupted during a Zoom meeting by the
persistent knocking of one of the landscapers at my front door asking if this property was to be
included in the bid. 

When I explained that it was not, he looked with disdain at the grass, which had grown
relatively high due to an unusual amount of rain, and asked, "Are you're just going to let it look
like this?"

Admittedly, community can be challenging, and relationships in my context are not
always smooth. However, as a pastor, part of my calling is to be the custodian of people's sacred
stories. I often bear witness to struggles and blessings that others may not readily perceive.
Consequently, I am fiercely protective of the individuals in my congregation and their delicate
narratives.

Very rarely do I pull out a voice of authority, but that day, in the face of the palpable
judgment, I said with all clarity and conviction that yes, we were going to leave the lawn like this
because the person who volunteers to cut it for the church just lost his son-in-law, who was in his
30s. And in the face of death, we believe in the abundance of grace. 

Was my response harsh? Perhaps. But it effectively conveyed my point - refrain from
judging the grass when you're unaware of the story behind it. Yes, this gentleman was attempting
to expand his bid, a motive I fully comprehend. However, beneath what he perceived as unkempt
and unruly grass lies someone's sacred story. In this instance, it was a tale of unimaginable
heartache and grief. 

Part of the vocation of a pastor is to be the listener to and conveyer of sacred stories,
which are not just held within the pages of Scripture. We hold the Bible to be the Living Word
because, by the grace of the Holy Spirit, it profoundly speaks into our lives. But it is by no means
the only sacred story. If we believe that our lives are sacred, then our stories matter to God.
When I write communion liturgies, one of my favorite lines is about God scooping the dust of
the earth and breathing the very breath of life into it, thus making us sacred and treasured. 
Therefore, part of the clergy's role is to tell stories that cut through the face of judgment
with the truth of our belatedness and sacred worth. Telling the stories interrupts the status quo,
dismissing another's sacred truth and holy worth. 
​
How are you living into being a scared storyteller in your context?