The Greatest Story Ever Told

“Dear God,
I am so afraid to open my clenched fists!
Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to?
Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands?
Please help me to gradually open my hands
and to discover that I am not what I own,
but what you want to give me.
And what you want to give me is love,
unconditional, everlasting love.
Amen.” 

― Henri J.M. Nouwen, The Only Necessary Thing: Living a Prayerful Life

Texts:

Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18

Judges 2:6-15

2 Corinthians 10:1-11

"That whole generation was gathered to their ancestors, and another generation grew up after them, who did not know the LORD or the work that he had done for Israel."

Storytellers are quickly becoming a thing of the past in our societies.  True storytellers, whose lives automatically knit others into their stories, are fewer and fewer and farther and farther between.  After the Israelites arrive in the land promised to Abraham several generations prior, they cease to remember the God who made the promise.  Despite the Shema, "Hear, O Israel: The LORD is our God, the LORD alone.  You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and iwth all your might  Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart.  Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise.  Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates."  The command, in many ways, was to tell the story: to weave their children and the strangers in their land into their story.

Sometimes, we cheapen the Bible by viewing it as a rule book or a blunt object with which we can attack people with whom we disagree or people who don't share our faith values.  We cheapen it by not allowing ourselves to be swept up into the narrative, by not allowing ourselves to laugh with Sarah and Abraham, by not allowing ourselves to cry and whine with the Israelites in the middle of the wilderness, by not allowing ourselves to appreciate the sarcasm of people like Nathanael or the capacity for Peter to say something so brilliant, so clear, "You are the Messiah," and then stick his foot in his mouth.  This is the story into which we have been woven.  We have been invited to weave others into this story as well.

So often, we don't think of our stories as worth telling.  It's not until a grandchild or child looks at us and says, "Grandma, tell me about when you were a little girl," that we start to try to remember what our lives have held.  "I don't know, honey; there's not much to tell."  And she walks away, disheartened because, with the clarity that exists only in childhood, she knew her grandma's story was her story too.  Unfortunately, we engage God's story in much the same way: "There's not really much to tell."  We forget that God's Word does something.  Throughout the generations, it has swept people up into its narrative, both people from the "inside" and people on the "outside," bringing them together in this narrative.

This is a story worth telling: it is the greatest story there is.  It is in the telling of the story that we realize it's not just long, long ago and far, far away, but a little closer to home.  It is right here and right now, God with us, and God for us.