I recently read an interesting article in one of my alum magazines that fascinated me. The title of the article was enticing: “The Bits the Bible Left Out.” Karen King, one of the world’s leading early Christianity scholars writes in a way that challenges and endears. She has sometimes been controversial and this, no doubt, will continue that reputation. I am not much interested in the “is she wrong or right” debate. I wanted to read it to see what I might glean for my teaching and life. I was rewarded.
King is fascinated by the difference between orthodoxy and heresy---right and wrong belief. We all know these kinds of issues can generate heat, anger and sometimes even violence. In Christian history heretics were condemned and too often killed. The Church frequently has been the perpetrator of these actions. I wish I could say those days are over; they are not. Sometimes I wonder if indifference might actually end these kinds of debates? But that day is a long way off. Too many people care too deeply.
However, it was another facet of King’s article that caught my attention. She talks about story. She describes how debates in the early Christian centuries have led her to focus on story. She asks a basic question: “What work do stories do?” I found this an interestingly provocative question. I never thought about story in this fashion. And so began her analysis. She makes this observation. “Storytelling is a deeply human act through which possibilities are realized.” She continues to say stories determine “ways of living” by which we are “enabled or constrained.” She concludes these initial thoughts with the note that “It matters which stories are told, and by whom.” She is correct here, I’m sure.
I certainly have told stories. We all have. We all have stories of our early childhood and our families. Who we are is tied up with our story. And we know that our story is not over. In fact, we often hear people talk about the many chapters of our life’s story. I know that story is based in reality---on facts, as we might claim. But we may misunderstand the role of facts and our stories.
This is how King puts it. “The stories we live by, or the stories that are forced upon us, are crucial…There are no bare facts that are not entangled in storied worlds.” We could follow the argument King makes in her article about the stories of early Christianity and how doctrine became formulated into “winning” stories and heresy became the other side of the coin---namely, the losers. I have been a student of early Christianity and know the stories that include losers, like the Gnostics, the Arians, and so forth. When I think about my current group of students, they are not much interested in this. I suppose if I were in a different kind of intense Christian community, the interest would still be there.
Instead, I think about the role of story in our lives today and want to pursue that a little bit. As indicated, we all have stories. To be human is to have a story. In this sense stories are constitutive---they constitute us. If our story changes, we change. For example, if I grew up in a Christian context, it is likely I will say, I am a Christian. However, if I no longer find that religious tradition meaningful, I change my story and, hence, my identity. I no longer identify as a Christian. Or I may find something else more compelling and convert. For example, I might find yoga speaks to my condition and I confidently announce, I am a Buddhist.
As we think about it more carefully, we realize there are key features of our story. These typically are tied up with important times or events in our lives. Friends affect our story. We might fall in love and get married. This certainly change our story and, hence, our identity. And then come the kids. The minute I have that first child, I proudly add or change my story so that being a parent becomes a primary marker of who I am. I am sure that identity is a key feature of being human. Belonging is another key feature. If you want to get to know me, you will need to know to whom or what I belong. Most of us have multiple belongings: our family, church perhaps, place of work, etc. Clearly belonging to specific people, i.e. spouse, kids, friends, etc., go a long way into making us who we are. And with those belongings come stories.
In addition to identity and belonging, we know that meaning is the third key feature of being human. How we choose to make meaning out of our lives is crucial to our story. In my case meaning is tied up with being Christian and being spiritual. My story includes being a Quaker, but affiliating a great deal with Catholicism. I also am active in the interfaith movement, so see aspects of myself in Buddhism, Islam and the like. In this sense my story is much more complex that the story of my boyhood in provincial rural Indiana. I am both the same guy and not at all the same guy.
The work of stories is a fascinating way to think about who we are, to whom we belong and how we make meaning. I am glad I like my story and I know how my story works to make me who I am. I also know my story is still being written---or lived. I am intrigued how it will unfold and end. In this sense it is a story of faith. The work of my story is a faith journey.
King is fascinated by the difference between orthodoxy and heresy---right and wrong belief. We all know these kinds of issues can generate heat, anger and sometimes even violence. In Christian history heretics were condemned and too often killed. The Church frequently has been the perpetrator of these actions. I wish I could say those days are over; they are not. Sometimes I wonder if indifference might actually end these kinds of debates? But that day is a long way off. Too many people care too deeply.
However, it was another facet of King’s article that caught my attention. She talks about story. She describes how debates in the early Christian centuries have led her to focus on story. She asks a basic question: “What work do stories do?” I found this an interestingly provocative question. I never thought about story in this fashion. And so began her analysis. She makes this observation. “Storytelling is a deeply human act through which possibilities are realized.” She continues to say stories determine “ways of living” by which we are “enabled or constrained.” She concludes these initial thoughts with the note that “It matters which stories are told, and by whom.” She is correct here, I’m sure.
I certainly have told stories. We all have. We all have stories of our early childhood and our families. Who we are is tied up with our story. And we know that our story is not over. In fact, we often hear people talk about the many chapters of our life’s story. I know that story is based in reality---on facts, as we might claim. But we may misunderstand the role of facts and our stories.
This is how King puts it. “The stories we live by, or the stories that are forced upon us, are crucial…There are no bare facts that are not entangled in storied worlds.” We could follow the argument King makes in her article about the stories of early Christianity and how doctrine became formulated into “winning” stories and heresy became the other side of the coin---namely, the losers. I have been a student of early Christianity and know the stories that include losers, like the Gnostics, the Arians, and so forth. When I think about my current group of students, they are not much interested in this. I suppose if I were in a different kind of intense Christian community, the interest would still be there.
Instead, I think about the role of story in our lives today and want to pursue that a little bit. As indicated, we all have stories. To be human is to have a story. In this sense stories are constitutive---they constitute us. If our story changes, we change. For example, if I grew up in a Christian context, it is likely I will say, I am a Christian. However, if I no longer find that religious tradition meaningful, I change my story and, hence, my identity. I no longer identify as a Christian. Or I may find something else more compelling and convert. For example, I might find yoga speaks to my condition and I confidently announce, I am a Buddhist.
As we think about it more carefully, we realize there are key features of our story. These typically are tied up with important times or events in our lives. Friends affect our story. We might fall in love and get married. This certainly change our story and, hence, our identity. And then come the kids. The minute I have that first child, I proudly add or change my story so that being a parent becomes a primary marker of who I am. I am sure that identity is a key feature of being human. Belonging is another key feature. If you want to get to know me, you will need to know to whom or what I belong. Most of us have multiple belongings: our family, church perhaps, place of work, etc. Clearly belonging to specific people, i.e. spouse, kids, friends, etc., go a long way into making us who we are. And with those belongings come stories.
In addition to identity and belonging, we know that meaning is the third key feature of being human. How we choose to make meaning out of our lives is crucial to our story. In my case meaning is tied up with being Christian and being spiritual. My story includes being a Quaker, but affiliating a great deal with Catholicism. I also am active in the interfaith movement, so see aspects of myself in Buddhism, Islam and the like. In this sense my story is much more complex that the story of my boyhood in provincial rural Indiana. I am both the same guy and not at all the same guy.
The work of stories is a fascinating way to think about who we are, to whom we belong and how we make meaning. I am glad I like my story and I know how my story works to make me who I am. I also know my story is still being written---or lived. I am intrigued how it will unfold and end. In this sense it is a story of faith. The work of my story is a faith journey.
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