Tell us a story

Fog covers the Bay this early morning, though not so thick as to white-out the flashing red and green navigation lights dotting the channel near and far. First thing while the coffee maker heats up, I go outside on the porch to see how the world is. Sometimes the moon is so bright that I can see from shore to shore. Today it’s too dark to see the surface of the water, but with the fog and its damp, the loud wave action crashing ashore gives a primeval sense that the earth is just now being finished, the sea not yet under control. As if the Spirit is not yet moving over the face of the deep, and the Word has not yet said “Thus far you shall come, but no farther, and here shall your proud waves stop.”

Sunday School this morning. I’m uneasy whether to face the same Word shouting “Lazarus, come out.” For a man bound in burial cloths to stumble out of his tomb may not have so astonished the Greek world to whom the evangelist first told his story. But in our world of science and thomases, do we still need these old stories to tell us who we are? 

Who would we be without the stories of the Word? Or would we? I don’t know. I once heard a theology professor suggest that if the λόγος ever stops speaking, not only will we cease to be, we will never have been.

Erzähl mir was.

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