Story Telling

How can I remember the things I have seen, the people I have met, the signs and wonders that I have experiences when I return from a pilgrimage of body and soul? Is there lasting value in being on pilgrimage? Certainly there are photos, postcards, brochures gathered. But the treasures of the journey become more deeply etched in my Spirit when I tell the stories of my journey, and what gifts I was given along the way. I am musing today on story telling as a spiritual practice. I am reminded that the woman from Samaria in the Gospel of John came running back to town after her watery encounter with Jesus, saying, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” (Jn 4: 29), A story told gives life to our experience; a story heard opens the hearts and minds for others.

The spiritual practice of story telling begins with deciding what stories to tell: what in my journey revealed the Holy? who reflected the image of God in a way I could comprehend more clearly? what words came into my awareness that expanded my repertoire of wonder, love and praise? what images from God’s creation and human ingenuity widened my horizons, sparked my imagination? what enacted truths about the world and its cultures called me to pray and to act for justice more energetically?

To whom shall I tell these stories? Not everyone wants to hear a travelogue, see thousand of slides, sit through unsorted reminiscences of all the places I found food. But there are those who are eager to be introduced into those places to which they have yet to travel. Stories can bring good news of things as yet unexperienced. Sometimes they remind listeners of places and encounters in their own pasts which have given life. A vision of possibility can arise from hearing of someone else’s adventure of body and Spirit. Therefore, I await the openings of heart and ears from those who would love to hear a story.

What words will I choose to tell my stories? Emily Dickinson has charged us to “Tell all the truth, but tell it slant.” My stories do come from my perspective, my lens, my happenings. But I can shape their gift by the words and tone with which I tell them: do I begin with all the hazards of the road? all that went wrong? or can I choose a perch of abundance from which to narrate the goings, comings and side-trips? I have been challenged this year in reading Marilyn Chandler McIntyre’s book Caring for Words in a Culture of Lies. McIntyre, a college professor , says in her series of essays that caring for words is a moral issue. Accurate and precise words enable us to tell the truth in love better. With the earth and air packed with words of many kinds, so many trying to grab attention, we are all tempted to use the words that will stir up drama, slant the argument in our favor, capture the negative spin. I fall back on the old family adage of criteria for speaking: is it true? is is kind? is it necessary?

The stories I am to tell are not just reserved for pilgrimages or past memories. My daily and ongoing story is a Spirit story that delights, informs, and encourages those around me. When I hear the stories of others, I am moved, challenged and blessed. The interplay of stories on the journey of Spirit helps keep us going, reminds us of where we are going and The One who accompanies us. It is through stories that I have come to experience and to know the Mystery we call God. It is through stories that I see the mystery of Spirit moving and healing through people and systems. It is the story of Jesus that reminds me of the concrete, on the ground, tangible Presence of the Holy in this all-so-fractured world.

So complete my pilgrimage, I need to tell the story– of my encounter with the Holy, of the revelation of the Creator in forest, mountain and river, of the love of Jesus made clear in the faces of beloved ones. “This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior, all the day long.”