I have worked hard at crafting my skills as a story teller. I have taken classes, attended workshops, read books and practiced over and over again. I believe that storytelling is an essential skill for a preacher. We need to be able to tell the stories of our people in ways that are engaging, while at the same time accurate. The truth of the story is often at a deeper level than the mere repetition of the words. Meanings emerge from the way the words are spoken as much as from what is said. Oral language is significantly different from written language. There are plenty of excellent scholars and religious thinkers that have the capacity to bore their audiences to the point of not listening. I have resolved to develop a different style of presentation.

As a storyteller, however, I am aware that my own experiences and thoughts become woven into my narrative. I am looking for patterns, connecting events and activities, trying to make each story fit into the shape of beginning, middle and end. Real life, however, isn’t always that neat. Sometimes things occur and the purpose isn’t clear. Sometimes the order of events seems to be almost random from the perspective of meaning. But all humans hunger to make sense out of the randomness of life. If we can tell the story, if we can explain the events, then our lives seem to us to be less haphazard.

One of the temptations for a storyteller is to rush towards a conclusion. When telling the story of a tragedy, I feel a compulsion to look for the silver lining in the cloud. I want to rush forward towards a conclusion that has a positive impact on my hearers. Real life, however, is never quite that simple. Yes, good things do come out of tragic circumstances, but too often in the midst of tragedy, we are unable to see the positive side of the situation. It can take years for us to understand fully the impact of a tragedy. Grief doesn’t pass quickly enough to be reported in a sermon. Not all stories reach their conclusion in less than 20 minutes.

Occasionally, I am courageous to leave the congregation hanging - to simply state that the story is not yet ended, that there is more that we need to say, but today isn’t the day for the conclusion. That is, however, rare for me. I like to have the loose ends tied up and the congregation at a comfortable place when we leave the sanctuary for coffee hour.

I am not positive, but it seems to me that the challenge for a teller of stories in our generation is a bit more challenging than it has been in some times for our people. Our people are far less comfortable with mystery than once was the case. In our scientific age, se somehow have convinced ourselves that our minds are capable of understanding everything. Instead of a reality to be respected, mystery has become a problem to be solved. We don’t want to simply life with mystery - we want answers.

In some of its more fundamentalist forms, religion is used to beat back mystery rather than engage in it. Preachers claim to have all of the answers, to be able to explain every thing in the universe. They speak of Biblical narratives as if they are science textbooks, create scenarios in which their notion of the timing of creation trumps the explanations of scholars and scientists, and claim authority to shape the narrative of the wider community to their own ends. In such communities, uncertainty is viewed as a lack of faith.

In other corners of our community there are those who seek only answers that can be mastered in terms of effectiveness: profits, results, spreadsheets. If there is plenty of money it must be successful - or worse yet, moral.

Neither of these two perspectives have much room for mystery.

Mystery, however, is at the heart of the human experience. And it is at the core of our religious faith. Despite all of the studies, autopsies, and other explorations, we don’t know the full meanings of human death. We don’t know what the experience of dying is like. We don’t know what lies beyond. We can speculate. We can try to draw conclusions for those who have had near death experiences. We can search the literature of pervious generations for their thoughts and ideas.

The expanse of the universe is unknown. Even if we did develop just the right telescopes to view the edges of the universe, even if we were to develop the right language to describe such gigantic distances, the reality remains that there is much inside of the universe that is unknown. Dark matter and dark energy appear to be realities that cannot be seen. In terms of traditional scientific observation, we do not possess the ability to study things that cannot be observed. We might question the existence of things that cannot be observed, but their effects on those things that can be observed is undeniable.

There is much in this world that cannot be wrapped up in neat stories with compact endings. Mystery abounds.

I want to celebrate that mystery, not explain it. I am as intrigued by scientific exploration as are others. I celebrate new discoveries and new ways of understanding dimensions of the universe and our role in it that were unknown to previous generations. These explorations, however, are as driven by mystery as they are by strident application of particular techniques and principles. The quest to understand lies deep within us and it responds to the reality of mystery in surprising and wonderful ways.

As much as we would like to believe otherwise, we are not the authors of our own stories. Events which are beyond our control influence and shape our lives narratives. There is much mystery in each human story and most stories don't come to neat conclusions, even for the storytellers.

So let us celebrate the mystery and accept unending stories. It may be that in doing so we open our lives to deeper meanings and truth than we had previously known.

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