Telling stories
26/03/24 00:15
Lately I have been pursuing a lifelong passion of mine. I recently finished reading, “How to Tell a Story: The Essential Guide to Memorable Storytelling from the Moth.” If you are unfamiliar with The Moth, one way to find out more is to check out The Moth podcast, available wherever you normally obtain podcasts. Founded in 1997, The Moth hosts opportunities for individuals to tell stories to live audiences. Moth stories are true, as remembered by the storyteller, and always told live. The storyteller stands in front of a microphone with no notes and tells a five-minute story on the theme of the event. Moth stories are not, however, told off the cuff. They are carefully rehearsed and The Moth provides professional coaches to storytellers to help them refine their stories and practice for events. The book is an excellent guide for those who want to tell stories.
I am currently reading “Between the Listening and the Telling” by Mark Yaconelli. Mark is a graduate of Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley and San Francisco Theological Seminary who is well known in youth ministry circles. He was the keynote presenter at the Association of Partners in Education national meeting I attended earlier this year. His book promotes the telling of authentic stories and he gives special attention to the ways in which stories can enhance Christian ministry, including funerals and celebrations of life.
I have made storytelling a focus of my career. Part of the reason that I went to theological seminary and pursued ordination was the influence of Frank Elliott, who was a cabin counselor when I attended church camp as a junior high student and pastor of the church I attended in my college years and where we were married. Frank used to speak of “Mining our Moments,” referring to a careful process of looking at the experiences of life for their deeper meanings. He developed a guide to that process and shared it in his writings and in his sermons. He was a big player in our choice of theological graduate schools as we completed our college degrees. Frank had studied under Ross Snyder, who became a mentor and teacher when we studied under him at Chicago Theological Seminary. Ross spoke and published about “Lived Moments into Meaning,” a process of careful, structured retelling of stories that examine the meanings that come from life’s experiences.
I applied lessons learned from Frank and from Ross into my own style of ministry, employing careful storytelling into my preaching, crafting a careful distinction between oral and written language, and honing a style of preparing for special services such as weddings, baptisms, and funerals by carefully interviewing involved persons for the stories of their loved ones and experiences of love.
I suppose that part of my incentive for studying storytelling now that I am retired is that I have encountered several young clergy who show promise for ministry, but who seem to have somehow thought that any working without notes qualifies as effective ministry. Frankly, I have endured too many sermons that are simply delivered before they have been adequately prepared. Standing in front of a congregation and rambling on about one’s thoughts about scripture or a topic without having done the hard work of research, refinement, and practice, is, in my opinion, simply lazy. The one tip I would offer to these young pastors is to look at the video recordings of their sermons. I suspect that they are unaware of how poorly they are coming across.
But my role as a retired pastor is not to criticize those who are currently serving churches, and I don’t think any of them are likely to turn to me for advice. So, rather than continuing with my criticism, I have a story to tell.
On the most recent Sunday, we were blessed to sit in church behind a family with three young children. We know the children because they attended Creation Care Camp, a summer daycamp for children that we led during our time as Interim Ministers of Faith Formation. As a result we were shown their artwork and had bits of conversation with them around the worship service. After worship, the five and a half year old said to Susan, “I know you forever!” Thinking that he meant that he would recognize her in the future, she asked him if he thought he would know her when she turned 100 years old. He seemed a bit confused by the question. Perhaps imagining someone being that old was a challenge for him. After a few minutes he asked his father to take a picture of Susan so I will remember her. The father and Susan complied, taking a photo of Susan with all three children. The five and a half year old looked at the picture on his father’s phone and approved of it. Later, when telling me the story of the conversation and reflecting on the precious experience, Susan speculated that the child probably meant that he had known her for a long time. After all, he had first met her over two years ago when he was only 3 years old. For one his age, two years can seem like forever. When we announced that we would not be returning as managers of a church camp, campers much older than five years said to us, “You have to come back. You’ve been here forever!”
What a tremendous gift it is to have a child declare, “I know you forever!” What a deep joy it is to be so warmly greeted by children when we see them. The boy’s younger sister had carefully covered the black and picture on the worship bulletin cover and proudly showed it to me. When I told her how much I liked her coloring, she beamed. Seeing these children so at home in church is heartwarming.
And there are children we have known forever. We know adults that we first met at their baptism as infants. We have known them all of their lives. These long-term relationships give us hundreds of stories to tell when they are told with respect and caution. Not every story we know is one we have permission to share. There are reasons to be very careful when telling stories that involve others, even when those stories are of experiences that we have. Among those is keeping children safe from Internet predators. I do not include names or pictures of children on my website. It is one more reason why telling stories in public should be done with carefully chosen words. Storytelling, when well done, is a careful process that reveals deep meaning.
I am currently reading “Between the Listening and the Telling” by Mark Yaconelli. Mark is a graduate of Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley and San Francisco Theological Seminary who is well known in youth ministry circles. He was the keynote presenter at the Association of Partners in Education national meeting I attended earlier this year. His book promotes the telling of authentic stories and he gives special attention to the ways in which stories can enhance Christian ministry, including funerals and celebrations of life.
I have made storytelling a focus of my career. Part of the reason that I went to theological seminary and pursued ordination was the influence of Frank Elliott, who was a cabin counselor when I attended church camp as a junior high student and pastor of the church I attended in my college years and where we were married. Frank used to speak of “Mining our Moments,” referring to a careful process of looking at the experiences of life for their deeper meanings. He developed a guide to that process and shared it in his writings and in his sermons. He was a big player in our choice of theological graduate schools as we completed our college degrees. Frank had studied under Ross Snyder, who became a mentor and teacher when we studied under him at Chicago Theological Seminary. Ross spoke and published about “Lived Moments into Meaning,” a process of careful, structured retelling of stories that examine the meanings that come from life’s experiences.
I applied lessons learned from Frank and from Ross into my own style of ministry, employing careful storytelling into my preaching, crafting a careful distinction between oral and written language, and honing a style of preparing for special services such as weddings, baptisms, and funerals by carefully interviewing involved persons for the stories of their loved ones and experiences of love.
I suppose that part of my incentive for studying storytelling now that I am retired is that I have encountered several young clergy who show promise for ministry, but who seem to have somehow thought that any working without notes qualifies as effective ministry. Frankly, I have endured too many sermons that are simply delivered before they have been adequately prepared. Standing in front of a congregation and rambling on about one’s thoughts about scripture or a topic without having done the hard work of research, refinement, and practice, is, in my opinion, simply lazy. The one tip I would offer to these young pastors is to look at the video recordings of their sermons. I suspect that they are unaware of how poorly they are coming across.
But my role as a retired pastor is not to criticize those who are currently serving churches, and I don’t think any of them are likely to turn to me for advice. So, rather than continuing with my criticism, I have a story to tell.
On the most recent Sunday, we were blessed to sit in church behind a family with three young children. We know the children because they attended Creation Care Camp, a summer daycamp for children that we led during our time as Interim Ministers of Faith Formation. As a result we were shown their artwork and had bits of conversation with them around the worship service. After worship, the five and a half year old said to Susan, “I know you forever!” Thinking that he meant that he would recognize her in the future, she asked him if he thought he would know her when she turned 100 years old. He seemed a bit confused by the question. Perhaps imagining someone being that old was a challenge for him. After a few minutes he asked his father to take a picture of Susan so I will remember her. The father and Susan complied, taking a photo of Susan with all three children. The five and a half year old looked at the picture on his father’s phone and approved of it. Later, when telling me the story of the conversation and reflecting on the precious experience, Susan speculated that the child probably meant that he had known her for a long time. After all, he had first met her over two years ago when he was only 3 years old. For one his age, two years can seem like forever. When we announced that we would not be returning as managers of a church camp, campers much older than five years said to us, “You have to come back. You’ve been here forever!”
What a tremendous gift it is to have a child declare, “I know you forever!” What a deep joy it is to be so warmly greeted by children when we see them. The boy’s younger sister had carefully covered the black and picture on the worship bulletin cover and proudly showed it to me. When I told her how much I liked her coloring, she beamed. Seeing these children so at home in church is heartwarming.
And there are children we have known forever. We know adults that we first met at their baptism as infants. We have known them all of their lives. These long-term relationships give us hundreds of stories to tell when they are told with respect and caution. Not every story we know is one we have permission to share. There are reasons to be very careful when telling stories that involve others, even when those stories are of experiences that we have. Among those is keeping children safe from Internet predators. I do not include names or pictures of children on my website. It is one more reason why telling stories in public should be done with carefully chosen words. Storytelling, when well done, is a careful process that reveals deep meaning.
