Storytelling, Biblical and Otherwise

Yesterday I did storytelling assignments for two of my seminary classes.  I began the day by driving down to Spartanburg Methodist College for one last meeting.  In fact, I drove down early because one of my department colleagues suggested that we meet for lunch--lunch was hard, but breakfast worked out for most of us.  It was a delight.

I came home just in time to wish my spouse good luck as he headed to the dentist.  I knew he would be gone for awhile; it was a fix the cavities visit, not a cleaning.  I decided to go ahead and experiment with filming my final project for the Biblical Storytelling class.  We did our first storytelling during the onground intensive.  For the final project, we had to choose two other stories to go with it (one from the Bible, one from any source that made sense).  We had to memorize them so that we could inhabit them and tell them, rather than reading them.

If the above sentence confuses you, you can see my final recording by going to my YouTube channel.  The project is here.

I did so many recordings.  I had several that would have been fine.  When I make recordings, I get to a point where I say, "Well, it's probably not going to get much better than what I have."  I did this recording by telling the story in front of my laptop with the video camera running.  I learned a lot by doing it this way.  I could watch the filming as it happened, which shortened the learning curve.

There would have been both advantages and disadvantages to having someone else hold the camera, but in the end, I don't think I would have ended up with a better version, just a different version.  The other aspect of a class project is that there is a deadline, and I do have lots of other projects coming due, along with final grading.

I went for a walk, and then I came home and got ready for my Stories of Power class.  We've looked at a variety of stories for the class, and for our final project, we had to write a story of our own.  We did a class of writing prompts, which I wrote about in this blog post.  Even though I had already started to create my story, I found the writing prompts helpful in enriching the story; in fact, I probably had a stronger ending that I wouldn't have had without that drafting work.

Last night, we read our stories.  We had 10 minutes to read, and then there would be 10 minutes of feedback, "generous dialogue" by our classmates, with the author remaining silent.  

I was part of the group that read last night.  I was happy with my story, and I was satisfied with the feedback.  Once grades are in, perhaps I'll post parts of it here.  I'm not sure it's a story that would ever be published; it's not likely that kind of story.

It reminds me a bit of the sketching that I do and a bit like the blogging that I do.  They are both valuable, very valuable to me.  But in terms of anything that's immediately money making, nope.  

I had the story in my head for a few weeks, and when I finally sat down to write it on Saturday, it flowed smoothly.  I did some revising on Sunday--took out a chunk and tightened it a bit.  It was so enjoyable, it made me wonder why I don't do it more often.

I may do more story telling in the coming years, when I'm not close to overextended with seminary work, preaching work, and teaching.  For now, though, I'm happy to have these opportunities that give me MDiv class credit--hurrah for this program that lets me think about creative juxtapositions with theology.  

We Are Waiting, Jesus: A Closing Liturgy/Prayer for Advent

Yesterday, we watched worship from other churches where we have a connection.  I'm always interested to know what other churches are doing.  I had taken a walk with the pastor who was supply pastor at our local Lutheran church yesterday, and I wanted to know how her sermon would turn out, especially since her ideas about the fig tree inspired me to look at the Gospel passage with fresh eyes.

Her approach was different than mine, which was no surprise, but we both saw the leaves on the fig tree as a sign of hope, not a harbinger of doom (or a harbinger of autumn and winter being right around the corner).

Our Florida church observed World AIDS day, which seemed appropriate for Advent.  I thought about how I neglected to mention it, but I'm at a very different church in Bristol, Tennessee.  I could have made it fit with my sermon, though--drat for lost opportunities.

Our Florida church has an Advent liturgy that I've never seen anywhere else, and can't find now.  I'm almost sure it came from the Iona community in Scotland originally.  We close worship each Sunday in Advent with a prayer that says, "We are waiting, Jesus.  We are waiting in Pembroke Pines."  

Through the years, we've added various cities.  At first, it was just the cities surrounding the church where members live:  "We are waiting in Pembroke Pines and Hollywood, in Dania Beach and Ft. Lauderdale."  Now, as we livestream and record, the church has added all the cities/states where former members have moved.

Yesterday, I felt a sublime happiness to hear, "We are waiting, Jesus, in North Carolina."  How wonderful to know that although we are gone, we are not forgotten.  It's what the best liturgies do--sew the past to the present, while looking to the future.

Sermon for the First Sunday of Advent 2024

 December 1, 2024

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 21:25-36

As I was thinking about this Advent text, I went to my file of sermons written to look up the sermon for last year’s first Sunday of Advent.  I was surprised to find out that a year ago, we had apocalyptic texts.  At first I thought I had my lectionary years mixed up, but no—last year, we had apocalyptic texts from Mark (the same reading we had two weeks ago), and this year, we get similar imagery from Luke.

If you leave church today feeling slightly confused, I don’t blame you.  We’ve got a Chrismon tree, but no Christmas carols.  The calendar says it’s December, and here we have a Gospel reading that might be more appropriate for Lent, with Jesus trying to tell his disciples what is coming their way.

It’s an interesting question, and one that theologians still wrestle with:  what is the Gospel writer of Luke trying to do with this scene?  Is Jesus warning his disciples about his own crucifixion?  Or is he giving them insight into some later time of doom?  And is he talking about doom or the restoration of the reign of God?

And back to us, as a congregation, who might be saying, “We need a little Christmas, right this very minute.”  In some ways, we’re so very different from the audience who first read the Gospel of Luke—many of them would remember the destruction of the Temple that Jesus seems to predict.  Many of them might be expecting Jesus to return physically in their lifetime—those first generation Christians likely longed for Christmas too, the second Christmas of Christ’s coming..  

We are not so different, those first followers of Jesus and our 21st century congregations.  Through the generations, we’ve had to learn to live in the in between times.  Our Bible readings for today remind us that the long view is far longer than many of us might like.

In our Christian congregations, when we hear about the reign of God that Jesus proclaims, we think of this inbreaking of the Kingdom, the community, of God as beginning with Jesus.  But Jesus and the early believers were Jewish—the ones who wrote our New Testament texts would have been steeped in much older timelines, timelines that would tell us that God has been at work in the world for thousands of years before Jesus makes an appearance.  Our reading from Jeremiah today reminds us that God is a God of covenant.  The arrival of Jesus doesn’t end that covenant—no, the arrival of Jesus expands that covenant.

The words of Jesus tell us of the scope of the promise.  The world as we see it is not the finished creation.  God did not create perfection and then leave humans to wreck it—although that is certainly part of a theology that is supportable from the Bible.  But it is only part.  

God does not leave humans alone in the wreckage.  God has not abandoned us for a better creation that God made after this one that we live in.  The writer of the Gospel of Luke was addressing those early Christians who survived the uprisings that led to the destruction of the Temple and the expulsion from ancestral lands—texts like today’s Gospel try to answer the question:  “What happens now?  How do we continue to live?”  

Think of those first century Christians who have heard the Good News that Jesus proclaims:  a new world is emerging, where the lowly will be lifted up, the powerful will be made to share resources.  And yet, that’s not the world we see around us.

As we move through our Advent texts, we may feel the same kind of jarring disconnect.  We live in a society that has been celebrating Christmas for months now, if the store displays are any indication; indeed, on this first Sunday of Advent, many Christmas items are reduced.  We live in a world where many people can’t afford any of this holiday cheer, no matter how deeply reduced it is.  We do not see the poor lifted up.  We do not see the powerful brought down.  Indeed, it seems that with every passing year, the powerful make gains, perhaps through their connections, perhaps through their talents, perhaps through activities that would send ordinary citizens to jail.  Meanwhile ordinary citizens struggle just to make ends meet.

How do we survive in these in between times?  We know the promises that God makes.  But the fulfillment seems so far away.  

Our non-Christian culture, not surprisingly, would tell us that we survive by making purchases:  maybe it’s a fancy vacation or some other item on our bucket lists.  Maybe we console ourselves with our favorite foods, or maybe we’re a bit more selfless as we buy gifts for others or make donations to worthy causes.  But unsurprisingly, Jesus has a different approach to the question of how to survive in the in between time.  We stay alert, and we watch, and we pray.

I’ve read today’s Gospel text many times, but this year, it lands differently with me. Jesus tells us that we’re living in difficult times that are about to get much more difficult.  He’s talking, most likely, about Roman oppression that’s about to get much, much worse, while my brain goes to global warming and a bird flu that’s in the process of becoming much more transmissible.  In this autumn of disruptions and unexpected crises, it’s not hard to see signs of coming apocalypse all around us.  

At the close of this year of upheavals and coming chaos, verse 34 lands differently.  In this time of crisis, what does Jesus recommend?   “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life.”  

That’s what Jesus tells us:  Don’t let our hearts get heavy with all these worldly worries.  Maybe you, like me, are saying, “Great, that advice again.  So, Jesus, tell us exactly how to do that.”

This year, like past years, I’m seeing Jesus tell us to pray.  But this year, I’m interpreting the fig tree differently.  I started thinking about the fig tree in this passage, when I took a walk with a pastor friend who is also preaching on this text today.  She was planning to focus on the tree, who continues making its way through the seasons, even when the world is falling apart.  In the face of apocalypse, the fig tree produces leaves.  Instead of a harbinger of doom, the way I’m prone to see it in this text, it can also be seen as a harbinger of life.

And that’s the larger message of this passage.  Jesus tells us over and over again that the world may be falling about, and we may feel like we’re sitting in the ruins of everything that’s good.  But this wreckage can be a sign of better times ahead.  Jesus tells us not to focus on the wreckage, but to remember the promise of God, who is at work in the world, creating beauty where many of us might only see brokenness.  God is at work, like that fig tree, sprouting new life, even as old world orders crash to a close.  God invites us to be part of the new life, a branch on a tree that is far from dead.