The Story

I grew up in a neighborhood in a southern city, back when houses faced the street, and streets had sidewalks, and people sat on their front porches and talked to each other. In that neighborhood, there were neighborhood churches, and Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics, and Episcopalians could all walk to church from their homes, sometimes passing each other on the way. The only folks who had to drive were the Orthodox, whose church had to serve several neighborhoods.

My parents' preference was the Presbyterian church three blocks down the street. And there, along with the folks in the other churches, I heard the story. It sunk deeply into my child's heart, and as far back as I can remember I believed it. Still do. This time of year I can once again smell the evergreens and candles of the Christmas Season and the story read and acted and sung and professed in the Word. I think after all these years that the high point of faith for me was walking the aisle at the annual pageant, stumbling over my father's bathrobe and scratching at a false beard, bearing gifts (or was it a staff?), and knowing without doubt that Mary Jane Whats-her-name's baby doll in the manger was God's gift to me. Simple story: God became man, died for my sins, and opened his arms to me his child. And when on Christmas Sunday the pastor in his black robe held up a piece of cracker and said "This is my body," I had no idea of the historic minefield I would later discover there. At the time I reached out and took Jesus as he offered himself as a gift to me.

Later I discovered that there were doctrines about the story, and I learned that doctrine arises because man is a thoughtful creature, and in order to interpret what the story means, must ponder and muse and separate the essential from the lesser. Doctrine is a necessary, but in some ways, neutral, thing. At its worst it can divide us, and at its best keep us from believing the wrong story. But it is always a finite thing because the minds that contemplate the story will always only see a part; the story itself and the God of the story are infinite in content and in time. We have not yet adequately explored it.

One thing is for certain: while doctrine can offer protection and direction, it can never offer life. Life comes through the Wisdom of God, and Wisdom comes to us through the story. The best doctrine can say is, "Christianity is relational," a definition that loses its punch simply because it is a definition. Doctrine gives us fine definitions; story makes martyrs. But the story does an even greater wonder: it transforms the common drudgery of life into communion with heaven. Doctrine is like a candle lighting the way for a man; the story is a bright burning sun in the heart of a child.