students of jesus

This story originally appeared two years ago, but today is a beautiful spring day in Kentucky, and it calls out for some whimsy:

Once, somewhere in the Northern Highlands, among the hills of rock, two masons set out to build their homes. In the thin light of a new spring morning they each gathered stones together for their task.

The first mason selected stones suited for the work. He carted them to his site and quickly joined them together into a house both sturdy and safe. Because he finished his work quickly he built another house. And another. And still another until the landscape was filled with houses of stone, all sturdy and safe, but each one cold and empty.

The second mason made a curious choice of building materials, for among the Highlands was a quivering mountain of living stones. These stones were no bigger than those used by the first mason. They were no stronger or better shaped, nor any more lovely than the others. But they were alive: they spoke, they sang, they even argued, and somehow they could move of their own accord, even after being selected by the second mason.

As the mason piled the living stones into his wagon they asked where he was taking them. When they saw the plans for his house some cheered and sang while others complained and wandered away. They wanted no part of his house. Still the mason joined the stones together, building the walls and arches and hearth of a home fit for his purpose.

But because he had chosen living stones, the house was never completed. Some stones jumped from the cart before they arrived at the building. The work was forever unfinished as the mason returned to the mountain quarry again and again for more supply. Other stones allowed the mason to place them in the wall but failed to connect with the wall-mates on their left and right: they argued, they cried, and when they had could stand it no more, they left.

Still he continued to build. Always the house was incomplete. Some mornings the Mason would return to work only to discover that the stones had re-arranged themselves in the night. The Mason made curious choice to leave holes in the walls where the stones had fled, because (he said) “I selected that stone and crafted a place for it alone. Another cannot take its place.”

From time to time a missing stone would wander back to the house and the Mason lovingly fitted it back in the wall again. Some stones stayed in place forevermore, but some left (and returned) time and again. Still he continued to build. Room upon room he added, not one of them finished until there grew an unwieldy mansion both large and incomplete. In this mansion he chose to live, year after year in fellowship with the living stones that breathed in every wall.

Passers-by would stop and stare in amazement. Many laughed at the sprawling mess of a mansion that had grown on the landscape. It seemed without design and devoid of all reason.

“Why don’t you use the stones all the other masons use?” they laughed. “You could finish your house in days and be done with the work.”

“This building is my work,” he replied. “And as for the living stones it is true--they are a bother: but I could never build with dead ones, for this is my home, and I’ve come that they might have life.”

House of the Second Mason is part of a collection of super-short stories I published last year. If you liked this story, perhaps you will like some more.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: This blog is about spiritual formation, but in conjuction with the release of my mini eBook The Man With All The Answers, I wrote this piece for ChurchLeaders.com about the power of storytelling in preaching, so I share it with you here. -- OR -- if you're not interested in preaching, you could jump over to Amazon or Barnes & Noble and invest 99-cents in my new book.]

Steven Spielberg’s popular movie, Lincoln, runs exactly two and a half hours. After the brief opening sequence there are no explosions, no sword fights, and no one is killed on screen (spoiler alert: Lincoln is assassinated at Ford’s Theater).

When I saw the film, the theater was packed. Two and a half hours of talk, talk, talking heads on the screen yet no one in the theater moved, no one became restless, and no one complained about the length. And we have trouble holding people’s attention for a 28-minute sermon. What’s the difference?

The difference is story-telling. Spielberg knows how to tell a story, and we would do well to take a few pointers from him. In fact, forget Spielberg: our sacred text, the Holy Bible, is filled with stories. You might go so far as to say the Bible is one story: the Father’s relentless pursuit of his lost children. What lengths would you go through to rescue your children? (There: did you see it? When the subject changed to fathers, children and rescue, you began to engage with the material, didn’t you?)

Those of us who feed God’s flock must become God’s storytellers. Here’s the journey we must take:

• Once upon a time, there was a preacher who used bullet points in his sermon. The bullets killed his congregation’s attention and buried their passion. The End. (Chapter One: Just because you outlined your sermon doesn’t mean you have to reveal the outline.)

In Chapter Two we learn that God’s message to humanity is mostly story—even the parts that are not story. Take the Old Testament (please). From Genesis to Ezra-Nehemiah the book reveals one continuous narrative. The grand narrative is followed by books of poetry, filled with metaphor and images. Think of these books as God’s soundtrack to the story. Then come the prophets, who provide the director’s commentary on what has just transpired. Who could understand the prophets apart from the story of the Old Testament?

Chapter Three: When the Bible story moves to the New Testament we meet Jesus, the master storyteller. He didn’t write a book of systematic theology. He spoke in parables. His life was one long illustration of God's love. And when he taught, he used images from everyday life: flowers of the field and birds of the air. Jesus is better than even Spielberg!

Chapter Four: Professor Paul wrote letters filled with theology, but at least he had a relationship with the people who read the letters. Why not try using the book of Acts to reveal the story behind why Paul wrote his letters? Paul wrote to real people, struggling with real problems, and if you tell their story, your people will receive the story of Christians trying to apply their faith in practical ways.

Chapter Six leads us to the book of Revelation, and if that isn’t made for video, I don’t know what is! God's not afraid of imagery or imagination. Are you? (Oh, Chapter Five?) Some things are best left out of the story, especially if it makes your listener supply the missing pieces.

The End – Know when to quit. Which is better: four dry concepts from the scripture, or one life-changing story, also drawn from the Bible? In the jargon of Hollywood, make it memorable, and leave room for the sequel. After all, you have to preach 50 times a year!