The value of 'story'

This is on my mind today, oddly enough, because it is the feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. Loving popular devotions as I do (however weird - not that I embrace all of them myself), I still do regret that the images from sermons aimed at fostering such devotions often took on a life of their own, and the essential truths could be lost. Yet, equally, I think that the sort of devotions, grotesque though some of them were, which flowered in the Middle Ages have great value - because one could internalise truths which may have not matched the scriptural image but could have important implications in one's own life.

Moving from the sublime to the irritable for a moment, I well remember (this on the 'story' topic I hope to develop) a highly annoying girl with whom I attended college. I have never found a solid definition for what a 'jerk' is, but, were there a contest, I know she would have taken the grand prize. Her 'humour,' which she thought rich, was as stupid as it gets - but she never noticed that no one else laughed, because her priceless lines ("Did you hear Bing Crosby died?" "No, when?" "He froze to death singing White Christmas.") were followed by a cackling laugh on her part. It was a flat "Ha! Ha!" (short A), which gave no impression of mirth but much of derision.

S., for reasons that shall immediately become puzzling, was studying English literature, and had aspirations of becoming a writer. It is no wonder that she did not complete the course, and that the stories and plays she wrote were utter nonsense. In any discussion, in class or out, of any work of literature, woe to the person who uttered a word about theme, plot, characterisation, or any of the other elements to which one normally refers in such a setting. S. immediately would cackle, "It's only a story!," and this was followed by her dreadful, scornful laugh. One professor was quite noted as a teacher of creative writing, but S. could learn nothing in her class. When this professor handed back any of S's work, with the sort of comments most would find highly useful (...normally about theme, plot, characterisation and the like), they were wasted - cue for the cackling laugh and "it's only a story!"

As anyone (with this single exception) who has any interest in literature is well aware, there is no decent fiction that does not contain powerful truth. As well, legends, which are based on true events but have, shall we say, fictional embellishments, can contain more truth than the bare 'facts.'

In relation to the scriptures, may I say that I by no means think of the New Testament as 'fiction.' Yet I have learnt (I whose proficiency with hermeneutics required great practice - I keep slipping away into meditations) that it is quite important to consider what is happening in each account 'as story.' What truth was the author seeking to express? And of what value to his particular local church?

I remember chuckling over an Internet site's proclaiming RC scholar Raymond E. Brown a heretic because he denied the literal truth of the visit of the Magi. Those who condemned this great man apparently could not see that, if indeed the story of the Magi is not literally true, its essence is exquisitely powerful. The Gentiles gave homage to the King of Kings, after all.

Raymond Brown (a favourite of mine - and will those who love private devotions please recall that I value him for his expertise as a scripture scholar) makes an excellent point in his detailed commentary on the Infancy narratives. Too much popular devotion has focused on these events with an emphasis on Mary's psychological dispositions. For example, the Finding in the Temple becomes a study in how Mary felt when this cheeky kid disappeared for three days - and just what did she ponder in her heart afterwards? I am not knocking such speculation - indeed, I am sure that many a mother has found comfort in knowing that Mary herself had a child who could be a handful. Yet the essence, that Israel (Simeon, Anna, Zechariah, Elizabeth) had recognised the Son of God, and that now Jesus, just entering manhood, refers to 'his Father' and therefore acknowledges that status himself, can disappear as one wonders how on earth Mary got this formidable child to be obedient to her.

I am not one for pictures of swords passing through hearts - though a number of sermons, as far back as Anselm or more, were quite colourful in their treatment of those swords. Yet Mary's 'seven sorrows' are valuable, even if such an emphasis does not have to do with exegesis. They can remind us of Jesus' humanity - and of the sort of sufferings, common to the human lot, which both he and his mother would endure because of his vocation to proclaim the kingdom.

I am embarrassed of my own peasant dialect, yet how I should love (were I able to understand, of course) to have heard Jesus' salty Aramaic - or Peter's preaching in the slur of Galilee - or Paul's Greek with the flavour distinct to the Jew. I was trained to a certain refinement (much of which did not take, as I'm sure is obvious... but the Sisters from Cork did try their best), and love the openness of these great story tellers. Jesus' parables have the flavour of the pub and market - he had the gift, genius though he was, for reaching people 'where they were.' He was perfectly capable of engaging in the fiery debates of the synagogue - heavens, even at 12 he was amazing. Yet he was equally comfortable with those of his own class - speaking in vivid, earthy dialect and images.

Why do many fear allowing for literary forms and story in the scriptures? Oh, I'm perfectly capable of writing an historical treatment of this - but I'm using my pub and market voice today. To know that admission of 'story' is no threat to doctrine involves two important elements, I would say. First, the language of doctrine was born in doxology - and, indeed, much of it is perfect in that context and confusing otherwise. (I'm not about to explain the Trinity - yet I invoke them in every one of my prayers.) Second, and some of you will dislike this one, we need to remember that the scriptures were not the 'end' - that Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit, speaks through his Church. I am not about to define just how this comes about, but tradition (in the true sense) is essentially exegetical. (I know, I know... when I was younger, I too pictured that Jesus told the apostles, "Happy Easter - I'm the Second Person of the Trinity" - then spent the next fifty days giving them an intensive course in theology, perhaps even in rubrics. I still am sad at times to think that "Go ye, therefore, and teach all nations," was an inspiration of the church rather than Jesus' own words...)

I think I may tell all of you a few stories in the days to come. Blessings for now. Blessed may He be.