Picture Albums and Home Videos: Anecdotes of a Forgotten Past

I'm in a paradox about that oft-used/oft-abused instrument of preachers, the anecdote. I confess publicly now my own over-trained cynicism that comes second nature as I sit on the other side of someone else's pulpit some Sunday I'm out of my own. And I cannot help but start taking notes about how they do things, their method and technique (i.e., manuscript or free form, narrative or 3 point style, etc). And one thing I always seem sure to note is if they fall prey to the great cover-up: telling some story or anecdote or joke at the beginning in an effort to "break the ice" or "warm up the crowd". In other words, to entertain.

Sadly I fail to remember where I heard this (which is appropriate to where this blog seems to be taking me) but I've heard it said that often preachers look for a quip or clever yarn to open up sermons as a way to hide their own insecurity; to please the crowd before prophesying; to win them to your side before you bend them over and tell them what they don't want to hear. So in my over-educated, well-oiled superiority complex, I give the preacher a demerit and am then on the lookout for other indications of their short-comings (which, any good psychologist would probably tell you has far more to do with my own insecurities and short-comings than anything else). Nevertheless, the anecdote in this context becomes the sugar coating on a bad-tasting Gospel. It seems to me the Gospel deserves to be taken more seriously than a punchline or bad medicine; and is certain bigger than the kind of joke that is only laughed at to make the teller feel okay with themselves.

But this is a paradox because Jesus himself is an amazing Storyteller. He weaves images with words to give us a tapestry of the Kingdom. The most memorable, engaging sermons I've heard are often full of stories and personal testimony that reveal the Kingdom in the syntax of real-life. This accounts (sometimes humorous, sometimes grave) offer a tangible memory of the Gospel for a parishioner to take home and play with for a while.

I am rather humbled by all I've experienced by God's grace in my short life; travel, relationships, musical performances, unique experiences, etc. I love living this life God has so carefully set-up around us. And yet whenever I rummage through my memories for an illustration that I hope will not entertain or cover-up but give hand-holds to the Gospel, I have trouble making the connections. I've driven long miles, hiked through mountains and deserts and highlands, flown over oceans and timezones, but I cannot find an illustration to illuminate the journey of the friends to Emmaus (Luke 24).

My wife will grow frustrated with me from time to time (hehe, look at this, an anecdote) when she asks, "Don't you remember when ..." followed by a memory of something she or I said and despite my conscientious effort to [i]not[/i] be like those insensitive, dull-witted cavemen portrayed in TV sitcoms, I'll give her the stereotypical, "Um..." and wince. Recently, after repeating this scene, I realized that I don't remember conversations much, but impressions. In other words, I think I remember in photographs, not in video.

Perhaps a psychologist could better explain what that's about. Or maybe it is simply a sign that I'm not a very practiced observer of life but instead, I spend my energy thinking about how I feel about life (i.e., spend more time thinking about how [i]I[i/] look at life instead of just looking at life!). It's as if Monet paints my memories: as if the images are cast behind a sheet of water; a still picture that shimmers with movement. If my life were a book, it would probably be one of those coffee table books, and have more pictures than words. While I appreciate how God is created me, it would be nice to have eyes to view the world and not orbit around my own perspective; to start with the world and see where I fit, instead of starting with self and moving out.

Maybe to actually be less self-aware and just more aware is the faithful task for preachers.