Festival Reflections
“Y’All means All”
Day Four
A great way to end the last full day of the Festival. It was a concert/storytelling event by the folk singer John McCutcheon. He came out playing the banjo, but also picked up the guitar, played the piano, the hammered dulcimer and the auto harp, and managed to make them all sound amazing. He played with Pete Seeger, sang in lots of famous places (including Franke Park? ) He sang a song about his mom calling them all in to dinner, he had passel of brothers and sisters. One line goes “there was plenty for all, though we didn’t have a lot.” Sounds like home. Another song was about his grandma, who was from the south, and said y’all a lot. But told them “Y’all means all.”
A lot of his songs were about unity, about family, about home. That’s what spoke to me. Maybe because tomorrow I make the long drive home, and because I’m missing folks at home. Maybe because this is a big week in my family’s life together: Maddie turned 21, and Rhys graduates from DePauw on Sunday. Change is all around, I’m feeling unsettled about what might be next, I must confess. And yet I celebrate who we are becoming. Really, I do. Even while I miss home. The home I found. The home we made in each other and with more.
The songs were about a larger unity with a smaller metaphor, the world as family, the planet as home. McCutcheon told a story about playing a concert in Canada and discovering afterward that someone broke into his dressing room and stole a computer and phone and watch. He called his 80 year old dad in the middle of the night who said, Son, it’s just stuff. Yeah, but, he argued, it’s not about the stuff. It’s a betrayal of the community we created during the concert, he pouted.
I know that pout. The community we are creating is being shaken. By all sorts of things it seems. But Dr. David Lose has a theory that seems plausible to me. His argument is that our losses are not the result of busyness or lack of interest, it’s not because we aren’t entertaining enough or utilizing the right technology. No, Lose argues, the problem is we don’t know our story anymore. And the world is ready to provide a selection of stories to compete with ours. And here’s the rub, they are telling their stories better than we are telling ours. Stories define us, shape us, help us connect with others, tel us what we really believe and move us into action. We’ve become obsessed with facts, when what the world needs is story. We are, according to Lose, no longer homo sapiens - people of wisdom (in terms of information), we are homo narrans - people of story.
The problem is we’ve gotten lazy in telling our story. We assumed that everyone knew our story, God’s story, the story of God with God’s people, and for us Christians, the story of Christ in God’s story. We assumed everyone knows, but they don’t. We don’t. We’ve forgotten our own story. We’re like the people of God in Second Kings chapter twenty-two, when the boy King Josiah reigned. They were cleaning out the temple and someone found the scrolls of the Word of God. When the King read them he was astonished, they had all forgotten. Can you imagine? Passover had not been celebrated for years because they forgot. They wept when they discovered what they had forgotten, what they had lost. They didn’t know who they really were.
But they got another chance. They remembered. They retold. They recaptured their identity. I felt convicted by this. I am considered something of an expert on preaching in our conference. Yet I had to ask how I was doing in telling the story. No, in teaching the story. Making sure those in our care learn this story. Like many in our church, I worry whether my children, who are already good people, will make good decisions, will treat people well, will do their job, will be adults worthy of praise. But will the church be a part of their lives? That’s the question that haunts me. As I know it does many others. We have to be better in telling the story. We have to tell a better story than the world tells.
Before Lose’s lecture, Dr. Karoline Lewis spoke on empowered preaching. And though she used different words, she said the same thing that Lose said. We have to know our story. For Lewis she had some specific “keys” for this empowerment. They were all about knowing. Know the bible, know your theology, know your body, know your leadership, and know your voice. It is in this knowing that we can claim our story. But knowing means more than just having information, it means being able to be in dialog with, to unpack and examine, to look at influences and nuances. It means knowing that we are important, but also part of something much bigger than ourselves. Community, family, home. Y’all means all.
The morning began with worship and David Lose preaching to us from Genesis 32, Jacob wrestling a man at the ford of Jabbok. This story, he argued is about identity. Names were important in this story. The name he had and the name he was given. The name that had defined him was Jacob, which means the usurper, or even the trickster. It was a name that spoke of the edgy life that he lived. And the man, who Jacob knew was the Lord, asked for his name it was like asking for a confession. Who are you at your worst? Who are you in your brokenness, in your selfishness, in your scheming and your plotting, in your manipulating and treachery, in your frustrations and hatred. What’s your name, says the Lord, who are you?
The good news is that God doesn’t let us keep that name. You are no longer Jacob, you are Israel the one who wrestles with God. Just like in baptism, St. Paul tells us, we put on Christ. We have a new name, that of Christ. The broken self is repaired, healed in Christ. We are made whole and brought into a family, into relationship. Though Jacob limped from his encounter on the river bank, he also was able to reconcile with his brother, return to his family, able to go home. Y’all means all.
This afternoon I heard the Rev. Dr. Joy Moore, a fellow United Methodist, preach to us about Contentious Conversations. Based on Isaiah 6, which is Isaiah’s call story, where Isaiah, like Jacob, had his broken self healed so that he could be of service. But then was given an impossible task. Tell the story. Teach the story, even when they won’t listen. Proclaim the word, even when they won’t follow. Keep telling the story. Everywhere. To everyone. Y’all means all.
Then the writer Nora Gallagher spoke to us about preaching climate change. Yeah, I know that is a contentious subject, and she admitted that too. But in the end her advice had less to do with proving or disproving climate change and more to do with living in a world in crisis. How do we proclaim hope while also being aware of the realities around us? How do we find good news in the midst of bad news. Her advice? Look harder. Look around. Look for help. Y’all means all.
The string is back. The Spirit string. Kite string, Plumb line, it’s back, was back tonight. As I listened to John McCutcheon sing and speak my heart was bound up, my soul was lifted up, my thoughts were tied up in going home, to those I love and those I miss so much, those without whom I am not completely whole. That string binds us together, the Spirit makes us one.
I probably won’t take the time to write about the last few presentations tomorrow morning. At least not for a while. So, this is probably the end of these reflections. I hope they gave you a sense of the power and glory of this event for me. And I hope it might give you a glimpse of things that are to come back at Aldersgate. And please know that my rapture of experiencing worship at this event is not intended to be a denigration of worship back home. It is full of the same glory and presence as what I’ve experienced here. Part of the learning is that it is more about preparation, about expectation, about participation in the moment than anything else. I am blessed to worship with a living community of faith each and every week. There are strings of the Spirit every time we lift our voices in praise, every time we break open the Word, every time we share the bread of life. Every time. From every one. Y’all means all.
Shalom,
Derek
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