The church, stories and 'lower education'

I will tell you something about stories ...
They aren't just entertainment.
Don't be fooled.

They are all we have, you see. All we have to fight off illness and death ...
Their evil is mighty, but it can't stand up to our stories.

So they try to destroy the stories, let the stories be confused or forgotten.

They would like that ... because we would be defenseless then.
--Leslie Silko, Ceremony

For the better part of two centuries, modernism has waged a relentless war against narrative ways of knowing. The forces of rationalism, abstraction and science effectively marginalized, suppressed or destroyed cultures of story. Utilitarian facts were privileged over useful fictions, and the propositional eclipsed the poetic, while narrative was relegated to parlor, theater, or reservation. And as Native American novelist Silko rightly warns, as people became confused and forgetful about their stories, they became increasingly defenseless against the onslaught of the myths and machines of modernity.

The Enlightenment used the principle of criticism to unfetter our minds from the "pre-rational" myths of religion and traditional culture. More recently, however, the postmodernist movement has used the same critical capacity to unmask modernism's own master narrative: the myth of "Progress." This totalizing narrative has functioned to legitimate capitalism, the Euro-American colonization of third- and fourth-world peoples, and the technological domination of the earth.

The deconstruction of modernity's "story" has been accompanied by a remarkably swift unraveling of its hegemony. Not only are such formerly revered notions as "objectivity" now widely suspect, we have also seen a resurgence of narrative epistemology. The field of biblical studies offers a telling barometer. The historical-critical paradigm of looking "behind" or "through" scriptural narrative in order to extract historical or doctrinal data held sway for 150 years in mainstream circles. Yet in the space of the last two decades, not only did new narrative approaches to biblical criticism resurface in the academy, they now widely prevail.

Many deconstructionists insist, however, that there can no longer be any master narratives. The alienating, fragmenting experience of modernity has shattered Humpty, and his story can't be put together again. Unfortunately, while such a dictum may be plausible in the insular context of university-based cultural studies, it does little to impact the continuation of history's only remaining hegemonic grand narrative, that of globalizing capitalism.

As a "post-modern traditionalist," I believe that recovering the power of narrative is key to the double task of resisting capitalism's cosmology and reconstructing a more humane culture. If Silko is right that sacred stories are all we have to "fight off illness and death," then what resources do we, the orphaned children of modernity, have to work with?

The dominant narrative tradition in North America -- television and cinema -- is hardly sufficient. Neal Gabler wrote recently that the media industry is exhibiting "narrative fatigue."

"Almost imperceptibly, we have been losing our stories. ... From MTV to the latest movie blockbuster ... what you find is creeping plotlessness."

Gabler asserts that while previously films attempted to fashion archetypal storylines that resonated, now technology provides a "less taxing, more dependable means of affecting the audience ... Through special effects and creative sound, filmmakers realized they could generate sensations in the audience without the need for a narrative."

Such "sensational-ism," reproduced everywhere from advertising to the dramatics of professional sports, socializes us deeper into a passive culture of spectacle. These stories are just entertainment. In contrast, I would propose the older and wiser tradition of biblical story as the best resource for a cultural process of narrative renewal -- at least for Christians! Sadly, however, biblical literacy is at a low ebb among the churches in North America. I have observed this repeatedly as I teach, train and facilitate adult scripture study around the country and across the ecumenical spectrum. But I have also noted two interesting phenomena.

One is that, of the Bible stories adults do know, most were learned when they were children (e.g. in Sunday School or at family devotions). The other is that many persons in the professional ministry did not significantly broaden their biblical literacy in theological seminary. While they may have learned a fair bit of methodology for analyzing biblical texts, they did not necessarily come away with a sense of the "Great Story" of Scripture.

These two impressions suggest that we would do well not to underestimate the enduring power of "lower education." We might call this the art of communicating compelling stories simply and (at least initially) with as little complicating theory as possible, in the belief that such stories shape character, community and (God willing) history. It is time for the church to reject modernity's pejorative derogation of stories as a second-rate way of knowing, for it has not served us well. Happily, as the various pieces in this issue demonstrate, efforts to recover sacred story are well underway.

The profile of Tom Boomershine and the Network of Biblical Storytellers gives an example of a movement that seeks to nurture both the craft and the discipline needed for narrative competence. And Ina Hughes shows how the new literary genre of "creative nonfiction" reclaims the narrative character of life.

According to Paulo Freire, popular education begins with stories, though ones we discover, not ones that are imposed. People learn best by generating and reflecting upon narratives from their own lived contexts. In this vein, Loida Martell-Otero describes how Latino/a theology gives priority to precisely such everyday experience -- lo cotidiano. Bill Wylie-Kellermann reviews an important book that rediscovers the hermeneutic vitality of the urban marginalized. Finally, Jim Perkinson testifies to the prophetic power of street-level poetic rhythm as "the first word of creation."

When I was asked to guest edit this issue of The Witness, I knew immediatly that I wished to interview James W. McClendon, a pioneer of contemporary narrative theology and my dearest teacher. Just as we were going to press I received the sad news that Jim had passed away at his home in Altadena, Calif. It is with a profound sense of indebtedness and gratitude for his work and witness that I dedicate this issue to him.

This narrative renaissance is good news for the church, and for cultural reconstruction. By reaching deep into our storied past we can rehabilitate the future. The evil in our history is indeed great, but it can't stand up to our stories.

Ched Myers lives in Los Angeles.