The Dangers of Narrative

One of my best friends grew up in Ethiopia where her parents were missionaries. One of her brothers is now a writer and college professor in eastern Canada, her other brother and sister are missionaries in Africa and South America. She has spent her adult life as a farmer’s wife and a mother of three in rural Alberta. She has plenty of friends from boarding school who spiritually and emotionally didn’t survive; she considers herself one of the lucky ones, not in the sense that she has it all figured out, but in the sense that she is at least still trying to sort it out at all. I think she’d say that marrying a farmer, at least marrying her particular farmer, was a gracious gift of God to her: a partner in sorting out life who, although growing up in the church, had his feet solidly on the ground and was not given to grand narratives about his life and work. For all that some of us desired these kinds of narratives, I think my friend had experienced such narratives from the other side, and wanted no part.

I played for their wedding twenty-five years ago. Over the years, they have taught me much about authentic Christianity. Take hospitality for example. This is not something she is primarily inclined to read about, blog about, discuss, or start a program for at church (nothing wrong with any of those things). But if you showed up on her doorstep needing help, she’d invite you in and help you in any way she could. She invites people over plenty, but loves people dropping by unannounced. Whenever I do it seems she was just hoping I’d come, even if she’s in the middle of something. Depending on the time of day, I might get to help her water the flowers, or weed, or pick beans, or run into town to pick up the mail, or make a salad for lunch, or do the dishes, or drink Merlot on her patio, but a refreshing visit I have always found. When I discovered I had to have major surgery two summers ago, I called her. She was prepared to get on a plane if I said the word. At least on the surface, she has a different life to her parents’, but it is no less grounded in understanding the gospel and making the gospel understandable to others. For her that has entailed, among other things, helping her daughter with Down’s Syndrome make a meaningful contribution to the world, supporting other families of children with disabilities, walking alongside friends whose marriages fall apart, praying for her children to understand the gospel in spite of all her inadequacies as a parent, loving her husband and working with him through the ups and downs of agriculture, caring for aging parents, taking meals to the field, making coffee for whoever is around at coffee time, going to funerals and retirement parties, weddings and graduations of neighbors and people in the community… all of this very ordinary activity. I can say without exaggeration that if it wasn’t for her presence in my life, whether I’d still be trying to sort it all out is doubtful. God provided her to teach me, and she isn’t aware of half of what she has done that helped me understand the gospel better. She literally has no idea. It’s not that she doesn’t make intentional choices, like reaching out to a friend who is too stubborn or messed up to initiate. It’s just that she doesn’t consider these actions to be anything but responding in the moment. It is not a grand vision she was aware of before it happened. It’s not a grand vision at all. As deeply as I value her friendship, her life is not a perfect success story, and my telling it as I have, emphasizing that it has made a big difference to me, does not elevate it to the stuff of legend. God uses her beloved flawed ordinariness to do His work. As far as I can tell, that’s as good as it gets. The evangelicalism I grew up with did not appear to understand this. The grand narratives were the only ones worth telling, and given the emphasis of the bible college, many of those narratives were missionary narratives. Even still in alumni communiqués, there are grand narratives about the college's latest endeavor, and then the "family gallery": pictures, statistics about when each person graduated, and some statement of ministry involvements. Suffice it to say I’ve never sent anything in. But Jesus (the gospel) says: “So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’” As disappointing as it may be to realize I’m merely the hired help, isn’t it something of a relief?