Everyone has a story. We shape it early in life, not only in our experiences, but even more so in how we frame the telling. It doesn’t take long for the disclosing of our story to begin shaping our identity. We’re either the smartest person in the room or we feel we have a low IQ. We’re either athletic or lack the necessary coordination skills. We’re either popular or we’re rejected. We’re either the bully or the one being bullied. How we craft our story often reflects how we engage with life.
Such experiences not only shape the story we tell about ourselves but it also bleeds into our relationship with God. The result is a spiritual polarization and a distorted telling of our story. For instance, some feel they deserve God’s salvation and believe their worthy of his relationship. Others feel like God hates them. For the arrogant it’s probably a front for feelings of unworthiness; in the deep crevices of their minds God really is angry and disappointed in them.
One man had a story he told time and time again. When he woke up in the morning, he looked in the mirror and rehearsed his lines, “I know you’re a hard man,” When he engaged his friends, he practiced his speech, “I know he harvests where he has not sown.” As he hung out with his fellow workers, he bounced his ideas off of them, “I know he gathers where he does not scatter seeds.” And at the end of the day, he looked in the mirror one more time, uttering, “That’s why I was afraid. So I hid the money in the ground” (Mt. 25:24-25).
At every turn the feedback was positive and encouraging. As he shared his story, his narrative was reinforced by those listening. They patted him on the back. They supported and fortified his telling. They agreed and believed his story was their story. With every telling his confidence in the story grew. He delivered his lines flawlessly like he was sure to win an academy award. He was ready for his final performance.
The curtain call came. He was to perform before an audience of one.
His master had returned from a far journey. The servants were now to give an account of their dealings. The master wanted to hear their stories while he was away on business. One by one they came and told their success stories. They were great stories too. Whether they had five or two sums of money didn’t matter, they had woven a beautiful story of faithfulness, doubling his investment, which made their master beam with pride. He loved their stories.
Then came the last man. He stood before the master and delivered his lines with the boldness and smoothness he’d practiced. His telling was technically flawless. But his story garnered the opposite effect of what he hoped. Expecting to be praised or forgiven, the master wanted anything but an encore. He saw the servant for what really was, wicked and lazy. If he was scared, and if the master was as shrewd as he supposed, then depositing the money for interests was far more honorable than digging a hole for the money. Doing something, and even failing, was better than doing nothing at all. He fired the servant and had him thrown to the street (Mt. 25:26-27).
The cataclysmic failure of this man’s storytelling was wrong on so many levels. He had a wrong view of his master. Even if his view of the master was accurate, his actions failed to line up with his views. Also, his story was so very wrong. While he waxed eloquently among his peers, holding them spell-bound in his hands, the master cut through smoke calling him out for what he was: slothful and evil. Having bought into the wrong story, the end result was devastating. And where were his those friends now who validated his words so many times?
Everyone has a story. We spin it. We tell it. We sell it. As the words flow from our lips the rationale we use sounds right. Our friends nod in agreement as they endorse our words. The more we tell our story, the more we believe our words and the more it begins to shape our lives. But when the story distorts God by villainizing him, or the story shapes the teller into the hero by justifying pride, arrogance or sinful behavior then the story needs to come to an end. For, just because everyone has a story doesn’t mean it’s a story worth telling.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)