To listen to today’s reflection as a podcast, click here
Last week, Mary Sue and I watched an hour-long special on the state of Indiana.
We were born in the Hoosier state and have lived here most of our lives.
We cherish genuine affection for this place – the way one can be unflinchingly loyal to a family member even while being intimately acquainted with their secret faults.
When it comes to America’s 50 states, Indiana is rarely classified with the elite. We have no canyons, deserts, mountains, or exotic species of birds and mammals. Nor are we typically a swing state when it comes to national issues. Indiana is bordered by Michigan, Illinois, and Ohio – three heavyweights, to be sure – which means we can only tell jokes about our neighbor to the south, Kentucky.
Mostly we have corn and soybeans. Lots of corn and lots of soybeans. Approximately 70% of the world’s popcorn is grown within our borders, which is pretty impressive.
The TV special spotlighted the Indianapolis “500” and a number of our 143 colleges and universities. Special mention was made of Abraham Lincoln, Michael Jackson, and Larry Bird, all of whom have called Indiana home at one time or another.
To cap it all off, my wife and I can speak from experience that Indiana is a wonderful place to live, raise a family, grow a church, and retire.
The screenwriters, however, chose to include some details that can only be described as the dark side of Hoosier history.
White settlers broke the treaties that indigenous tribes had signed in good faith. Federal troops prevailed at the Battle of Tippecanoe, one of the “last stands” of Indians in the Midwest. The city of Gary and the steel industry that had made it grow summarily collapsed. Bank robber and murderer John Dillinger became the FBI’s Public Enemy Number One.
Is Indiana a great place or a dismal place? It all depends on who’s telling the story, and what details they choose to include.
Siblings can remember their family of origin in dramatically different ways. So can spouses who are looking back on their marriage.
For instance, I can cherry pick some stories in which I look like a gracious, considerate, romantic hero. Or I can emphasize how long it took for me to address my chronic workaholism, then recount the time I was so angry I hurled a broomstick in our garage, leaving a hole in the drywall that was still there when we sold our house last year.
The Smithsonian Institution, which is tasked with telling the story of America, has been pressured over the past year to spotlight only positive and “patriotic” aspects of the national narrative. Is America’s tale one of never-ending triumph and freedom? Or does our legacy include slavery, unchecked territorial conquest, and broken promises?
How do we get that story right?
One thing’s for sure: When people fall in love with what they consider an important story, they aren’t very happy when someone else comes along and changes the way it’s told.
That sheds light on the ministry of Jesus – and helps us understand why he made so many people so very angry.
British theologian N.T. Wright points out that a number of Jesus’ parables are “retellings” of the story that the people of Israel had been telling themselves for centuries.
Here’s how that story went: God created a magnificent world. But the world is fallen because of human sin. Therefore, God chose one man, Abraham, whose descendants were specially called and blessed to fulfill a unique vocation – to bless humanity by introducing the nations to the God of Israel.
During the time of Jesus, people were waiting for God to bring this all about.
Yahweh would vindicate Israel, trounce her enemies (like the occupying Roman pagans), and make Jerusalem the political and spiritual center of the world. This would happen because the Jewish people would be God’s righteous and faithful instruments – perhaps by means of revolutionary violence.
God would use the Jews, in other words, to save the world.
Then Jesus came along and told the old story in a new way.
Yes, God would keep all his promises. Yes, the whole world would be blessed through Abraham. But not because his descendants were faithful. They were anything but.
Wright offers a memorable illustration. If the world is a sinking ship, desperately in need of God’s rescue, then the Jewish people were the rescue boat sent out to save them. But what if the rescue boat starts to sink? What if the rescuers themselves need to be rescued?
That was the twist in Jesus’ teaching. God would rescue the world and the Jewish people through the one and only truly faithful Jew – Jesus himself.
Violence would not bring about God’s reign, he said. The need of the hour was praying for enemies, welcoming strangers, and forgiving those who hurt us.
This startled Jesus’ listeners. Who did this guy think he was? As Wright puts it, “Someone who is telling strangely familiar stories and meaning the wrong things by them [Wright’s emphasis] will end up in trouble.”
When you change the story – especially if the self-described heroes are suddenly portrayed as villains – you can make people really upset.
Jesus made a lot of people really upset.
No wonder he added, after a number of his parables, “Whoever has ears to hear, let him hear.”
Or, to put it another way, “Do you really understand what I’m saying? Do you realize how this changes everything?” Wright adds that it was a good thing it took most people a while to get the picture. Otherwise, “there might have been a riot.”
As it was, those who consented to Jesus’ death presumably felt satisfied that justice had been done.
This is what happens to people who mess with God’s story.
Unless, of course, this is God himself telling the old story in a compelling new way.
Such a retelling is worth hearing again and again – especially if you happen to have a big bowl of Hoosier popcorn.