The Only Story
Posted by Arwen Mosher in Faith on Wednesday, March 31, 2010 10:20 PM
There is only one story.
My dad, who is a storyteller himself, has been saying that for as long as I can remember. I don’t think he came up with the idea, but he loves it and repeats it often. There’s one story. Only one.
He means the story we remember this week: the Savior of the world, God’s own Son sent to earth out of His love. Betrayed, beaten, and hung on a tree, soul violently ripped from body and resurrected three days later.
Every character, every plot, every narrative, every piece of poetry or prose that resonates in the human heart relates back to some part of the One Story. Or so he says, anyway.
My father is a wise man and I trust him, so I accepted this idea unquestioningly, but it never clicked with me. I’ve been reading stories since I learned to sound out words, and there are so many of them. So much variance of human experience. How could this “one story” thing be true?
On Palm Sunday I had a moment of insight.
Mass started with the procession, palm-waving and Hosannas, and my daughter held her palm high, tripping along happily as we sang. Twenty minutes later we were reading St. Luke’s account of the Passion, and we in the congregation had to shout “Crucify him!” - an appropriately humbling task which always makes me cringe. We listened to the story of our Lord’s crucifixion. We knelt in silence to commemorate his death. We left him in the tomb and sat to listen to the homily.
Our parish has a large email list for prayer intentions, and I receive the daily messages from its organizer. I pray and pray for them - and am blessed to have the chance to do so - but sometimes when yet another email shows up in my inbox, I think about how relentless it is. So much suffering, so much need, and this just in one small corner of the world.
On Palm Sunday the deacon began his homily, began to talk about Christ’s suffering and sorrow. A man two rows in front of me tilted his head to listen and I stared at the back of his neatly trimmed hair and thought of the prayer list and wondered: how much sorrow does the mind in that head remember? What problems does it hold now? Do they keep him awake at night?
A lady two rows over was wearing a pretty cable-knit sweater and I thought: how many times has the heart beating under that fabric been broken? How much is it broken at this very moment? Is it heavy with the burdens she carries?
The deacon expounded upon the Passion story, and as he explained and applied, it suddenly clicked. This is their story. It didn’t matter whether I was right about the man having troubles on his mind or the woman having sorrows on her heart. If they didn’t at that moment, they eventually would, and it would be at those times that Jesus carrying the cross would be telling their stories.
It’s true for me too. It’s my story too. I am young and I have been blessed to have seen very little sorrow thus far. It is the resurrection part of the story that I am experiencing most fully right now. There will be times in my life when it will be otherwise, though, and Jesus will be waiting for me then. He will invite me to join him in the garden, on the dusty road with the cross biting into my back, and even in the agony of the crucifixion itself.
There is one story for every life written the way he wants it: following him on the way and eventually to the everlasting Easter that is Heaven. But at the times when we turn away and refuse to follow, there is a part of his story for us then too: the betrayal in the garden, Peter weeping after the cock’s crow, Judas’ hatred and despair and self-murder. Those parts warn us to turn back to the self-giving Love on the cross.
At Palm Sunday Mass: homily, Creed, prayers, offertory, the Liturgy of the Eucharist, and eventually we filed up to partake of Christ’s body and blood. As I stepped up, baby on my hip, mouth open to receive the host that is my Lord, I realized: this is a vital part of the One Story too. It must include the Last Supper, because in the Eucharist we are shown how to be fed, and every time we seek his grace properly, we are living that part of the story.
In college, my favorite theology professor was a Thomist, and his pet phrase was, “It’s all about participation!” Didn’t matter what he was teaching. Ecclesiology, soteriology, moral theology. The guy was always talking about participation, waving his arms as he said it, which meant it was important. It’s been a while since my last theology class but I think I remember at least one sense of what he was saying. We are intended to participate in the divine life, to turn toward God more and more until we eventually reach the perfect participation which is Heaven.
My dad has never taken a theology course in his life, but I think the One Story idea of which he is so fond is just another way of talking about participation. Christ’s life, the model and the vocation for every Christian, calls us to participate in it, and we will be saved or condemned depending on how we do that. But regardless, every single human experience takes on meaning in the context of the passion story.
I walked out the door on Palm Sunday determined to keep the Passion story in my heart this week. If it is the only Story and I must therefore live it in some manner or another, I want it to be the right part. By His grace, I trust that it will be.
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