Narrative Theology (part 1)

And I said to him
Are there answers to all of this?
And he said
The answer is in a story
and the story is being told.

And I said
But there is so much pain
And he answered
Pain will happen.

Then I said
Will I ever find meaning?
And he said
You will find meaning
Where you give meaning.

The answer is in story
And the story isn’t finished.

- from “hymns to swear by” by Pádraig Ó Tuama

So much in so few words.

I listened to Pádraig Ó Tuama recite his poem at the end this story, that he shared on a FAVORITE podcast: “The Moth.”

It got me thinking about some narrative theology of my own.

The last year of seminary, everybody – well, almost everybody – was getting hitched. It seemed weddings were as prominent as graduation parties. This was in 2008 when the Episcopal church was still on the fence regarding same-sex marriage. Specifically, was it a “blessing of a civil marriage” or was it indeed a marriage, in other words a sacrament of the church?

Is there a difference? Yes, but I’m not really interested in the “churchy” difference, I’m interested in the words – marriage, blessing, wedding.

You see, many people just did not (and still don’t) want to call two people of the same gender – married. You’ve heard as often as I have politicians, preachers and people say, “Marriage is an institution between a man and a woman. Period.” That’s what “it” is and it can’t be changed.

I’m embarrassed to say that in 2008, at seminary, when stuck in a particularly early phase of my own spiritual maturity, I agreed. I didn’t see why my gay friends weren’t satisfied with a blessing ceremony. If we just do something to acknowledge their union, isn’t that enough?

So, there I sat with my good friend Hugh in the Chapel of the Good Shepherd, listening to another close friend get married in the hetero-normative, traditional sense. Hugh who is gay had graciously heard me defend my restrictive mindset many times before on this issue. At this point I believe we were at a place of “agree to disagree.”

Sitting together, basking in the love and excitement radiating from the couple, in the chapel we would soon be leaving for our work in the world, I listened to the opening words of the marriage service from our prayer book. And then, I believe, I actually heard them.

The minute the priest stopped talking, I turned to Hugh and said with genuine incredulousness, “Oh my God. It must be so painful for you to hear these words knowing they can’t be said for you?” And he looked right in my eyes and said, “Yes, Arianne, it is.”

Boom. In that instant my heart was transformed, and my thinking irrevocably changed. The idea of some misplaced need of ownership of an “institution of marriage”, of keeping it out of the hands of some, seemed pathetically ridiculous.

Why would I want to do that? Why would a priest, someone so grateful for the all-inclusive welcoming love of God want to do that? Why would I want to use words to make someone feel less-than, because of feelings I felt? What was so scary about words meaning more than we once thought possible?

It’s amazing the ways in which we forget, or actively ignore, the power of words. The words we take in and the words we say. The words we employ in our conversations, debates, and self-talk. The words easily available to some, but not all.

So, listen to this powerful and beautiful story of Pádraig ÓTuama discover how his struggle to accept who he was led to his life’s work of opening our eyes to the power of words and how we can use language to heal. And if you want more, check out his interview with Krista Tippet on how “Belonging Creates and Undoes Us.”, or his interview on BBC All things Considered.

And then, share some uplifting, healing and empowering words with yourself and with the world!