“There have been great societies that did not use the wheel, but there have been no societies that did not tell stories.” – Ursula K. Le Guin
In 1907, a strong earthquake hit the small Indonesian island of Simeuleu. So small in fact that before I read this BBC article,[1] I wasn’t even aware of its existence. But the curious fact of this island is not in its mysterious existence but the remarkable reason it remains.
Moments after this earthquake in the early 20th-century, many on the island noticed a receding of the tides from the surrounding waters. Minutes later a tsunami consumed and destroyed much of the island and its inhabitants. In what can only be described as true resolve, the survivors made it a point to share this horrific story with the generations to come.
Every child heard of this earthquake, its effect on the tides, and the destruction of the tsunami that followed. Because of this story being persistently passed down, when a destructive tsunami hit the same area in 2005, almost 100 years later, the people of the island were prepared with knowing what to do. On an island with a population of 78,000, only seven perished.
“Stories are for entertaining children—nothing more, nothing less.”
We might’ve never said these words aloud but our action of only ever getting our children a public library card reveals the true belief. Yet think about the only communicable medium God personally left for us.
To distill it down to mere facts would be to distort the way in which God wanted His truths presented. It would display the highlights without the context. It would present individual fabrics in what was meant to be a neatly woven tapestry. It would take a story of real, full-colored characters and sum it up as mere words in a black-and-white font. More than just context, it would subtract the motivations, the emotions, and the believability of the down-to-earth narrative. And yet how many Christians, us preachers included, are guilty of doing just that?
How miraculous and significant is the fact of David defeating the Giant if one isn’t made aware of the cowardice and fear of Israel’s army leading up to that moment of victory? What effect does Daniel’s survival from the lion’s den hold if one is not told of the faith in God displayed by his continual prayers beforehand? And what emotion is withheld in acknowledging the death of Jesus Christ without first reading of the suspenseful years awaiting the Messiah leading to that manger in Bethlehem?
There’s a reason the encyclopedias of yesteryears ended up dusty on the bookshelves of my childhood (and then Goodwill) while the stories of those same years are being read to my children.
Stories are read. Stories are remembered. Stories, like the one in Simeuleu, might even save lives. Because more than fun facts, stories change us.
God knew that.
And that’s why His story in our own lives has become…well you know.
“I love to tell the story;
‘Twill be my theme in glory,
To tell the old, old story
Of Jesus and His love.”
(Katherine Hankey, 1866)
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