Welcome to The Square Inch, a Friday newsletter on Christianity, culture, and all of the many-varied “square inches” of God’s domain. This publication is free for now, but please consider clicking on the button at the bottom to become a paid subscriber to enjoy this along with Monday’s “Off The Shelf” feature about books and Wednesday’s “The Quarter Inch,” a quick(er) commentary on current events.
Dear Friends,
Today I’d like to do something a bit different: a “guest” post, of sorts.
As some of you know, my sister has been a literature teacher at times in her life, and she also used to have a blog. She was rummaging through some of her old posts recently and ran across one she thought I might like. Mainly because the main illustration for her post came from one of my daughters.
Indeed, as a father I liked it very, very much. But as a theologian and lover of literature, I liked it even more. With her permission, I will now resurrect this long-lost post from a defunct blog. Everything that follows this divider was written by Melodee.
Stories are powerful. They can make direct contact with the heart in a way that mere information rarely does. We see it over and over again in scripture. When Nathan comes to confront David, what does he do? He tells a story that gets David emotionally invested, and then he makes the connection that drives it home: "you are the man." When a Pharisee wanted to justify himself by narrowly defining the word "neighbor," what did Jesus do? He told a story of the good Samaritan - a story that communicated the truth about who we are to love in a way the man could not deny.
This is why literature is valuable—it touches our hearts and opens them to the truth. It can get past our defenses and express the truth to us in new, surprising, or meaningful ways.
I saw this in action today. As our pastor preached on Matthew 5:38-48, he began to walk through Jesus's teaching that we should repay evil with good, that we should go the extra mile, turn the other cheek, give up not only our tunic, but our cloak as well.
And I watched as my 8-year-old niece began writing notes. This is what she wrote:
While it took me a few moments to decipher her still-phonetic spelling, her meaning quickly became clear. Allow me to translate: "Les Miserables for example: 'I gave you the silver. You forgot the candlesticks.'"
Do you see? As the truth of Scripture was being preached from the pulpit, her young heart was ready to receive it, because a story had paved the way. Even though she has never read the book, or seen the movie or the play, she has heard how Jean Valjean repaid the Bishop's kindness with great evil, getting up and stealing his valuable silver in the middle of the night. When caught by the police and dragged back to face his victim, Valjean experiences, for the first time in his life, mercy. Not only does the Bishop tell the police that he gave Valjean the silver, he hands this thieving enemy his last remaining treasure, the precious silver candlesticks as well: "But my friend, you left so early, surely something slipped your mind. You forgot I gave these also—would you leave the best behind?"
My brother says he can't remember the last time he talked to his daughter about Les Miserables. But stories are powerful, and they strike deep. So today when she heard Jesus say, "When your enemy sues you for your tunic, give him your cloak as well," she already had a vivid, vital picture of what that looks like. She remembered Jean Valjean, and the Bishop who gave up his candlesticks. And from there she might remember the result of that kind act: the conversion of an enemy of God into a son of God. And she might know more deeply how the gospel works: for while we were still enemies, Christ died for us.
Thank you for reading The Square Inch Newsletter. Please consider upgrading your subscription with a paid account, and you’ll receive Monday’s Off The Shelf feature and Wednesday’s Quarter Inch. Have a wonderful weekend!
Good point, also tugs the pleasure-pride and affection strings of a father's heart! Good stuff.