There’s a radio program called “The Moth” (themoth.org). Like most radio programs these days, you can get it in podcast form, and that is indeed how I have always listened to it. Once upon a time, I never missed an episode due to the amount of driving I had to do. These days it is more rare, though I feel that is to my detriment.
The Moth is actually a curated series of recordings from live storytelling events — think standup, but for stories. The rules are straightforward but strict: the story has to be true and about you, it has to be told in the first person (“I” statements), it has to be told without notes, it has to be have stakes (a story that matters), and it has to fit the theme and time-limit for the event (usually 5-6 minutes).
The storytellers are often hilarious, relatable, and brutal in their self-awareness and honesty. They sometimes speak out loud about the worst chapters of their lives — not as though what they learned made the pain worth it, but as though survival itself was a victory worth remembering. They name epiphanies both good and ill, and share ways their lives have been forever changed. And yet universally —no matter the subject matter or how deeply awful the situation may have been — the storytellers weave tales of human resilience and hope.
The stories of others like these challenge me to see the world differently.
I heard a comedian once talking about traffic in LA where he lived. Everyone complains about traffic in LA, he said — he used to too. But one day, as he sat in his car getting angrier and angrier at the locked down freeway, he had what he called a nearly religious experience of epiphany. Here he was in this comfortable, climate controlled space. No one demanded anything of him. No one could reasonably ask anything of him. He was free to simply be. His commute became his favorite part of the day.
For many years I struggled with insomnia. Even once sleep came, I would wake in the middle of the night and struggle to fall back asleep. I changed the timing and volume of caffeine intake and other dietary things, worked to manage stress and exercise, and nothing seemed to help. Then I came across the suggestion (I think it was in a book by Richard Foster) that Christians consider nighttime waking as a call to prayer: when we wake unexpectedly in the middle of the night, who comes to mind? — pray for them. I do still wake in the middle of the night, but I almost always fall back asleep quickly. When that is not the case, I invariably have a sense that someone needs prayer support more than I need rest and gladly take up the task.
But this note isn’t about me. It’s about cultivating your imagination. It’s about learning to see differently, because we cannot see accurately through only our own eyes. I’m grateful for the Banks’s devotion to our Black History Month education for this precise reason. We’ve so much to learn.
Remember, we’re all in this together,
Pastor Michael