“In
those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the
Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn
apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from
heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.’ “ (Mark
1.9-11)
William comes to believe that his
father’s life has just been one big fish story, and when Edward lies dying,
William becomes determined to know what his father was “really like.” But whenever William asks his father a
question– about his childhood in tiny Ashland, Alabama; his college days; how
he met his wife, William’s mother; how he got his start in business – his
father responds with another tall tale.
In a sense, the gospels are also the
story of a father and a son that begins at a river. The gospels tell us that Jesus went down to
the river along with the crowds drawn by the preaching of John the Baptist. And at the river, something happened. Something happened that sounds a bit like one
of Edward Bloom’s tall tales. Some say
that the Holy Spirit took the form of a dove and descended upon Jesus and that
a heavenly voice spoke, saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am
well pleased.”
The Bible might be regarded as a
tall tale, and indeed some scholars look at it that way. Water into wine? A handful of loaves and fish multiplied to
feed five thousand? Sight restored to
the blind? The lame leaping and
walking? The dead raised? Impossible, they say. The products of naïve, unsophisticated and
primitive people, or else willful distortions of the truth.
Perhaps they are right. What would we have seen and heard if we had
been present at the baptism of Jesus?
Matthew, Mark, and Luke all record that there was a dove that descended
upon Jesus and a heavenly voice that announced that he was God’s Son, the
beloved one.
What if we had been there and had
seen and heard nothing? What if years
later someone told us this story of the Spirit taking the form of a dove and
God’s voice resounding like thunder?
Would we be like the son in Big Fish?
Would we dismiss the impossible story and say, “No, tell me what REALLY
happened?” Or would we understand that sometimes
a tall tale conveys the truth more effectively than the who, what, when, and
where of a so-called factual account.
A scene in the novel Big Fish but
not in the movie tells of the day that people heard that Edward Bloom was dying
and began to gather in front of his house.
First just a few and then more and more until dozens of people were in
the front yard – treading on the shrubbery, trampling on the monkey grass. Finally, William’s mother tells him to ask
them all to leave. As they leave, one
man says to William, “We all have stories, just as you do. Ways in which he touched us, helped us, gave
us jobs, lent us money, sold it to us wholesale. Lots of stories, big and small. They all add up. Over a lifetime it all adds up. That’s why we’re here, William. We’re a part of him, of who he is, just as he
is a part of us.”
Like the friends of Edward who
gathered on the lawn when he was dying, we, too, have stories to tell about One
who helped us. “Ways in which he touched
us… Over a lifetime it all adds up… We’re a part of him, of who he is, just as
he is a part of us.” We have been
incorporated into a story that sounds an awful lot like a tall tale. A father blessed his son and sent him out on
a great quest. He had adventure after
adventure along the way: the angels sang
at his birth; mighty kings brought rich gifts to him; a wicked ruler tried to
slay him; at his word plain water became rich wine; his touch brought sight to
the blind and raised the dead to life again; although he was a simple man the
wise and learned marveled at his words.
He undertook great trials and surpassed all expectations. Finally, a close friend betrayed him; he was
given a mock trial and executed. But
then the greatest marvel of all happened.
He outwitted even death itself.
And he returned to the father, having completed the quest, and his
father and all his household rejoiced once again over the beloved Son with whom
he was well pleased.
In a sense, our stories, too, are
about a Father and a Son and they begin at a river, or at least they begin with
water. As children or as adults we were
brought to the water, and just as the Spirit descended upon Jesus, so the
Spirit descended upon us. And just as
the Father announced that Jesus was his beloved Son with whom he was well
pleased, so the Father announced that we were his beloved daughter or son and
that he was well-pleased with us, too.
Does that sound like a tall tale to you?
Is it easier to believe that your parents dressed you in a christening
gown that had been handed down from great, great, great, great Aunt So-and-so
and brought you to church where a doddery old man held you over a stone basin,
mumbled a few words, and splashed water on your head? So be it, but personally, I prefer the
Bible’s tall tale and believe that there’s more truth in it than in a “just the
facts, ma’am” account of what happened.
The Bible’s tall tale is our
story. You are the Father’s beloved
daughter or son; he loves you and is well-pleased with you. And he has sent you out to have marvelous
adventures and accomplish great tasks:
to love your enemies, to return good for evil, to bring wholeness to the
sick, to stand up and speak out for those ignored and despised by others – the poor,
hungry, and homeless. And at the end of
the quest you will have such stories to tell.
“You’re not going to believe this, but let me tell you about the time…”
