Tell Me a Story
I had their attention, and holding the attention of 20 five-year-olds is no easy task, but I had it and I knew that whether or not I knew what I would say next, I had better make it compelling. I held their attention as I recounted a story that we all know, a story that they all knew as well, but I told it with excitement and enthusiasm as if should I fail to share this story I might very well burst. They listened with wide eyes and eager hearts, and once the story of the three bears was done, they craved another. This, perhaps, is less about my ability to make even the most rote stories exciting for a preschool class and more about the ways in which we all crave a sense of connection found in the telling and the hearing of stories.
On the liturgical calendar, we have just celebrated All Saints’ Day; it is one of my favorite feast days among the church calendar. I love this feast day because it is a day set aside for stories. It is a day in which we recount the saints with which we are familiar, and perhaps we learn about ones that are more obscure. In many Christian traditions, the communion of saints is celebrated, among which we celebrate those whose lives were dedicated to following Christ.
Most Episcopal churches, the Christian tradition of which I am a part, will have a necrology read on the Sunday following All Saints’ Day (Nov. 1); it is a solemn, holy listing, because to hear name after name after name of people who have died is to remember that the story of their life touched not only their families or their friends, but all of us who share in the communion of saints with them. It is joyous, also, because to remember them is to remember that their lives were not solely marked by the story of their death, but by the everlasting hope of the resurrection.
I love All Saints’ Day because it is a chance to hear the story; it is a chance to hear the story of how faithful Christians, century after century, strived to live into the hope of the resurrection that we know to be true. It is a chance to hear the ways in which our grandmothers and grandfathers in faith allowed their lives to be shaped by the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, and if ever there is a story that it is compelling, it is that of those attempting to follow the way of the cross.
The communion of saints also allows us to acknowledge those who have shaped how we choose, every day, to continue in this path. We walk the path of discipleship not alone, but within a community; our communities of faith shape and mold us as we learn and grow together and towards God. To celebrate the communion that we share with those saints who have gone on before us allows us to acknowledge that we did not get here alone.
Throughout the first few months of my ordained, full-time ministry, I have found that I am desperate to hear the story. Not just the story of Mary and Joseph that is recounted each Advent or the story of Christ’s passion that is recounted each Lent, but I am desperate to hear the story of Christ’s life and the stories of the disciples that follow him. I crave, with wide eyes and an eager heart, to hear the ways in which the story of Christ’s birth, life, death, and resurrection have shaped not just the Saints proper, or the whole communion of saints, but each person that I see. Each time I get into the pulpit, I see faces looking back at me with hearts and minds that are full of the stories of their lives so far; my hope for my ministry and for our spiritual community is that in coming to hear the stories of the saints, we get the chance to tell the ways in which our own lives have been shaped by following the way of the cross together.
About the author:
Rev. Becca Kello (’16)
The Rev. Becca Kello (‘16) graduated with a Master of Divinity from Abilene Christian University’s Graduate School of Theology and earned a Postgraduate Diploma in Anglican Studies from Virginia Theological Seminary. She serves as Associate Rector at Christ Episcopal Church in Bowling Green, KY.