February 4, 2001
Women's Service
By Linda Thompson
CHRISTIAN GOSPEL: Romans ~ 15:1-7
"For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction...and may the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another that together you may with one voice glorify God."
It might be that I have been influenced by staying awake through so many of Walter John's sermons, but this scripture reading reminds me of something a character said in a children's book. In Barry Lopez' fable, Crow and Weasel, the Badger gives some advice to Crow and Weasel who are beginning a long journey. Badger says, "Remember only this. The stories that people tell have a way of taking care of them. If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed."
Stories contain lessons and these lessons have great power when spoken by many people with one voice. Working with the committee on this service, I was reminded of something that happened to me last summer when I tried to write a story and couldn't. But, I can tell you that story now.
The wind swept the golden lanterns across the water's glass. By the time the night swallowed twilight, hundreds of lanterns floated across Green Lake like a trail of fireflies looking for home. The living candles were protected from the water's death by rice paper and words. Scripted on the sides of each lantern in delicate calligraphy were Japanese symbols: messages of peace, love, and justice.
It was August 6th. The lantern floating ceremony was held in remembrance of the victims of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
I sat at a distance and took in the spirit of the night. I watched the great diverse flood of Seattle pass by me as a smile-shaped moon rose above the lake. I reached for the pencil and paper I always carry but after a few moments of writing, I put them away, feeling guilty, thinking that this was not my story-that I had no right to the story. I had run into this question several times in my writing life. Once at a workshop, I was asked how I, an Anglo-Saxon woman could have written a book about Mexican-American children living in East Los Angeles. The question surprised me and I mumbled something about basing the story on my own experiences and that it hadn't even been published yet. Later I came up with better answers-that I was writing about what it means to be human, and describing a city landscape I knew very well. But, the question has always remained with me-who owns the story? This question is important to me because I have chosen to spend my life making meaning of the world with words. Words are the tools I use in my writing and my teaching. Words are the food that I bring to the table.
But-can I write a piece about the victims of the bombing of Hiroshima if I have never lost anyone to war? Do I have the right to go outside my own experience and invent environments and characters? Can I try to get inside another's skin and tell a story through those eyes?
I now think the answer is yes-if one writes from a place of truth and respect. If we censor ourselves, we run the risk of stories being lost. If we all don't feel free to drink from the well of diversity, we may lose our opportunity to share the cup together.
That night last summer, I looked at the few thumbnail sketches I had written-four small girls dressed in kimonos walked solemnly in cadence; their faces lit by the spirit of the flames they carried-a man in a Jewish prayer shawl led a group of young people down to the lake-a small boy took the hand of an elder women, carefully guiding her down the path. It was a night of unspeakable beauty and I was sharing in a ritual of hope and peace that went beyond politics and history. And, I thought-this is my Seattle.
Sitting there that night, watching the lanterns dance across the smooth water of Green Lake, I realized that stories don't belong to any one group. This is my story. As a writer, and a human being, I hope I can do justice to the telling of the stories that come to me.
The passage from Romans tells us, "That together you may with one voice glorify God." The message I get from Romans and the work that I have done with the unique women of this church, tell me that stories give us direction. They are our compass for the future. They are our shared memories and our common ground. Sometimes these stories are written down; like the guidebook for how to make the annual Smorgasbord run like clock-work, or Shirley Lindahl's history of our church. Sometimes the stories are told as we share prayers or during conversations at a choir rehearsal, church circle, or at a dirty-dozen work party. We know about each other's joys and challenges and tragedies. And, we care about and respect those stories. I hope that we, as a community can come together -we can gather at the welcome table with one voice and tell our stories. That voice will illuminate our community like those lanterns on Green Lake. I hope we can care for the stories that form the texture of all of our lives and weave them into a rich fabric that we can give away.
In Lopez' fable, Badger goes on to say that, "sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. That is why we put these stories into each other's memory. This is how people care for themselves."