Mark IV: Engaging Sacred Stories and Traditions
The Call
“Tell your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.” - Joel 1:3
Every human being lives by a story.
Some stories are spoken aloud.
Others remain hidden beneath grief, fear, hope, memory, and silence.
I have come to understand that my vocation is not to replace another person's story with my own, but to listen deeply enough that God's story may become visible within theirs.
Scripture has become less for me a collection of ancient texts than a living conversation between God and humanity that continues unfolding in every generation.
The stories of Abraham's wandering, Ruth's faithfulness, Job's lament, Mary's courage, Thomas's doubt, the Samaritan woman at the well, and the disciples on the road to Emmaus are no longer simply stories I read.
I meet them every day.
The grieving daughter who wonders whether she has done enough.
The husband keeping vigil beside his dying wife.
The exhausted nurse searching for hope after another difficult shift.
The patient asking whether forgiveness is still possible.
These are sacred stories.
Not because they replace Scripture.
Because they reveal that Scripture continues to illuminate the human experience.
Jesus rarely answered questions with propositions.
He answered with stories.
Parables.
Meals.
Conversations.
Questions.
He invited people to discover themselves within the story rather than merely hear its conclusion.
That pattern has deeply influenced my own ministry.
When I enter a patient's room, I rarely begin with answers.
I begin with curiosity.
Tell me about your life.
What has mattered most to you?
Who are your people?
What gives you strength?
What are you carrying today?
These questions become the opening lines of a sacred text still being written.
One of the greatest privileges of chaplaincy is witnessing the way ordinary lives become holy narratives.
I have watched estranged siblings reconcile at the bedside of their mother.
I have heard veterans finally tell stories they carried in silence for decades.
I have listened as patients facing death discovered unexpected peace through remembering a childhood hymn, a favorite fishing spot, or the birth of a grandchild.
Again and again, I have witnessed grace emerging through story.
My own preaching has also been shaped by this conviction.
Whether preaching in my local congregation, offering funeral homilies, or standing before the Marshallese congregation that graciously welcomed me into their community, I have sought not merely to explain Scripture but to invite people into it.
A sermon, like a chaplain visit, becomes an act of shared discovery.
Scripture is no longer confined to the page.
It becomes flesh again through human lives.
Music has always been one of the ways I proclaim these sacred stories.
Long before I became a chaplain, I discovered that songs often reach places words alone cannot.
Congregations sing theology before they can articulate it.
Patients remember hymns long after memory has faded.
Music carries Scripture into the heart where it continues echoing long after the final note has disappeared.
For that reason, worship has remained central to my ministry.
Planning worship for the Rocky Mountain Conference Annual Celebration reminded me that liturgy itself tells a story.
Every call to worship.
Every prayer.
Every reading.
Every silence.
Every hymn.
Every celebration of communion.
Together they proclaim the Gospel in ways that engage both heart and imagination.
Poetry has become another sacred language through which I participate in this tradition.
Unlike sermons, poems often leave space for mystery.
They do not seek to resolve every question.
Instead, they invite contemplation.
Many of my poems have emerged directly from encounters with patients and families whose courage has taught me more about God than any textbook ever could.
A Prayer for the Dying was born from accompanying those approaching death and witnessing that love remains present even as life changes.
New Every Morning reflects the quiet revelation that every sunrise and every human encounter is a continual act of creation.
A Chaplain, Exactly grew from the desire to help patients understand that chaplaincy is less about providing answers than about holding sacred space with compassion.
These writings are not separate from my ministry.
They are extensions of it.
They are another way of proclaiming the Good News that Love remains present even in suffering.
The United Church of Christ has strengthened this understanding by affirming that Scripture, tradition, worship, and lived experience continually inform one another.
The continuing testament reminds me that God's story is still unfolding.
Not because Scripture changes.
But because each generation discovers anew what it means to follow Christ faithfully in its own time and place.
As I continue in ministry, I find myself increasingly drawn to the words spoken at the beginning of John's Gospel:
"The Word became flesh and lived among us."
Perhaps this is the deepest invitation of chaplaincy.
Not simply to speak the Word.
Not merely to interpret the Word.
But to become a living witness to the compassionate presence of Christ through every conversation, every prayer, every poem, every song, and every act of accompaniment.
Sacred stories continue to be written.
I count it a profound privilege to listen for them.