Compression
Compression is what I am experiencing right now. I find myself sitting in this hard chair, staring at this computer, attempting to figure out how to express four years worth of literal blood, sweat and tears . . . in 25 minutes. That is what most churches are giving me . . . to tell the tale.
To tell the tale of Ahmad, Sasho, Sime, Dragi, Mirche, Vanessa, Linda, Jagoda, Bilijana, Nada, Linche, Boyjan, Dan, Rodger, Tim, Jonathan, Leonie, Gerco, Ray, Michael, Leyla, Dragan, Sasha, Bledar, Angie, Olie, Simon, Alexsandra, Marko, Dejan, Memo, Rachel, Caroline, Sarah, Mite, Tony, Venco, Katarina, and on and on and on I can go . . . literally.
Don’t get me wrong, the 25 minutes is generous, especially since most folks have about 5 minutes capacity for such telling of tales. And I find this to be true even though I am generally considered to be an excellent teller of tales.
But this level of compression even Jesus could not do. So obviously this format of telling will not work a fair hearing. The stories are worthy of being told, of being heard, because they have the power to encourage, challenge, wow, hurt, build and change us all.
So should I write them all? Compose a poem for each one? Perhaps make a movie? A skit? The real problem is that most of us are only interested in histories and stories that are immediate to us. The wider work of God in the world bores most people that I meet. Perhaps I should get out more some of you are thinking. And that may be so, yet who among you are free/interested/open to/willing to/hot to/wanting to spend a few days talking about what is happening in the lives of people 5000 miles away? If you are, then you belong to a small and select group of folks.
I confess this compression moment depresses me, because I too am guilty of a reduced attention-span for the life stories of those not very near by me. Maybe instead of compression, I should be concerned about my lack of compassion and overpowering selfishness.
To tell the tale of Ahmad, Sasho, Sime, Dragi, Mirche, Vanessa, Linda, Jagoda, Bilijana, Nada, Linche, Boyjan, Dan, Rodger, Tim, Jonathan, Leonie, Gerco, Ray, Michael, Leyla, Dragan, Sasha, Bledar, Angie, Olie, Simon, Alexsandra, Marko, Dejan, Memo, Rachel, Caroline, Sarah, Mite, Tony, Venco, Katarina, and on and on and on I can go . . . literally.
Don’t get me wrong, the 25 minutes is generous, especially since most folks have about 5 minutes capacity for such telling of tales. And I find this to be true even though I am generally considered to be an excellent teller of tales.
But this level of compression even Jesus could not do. So obviously this format of telling will not work a fair hearing. The stories are worthy of being told, of being heard, because they have the power to encourage, challenge, wow, hurt, build and change us all.
So should I write them all? Compose a poem for each one? Perhaps make a movie? A skit? The real problem is that most of us are only interested in histories and stories that are immediate to us. The wider work of God in the world bores most people that I meet. Perhaps I should get out more some of you are thinking. And that may be so, yet who among you are free/interested/open to/willing to/hot to/wanting to spend a few days talking about what is happening in the lives of people 5000 miles away? If you are, then you belong to a small and select group of folks.
I confess this compression moment depresses me, because I too am guilty of a reduced attention-span for the life stories of those not very near by me. Maybe instead of compression, I should be concerned about my lack of compassion and overpowering selfishness.