Recently I was introduced to a way of approaching anti-racism work that involves analyzing the stories we tell. In her book Storytelling for Social Justice, Lee Ann Bell defines “stock stories” as “well-known stories that seek to justify the status quo, paper over the effects of racism, or diminish the efforts of antiracists.” The dominant culture communicates stock stories from one generation to the next, perpetuating them through institutions and policies. Some of the stock stories we tell about our nation include: the “American Dream,” which asserts that immigrants find belonging and upward mobility in U.S. society. An interrelated story declares that anyone can succeed in this country if they just work hard enough, if they pull themselves up by their“bootstraps.”
“Concealed stories” are those that are pushed to the margins, ignored, or covered up because they counter the stock narrative. The poem “Let America Be America Again” by Langston Hughes argues that the notion of “liberty and justice for all” is in fact a stock story; despite our rhetoric, only some people in this countryactually experience freedom. At the same time, I love how Hughes’ storytelling rejects a “divide and conquer” mentality that keeps the oppressed from recognizing their shared experiences and self-interests.
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
“Transforming stories” are built on hidden stories—amplifying stories of joy and resistance as well as those of unacknowledged suffering—in order to craft a more true narrative. Hughes, with his use of irony and double meaning, makes it clear that America’s dream is both false and empty, and at the same time full of potential.
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Today’s scripture passage, from the Gospel of Matthew, will be an anchor for us during this month of shared worship. Our sermons will expand on a different word from the text each week. The word I chose for this morning is “built.” “Everyone, then, who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise person who built their house on rock.” Clearly, following Jesus means that we are people of action, not just people who talk or think. And yet, our action must be grounded in hearing, in really absorbing, Jesus’ words. Internalizing the teaching of Jesus helps us act in ways that are effective. Jesus urges us to recognize that the impact of what we do matters. All too often, we are unaware of the ways our actions unintentionally reinforce the status quo. Given all our similar history as congregations, and the common challenges and opportunities we face into the future, it seems fitting to consider our foundations collaboratively. What are we built on? The shifting sand of unexamined lies and half-truths? The mindless parroting of stock stories? Or the solid rock of authentic transformation Jesus brings, of truth that embraces complexity and ambiguity?
The brief parable we’re considering this morning is the culmination of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew called the “Sermon on the Mount.” So when Jesus references “these words of mine,” he’s pointing to a couple of chapters’ worth of material that touches on many subjects. However, the whole sermon begins with and is framed by the beatitudes. “Blessed are . . .” the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, the peacemakers, those who hunger and thirst for justice, the merciful, the persecuted. People commonly believed then (and it seems many do today as well) that wealth, power, good luck, and good health are signs of virtue, are a reward from God for hard work and righteous living. Jesus’ blessings unearth concealed stories that challenge this stock story. Jesus raises up a story about how God loves and supports (rather than blames) those who are experiencing hardship, sorrow, and oppression. And even more importantly, the new story Jesus tells is that we are not defined by our needs and problems, by what we don’t have or can’t do. Everyone is gifted, everyone has something to offer to the well-being of community, and it is our gifts that define us. This teaching of Jesus’ resonates deeply in this post-Pentecost season, as we live toward the revelation that the Spirit is poured out on “all flesh,” that all creatures are prophets, truth-tellers, and bearers of gifts. The beatitudes, then offer us a transforming story, one that can reorient us, one that can be the foundation for action that creates fresh life and hope in the face of our well-worn stock stories.
Charles Marohn is a land use planner and civil engineer who lives in Brainerd, MN. He founded the organization “Strong Towns,” which advocates for development that enhances, rather than exploits, the neighborhoods in which it happens. In a recent essay, he described how the leaders of his church responded to a recent development process. This is a congregation he’s deeply committed to, whose rituals and people have shaped him his entire life. He said:
“I’m frustrated with the parish council. These are good people, just like the school board was. But they live in their own experience. They didn’t pause to understand the neighborhood, let alone immerse themselves in it. When they spoke—at meetings, in testimony—they described a neighborhood I don’t recognize: dangerous, unfriendly, high-traffic, unpleasant. They talked about the church as an oasis surrounded by hardship. That’s not true, but to the extent that we believe it, we never seem to stop and ponder our role in it. I live here, but they largely don’t. So they share a kind of group fiction, reinforced by distance and repetition.”[1]
I was struck by the fact that Marohn goes on to also acknowledge his own responsibility for a harmful outcome. He says:
“I’m a whole lot of angry at a whole lot of people, but I’m mostly mad at myself.” He admits that despite all he has to offer to these sorts of conversations he has grown tired of fighting and chosen to focus his attention elsewhere. He concludes, “I have to ask myself: Do I really love this place as much as I say I do?”
We’ve formed a joint task force that includes members of both UBC and First Church to consider how we might be in deeper relationship with each other. One thing we’ve noticed is that the goals our congregations are currently pursuing are remarkably similar. The goals are about communications strategies, about making connections with new people and about better mobilizing our resources—our buildings, our people power, and our partnerships. In short, I’m hearing a lot in these goals about placemaking; that is, about seeking the well-being of this sacred physical and relational space we inhabit. We are focusing anew on loving this neighborhood and city, this nation and planet on which our literal and spiritual foundations are built. As we do the work of discernment and imagination that placemaking requires, both Marohn’s piece and Jesus’ teachings remind us of the danger of indulging in stock stories (or group fictions) about our communities. Acting out of a focus on deficits and problems causes us to be a house built on sand. On the other hand, becoming adept at noticing and nurturing the gifts that are all around us, the divine blessing inherent in every creature, allows us to build our house on rock.
A few weeks ago, I attended a Bible study led by Dr. Molly Marshall, president of United Theological Seminary. Something she said as we considered some verses from Paul’s writings has been echoing in my mind and heart since then. The text for the study was about gifts—gifts that the Spirit gives the disciples of Jesus. One of these gifts is evangelism. She acknowledged that evangelism is sort of a dirty word in the progressive church. Because too often, sharing about Jesus has been a coercive activity, a fear-based, shame-based message, a pushy believe-this-or-else kind of communication. Dr. Marshall said that the true definition of evangelism is that we are telling a better story. My friends, may our actions be built on a better story, on the transforming story we hear through Jesus’ teaching. May we learn to act from a more loving story. A more just story. A more complex, truthful story. A story that is more interesting, more enlivening, and more joyful. A story about the blessing God bestows on us all. Amen.
[1] https://www.strongtowns.org/journal/2025/6/23/the-light-still shines?fbclid=IwY2xjawLPh1BleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBicmlkETFsdEtoUXk2RWxEdktTVzUzAR5N77olcPQeYKZ0YuNk9-J_-md5LL7QtbhOwQjXXkvYqmSMJbvhzBK3U_Xj3Q_aem_VozGuUM2Gm_m5uW8YG1o9g