I open up my Bible to look for something I am missing today…

Flipping through the book of Luke, I land on parables, the birth of Jesus, the birth of John the Baptist foretold, and work my way back to the first chapter, first verses. Seventeen years ago, I sat in a Bible class. We began in Genesis. For the first time, I pictured the Bible as a complete work, structured with a plot, key characters, climax, and call to action. The Bible is no longer just in book form. We read scripture on Bible apps. It’s easy to google our favorite passages, and stories. I do it, too. But, neither the internet nor my printed Bible are the original sources.

First, someone witnessed and experienced the story. Someone researched, explored opposing stories, and composed a narrative they were confident enough to record. These writers had purpose, hope for the future – they are wild.

I wage fierce battle against the wild. It is easier to “play it safe.” It is more advisable to dream “reasonably.” After all, why should I exercise faith so much? Why ask, pray, seek for the impossible so often? Wild hope dares me to keep believing, lean in. It is the “John the Baptist” kind of wild. I throw prayers, dreams, visions back to God, asking for answers, peace, and justice. I imagine John the Baptist, bearded, eyes alert, bearing witness to culture, anticipating a new way of living. He paces, dreaming – speaking – driven by calling. Yeah, that’s the same category of wild, I think.

But, what good does it do to tell one story? Who cares? Do I even care? What purpose can it serve?

Ecclesiastes 1:11 states:

“No one remembers the former generations,
   and even those yet to come 
will not be remembered
 by those who follow them.”

(Ecclesiastes 1:11)

Yes! I whisper-yell. The stories of the Bible feel far away, lost in today’s circumstances. The stories I write are but here and gone. My life, my children’s lives – time passes quickly, and I cannot hold back the next day, hour, minute, or second from moving forward.

And, yet, to contemplate the privilege of narrating even one story, feels inviting and wild.

I think of the book of Luke: a gathering of texts, witness accounts, stories – the work of a lifetime. The author of Luke (and Acts) is brave to attempt this compilation of stories, and I love that he did. It was a wild endeavor, using the book of Mark as a resource, and written to a Greek audience. Whoever he was, I am in awe.

So, here begins the introduction to the book of Luke, a researcher, like me – a wild story teller, committed to calling:

1 Many people have set out to write accounts about the events that have been fulfilled among us. 2 They used the eyewitness reports circulating among us from the early disciples.[a] 3 Having carefully investigated everything from the beginning, I also have decided to write an accurate account for you, most honorable Theophilus, 4 so you can be certain of the truth of everything you were taught. (Luke 1:1-4)

The author’s burden, responsibility, bravery to narrate his and other’s experiences, compile research, bringing to life this story – his way, for the ones in his sphere of influence about Jesus is no small thing. His confidence is paired with humility, his name unknown in 2019.

The weight of prophetic writing, glory naming, and remembering resurrection, rests in the hands of you and me. I read Luke, with the wild hope of John the Baptist, to narrate and prophesy the story of redemption for me, my husband, my children, and my community.

Those saints who have come before spoke hope for me. My children believe. I rely on the compilation of the narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us, the eyewitnesses to glory, the ministers of the word that have delivered them to us.

It seems good to me, to write an orderly account for you – most excellent friends, that you may have certainty concerning the things you have been taught.

And, don’t leave me alone. Join the tradition of wild anticipation, the holy resistance to injustice on earth. Remember the pain, joy, hope. Speak the Scriptures over yourself, your children, your community. And, then, write your stories.

Dare to encounter the birth of Jesus in a new way this year.