I was at a church, and they had a number of magicians who were going to put on a brief show. I was thinking about doing something myself, but I couldn’t think of anything to do. I don’t generally do magic. And I hardly, if ever, do brief.
But then, I said to myself, “Well, I’ll just watch and listen and enjoy what the others do. Really listening to someone else in an open and reverential manner is also a form of magic.”
“Or,” someone next to me said, “you could tell them a story. The magic is in the story.”
And then I woke up. And yes, the magic is indeed in the story.
Someone has said that the difference between asking the same question of a Protestant minister and a rabbi, is this: If you ask the Protestant the question, you’ll get doctrine. If you ask the rabbi the same question, he’ll respond, “Let me tell you a story.”
I believe in magic. Not in black magic which seeks to manipulate reality. Not in sleight-of-hand tricks that simply misdirect the eyes and the mind. No, I believe in the true and deep magic that embraces both the truest beauties and the ugliest realities of life. And by this embrace of beauty and ugliness, true and deep Magic encloses them in a story, a story of unspeakable evil that is conquered by unfathomable love.
For me, as a deeply flawed beginner at following Christ, this magical story comes to its end and its beginning with the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The cross and the empty tomb are the end of Jesus’ earthly story, and—at the same time—they are the beginning of new life for me and for us all.
But for all of us, even those who are not Christ-followers, the magic is in our stories. We may not be able to see it, but it’s there. And we need to see and hear and feel the magic of our own stories and the magic of everyone else’s story.
Because the magic is in the story.
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