Storytelling and The Last Monk of Durau

 Friends, 

 Many of you have been very kind in your appreciation of the story about “The Last Monk of Durau” that I shared in my sermons last weekend. Here is a small tale behind my encounter with that story. I first read it in 2006, in a publication called Hungry Hearts: A Quarterly Journal of Reformed Spirituality that was once published by the Office of Theology and Worship in the Presbyterian Church. It was written by Joseph Small, who was the director of that office until 2011. Since it has been almost 20 years since I read it, you can see that it made quite an impression on me. Somewhere along the line, I wrote a brief version of that story – I don’t know when I did that originally, but that is the only version of it that I can find these days. I don’t think Hungry Hearts was ever digitalized, and it has been difficult trying to find a way to access it. (I did reach out to a friend who works in the PCUSA office in Louisville to see if she has any suggestions. Nothing yet.) 

 

With my maybe/maybe-not reliable version of the story, I went to the internet to find some more information about Durau itself. I was able to confirm that I’m spelling it correctly, that it is known for its ski resort and wild game reserve, and that there is a hermitage for nuns there, that was once a monastery. And I ended up reading a lot more about Nicholae Ceausescu than I intended. So, I figured that if my memory was correct on the particulars, I could rely on it for the gist of the story, which was the last monk of Durau’s faithfulness and endurance while outlasting the Ceausescu regime. 

 

I want to be transparent to you about this story, because I tell stories as part of preaching, and I know how manipulative or deceitful storytelling can be. I will, on occasion, change the names in a story if it doesn’t affect the truth of the it and if it seems wise to keep the story anonymous. Years ago, I mentioned a neighbor from my childhood in a sermon, back when my sermon manuscripts were published on a church website. Relying on my memories of my memories, I did not paint this neighbor in the most flattering light, and I received a scathing letter in response from one of his children. It was well-deserved, not because what I said was untrue, but because it was not the full story. Stories, particularly of the memoir variety, are always told from a perspective and never represent the whole truth of a person or an incident. So, stories allow us to draw conclusions, with all the proper caveats in place, but not to make final judgments. I told a story about Archbishop Tutu on Easter that I had read about. After worship on Saturday, Andy Scott told me more of the story, which I was able to include on Sunday. That’s a lovely part of stories – multiple accounts give them greater life. And, of course, if there is ever a question of confidentiality, then it is not a story for me to share. 

 

I think what fascinates me the most about the last monk of Durau is simply the power of doing what one is called to do. It’s not magic, not even miraculous, just the ordinary faithfulness of ordinary people serving an extraordinary God, even when it feels futile and hopeless. I continue to be in awe of that story and am so pleased that many of you are also. 

 

Mark of St. Mark