September 26, 2011
It was suggested in a group discussion during Hutchmoot that what makes a good story is risk; that is, the author is taking a risk to tell the story. The story comes from a deeper, more vulnerable place in the author. It costs the author something to tell the truth.
I think that is why I like Hutchmoot. Each participant is risking something to be there and share their own story – the narrative of their lives – with others.
What are the risks a Hutchmootian takes to show up and tell their story?
The risk of looking foolish and hopelessly dorky as they sheepishly explain to friends and family at home where they’re going and why.
The risk of acknowledging their hunger and thirst for beauty. As Rich Mullins says so compellingly, “I know the thirsty listen, and down to the waters come.”
The risk of confessing that longing, that sehnsucht, that yearning for the Real that they catch glimpses of here in the Shadowlands.
Being in the company of those who take a risk to tell the truth about their needs, their brokenness, their delight in beauty: that’s what I like about Hutchmoot.
But that sounds all serious and maybe a little mopey, and the marvelous reality is, because we have risked something to be here, and our lives are in the process of becoming “good stories,” there is joy. Laughter. (I just heard a scientific examination of humor and it turns out that authentic laughter is only possible in the company of those we trust). Silliness. Fun. Savoring yummy Evie food. Conversations where you gratefully realize that no one is too interested in casting judgement on you. They’re fellow travelers, and speaking of travelers, as I was reflecting on the weekend, this Psalm came to mind :
You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Psalm 16:11)
Folks that go to Hutchmoot seem to live by this principle.
Fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore! I am glad to be traveling that path of life with my fellow Hutchmootians.
(This feels like such an incomplete reflection on my weekend. But it’s a start.)