Listening well to remember new narratives

Dr. Christine Colón

I have spent most of my professional life analyzing narratives, so when listening to Rev. René August’s discussion on “Ubuntu: Discovering Bonds of Community” in preparation for the Micah Global Consultation in Cape Town, South Africa, I fully resonated with her comment that “we don’t live well because we don’t tell stories well.” How we craft our stories matters because the language that we use helps establish not only the truths we believe but also the possibilities that we can imagine. But crafting stories well is only one part of the process because, too often, we haven’t learned to listen well to the various ways that people tell stories, particularly when those stories don’t fit within the confines of what we have determined to be good storytelling.

The history of literary criticism demonstrates this tendency quite clearly, for there is a long, complex story of canon formation that reveals the intense negotiating (or even fighting) over which authors we should read and teach. Should we add women writers? If so, which ones? What about male writers of color? What about female writers of color? What about global authors? Eventually (after many hard-fought battles), we have reached the point where many (but certainly not all) have come to realize the truth that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie conveys in her viral TED talk “The Danger of a Single Story,” and we now consciously work to read widely and move beyond the stereotypes that may emerge when we are familiar with only one example of narratives from other cultures and countries.

But the challenge of listening well to these other stories remains, for even if we read or listen widely, we may still continue to judge (often unconsciously) these other voices by the conventions with which we are most familiar—those established decades ago, which are based almost entirely on the works in a male, Anglo-American canon. Reading or listening to a story that doesn’t follow the traditions familiar to us can be unsettling. We may end up dismissing these stories as not worth our time (the worst manifestation of this problem), or, even if we are trying to be attentive to these stories, we may miss important themes and nuances because we haven’t yet learned how to hear them for what they are.

For me, attending the Micah Global Consultation was a powerful exercise in practicing the art of listening well. It meant setting aside evaluation or comparison to more familiar narratives so that I could focus instead on really hearing what was said and then teasing out the complex similarities and differences from among the various stories I was hearing not only from the speakers at the podium but also from the women with whom I lived, ate, and walked during that week. On the flight home, I found myself trying to capture in my journal what I had learned. What resulted was not my usual outline of the most salient points but rather a stream of consciousness reflection as I moved seamlessly from story to story, allowing the connections to arise naturally. As I wrote, I found that I was humming the chorus of a song that we sang at one of the worship sessions: a song in a language that I didn’t know and couldn’t fully remember, but a song that became the background to my reflections of all the things I didn’t want to forget.

What will I take with me after attending the Micah Global Consultation? Daniella’s and Sophie’s stories of the challenging realities of their ministry in Lebanon, revealing their fears of violence (when and where the bombs will fall and which cars might be dangerous to drive too close to) but also expressing their joy at seeing children finally feel secure enough to go to school and get the education and help that they need. Carol’s story of her anger at having “to dance for the funds” to keep her ministry going, constantly having to explain herself to “partners” who don’t seem to trust her. Katalina’s story about trying to glean wisdom from indigenous women regarding the herbs and plants they know so well only to be told, “We don’t know anything. Ask the men.” Tracy’s story of starting her ministry to local children with a simple focus on biscuits and books, and her excitement that they now have a plot of land with storage containers on it to store their supplies and provide a place for them to meet. Winnie’s stories of helping widows gain their rights in Tanzania, and her boldness in volunteering to tell her story in a plenary session after only men had been scheduled to share from the podium. Kavitha’s stories of working to protect women from sexual abuse and her commitment to ending colorism in India and around the world.

I don’t want to forget the stories of lament, the stories of celebration, the stories of women who are being used by God to transform their world. I don’t want to forget the inestimable value of women’s voices from all over the world testifying to the powerful work that God is doing through them.

Dr. Christine Colón

English

Reflection Written as part of Stott Fellows 2025