What sort of Christian story is viable in our time?

The world is charged with story. It’s changed by it, too. This is part of Christianity’s testimony. Even if its various iterations reflect a complex history of power, vulnerability, and compromise, as well as imperial exploitation and more than a measure of grace and love, at the still center of Christianity is a story: the story of God emptied in the form of a babe into human flesh. This is the God who comes into the world as the child of peasants in a no-note province of a then-unassailable empire; a child who grows up as a member of God’s covenant people and—as a teacher, exorcist, and healer—invites his listeners into the fullness of God’s love; a man who is called Messiah and Son of God by some and troublemaker by others; one who, ultimately, is rejected, crucified, and raised from the dead.

It’s a powerful story. However, Christianity has no monopoly on powerful stories. In the 21st century, narrative is ubiquitous. Whole industries rely on story. Novelists, filmmakers, TV showrunners, YouTubers, and TikTokers seek to tell gripping stories; corporations use story to sell consumers both the products they make and the brand itself. Political parties and movements exploit narrative as well to inspire, shape, and (mis)direct. The troubling algorithms of social media have enabled unscrupulous populist groups to boost their stories for money, political advantage, or both.

What hope is there for Christians to speak clearly in a world where the grand religious narrative—mythic, soul-framing, and truth-shaping—is treated as simply a story among other stories? Where even people of faith barely agree on some of the fundamental implications of the narrative that shapes their lives? All Christians use words like justice, hope, and Jesus; yet how they use them seems to depend on social, economic, political, and ethnic bias.