It’s taken me awhile to get back to the story of the Raven I mentioned last week, but here we are. The author makes use of the story as part of an essay on individual paths to faith — intuition, tradition, and revelation. He builds on an idea I first encountered as a teenager, in the writings of C.S. Lewis. In addition to nature, the thinking goes, some of God’s truth is encoded in the stories and beliefs of every culture. Then, when a people encounters the gospel, they have been prepared by their own long-codified search for meaning. Hence the suffering raven who takes the form of a human and eventually brings light to the whole earth resembles Jesus enough that the Messiah story makes sense to the native Alaskans.

I, too, am an “all truth is God’s truth” type, and I find it fun to search for God’s unveiling everywhere. And yet, one of the reasons I take such pleasure in these old stories is that they are essentially amoral. Sure, the old guy is hiding the light. But there’s no benevolence in Raven’s curiosity– he just wants to get that light, by golly. You read a story like that, and you’re not sure who to root for, and the ending has as much to do with the capriciousness of fate (the eagle swooping down) as it does with any grand plans of any of the characters. The topsy-turvy back and forth in the fight for hidden treasure is both empty and charming.

Compare this with the stories of the New Testament, in which the good guys, the bad guys, the stakes, and the ultimate outcomes are quite clear. The “whys” are as important as the “hows.”

In real life I get tired out, trying to assign moral significance to experience. I have been trained to do it by the stories that shape my faith. But is there is more of God’s truth in Raven than a simple prefiguring of the gospel? What about the freeing playfulness of the story? I sense an invitation in the way it makes me relax and let the gods fight it out, trusting that it will work out okay in the end.

In real life this attitude might translate to something like the freedom to simply exist, living with faith that all-powerful goodness has invaded my sphere and is doing its good work. Allowing the Holy Spirit and the prophets to assign meaning as they see fit. Doing the tasks that come to hand, and letting the struggle go on around me without needing to worry or categorize or wave the banner of any cause. Recognizing Jesus everywhere.