The Story That Heals

Series: Getting Ready for An Aussie Christmas 

6-minute read
By WJ de Kock, ThD

Educational Consultant to Partners in Ministry

Professor of Practical Theology at Palmer Theological Seminary of Eastern University

It is mid-December and the heat's still climbing. Your church is a buzz of activity—preparations, carols, the whole festive machinery grinding forward. And in the quiet moments, when you've finally put your phone down, you notice something: you're carrying someone else's story. Not just one. Dozens. The news, the feeds, the constant narrative that you need something else. And beneath it all, there's the oldest marketing story in the book: You're not enough. But buy this, believe this, follow this, and maybe you will be.[1]

Christmas is close enough to touch, and somewhere in your church, someone is carrying a story they've never told. Maybe it involves failure that won't resolve. Maybe it's doubt that won't quiet. Maybe it's grief that doesn't fit the bright-carolling narrative we've culturally assigned to this season.

Jonah Sachs wrote Winning the Story Wars about the battle for attention in a saturated media landscape. He argues that we're living in a new oral tradition—where stories rise or fall based not on production value but on whether they tap into something archetypal, something human.[2] The stories that win aren't the slickest or the loudest. They're the ones that tell the truth about who we are and invite us into something larger than ourselves.

The church has been telling the Jesus story for two thousand years. But here's the thing: we're not the only storytellers anymore. Every scroll through your feed is a story war—brands telling you who you should be, algorithms feeding you outrage, influencers selling you a curated life that doesn't exist. Even Christmas has been hijacked by competing narratives: buy more, do more, be more, perform joy even when you're barely holding on.

But the Jesus story? It's not like those stories. It doesn't sell you inadequacy, so you'll buy the solution. It doesn't manipulate or perform. The Jesus story heals. It tells you the truth: you're broken, yes. So is everyone else. And God meets you there; not after you've fixed yourself, not when you've got it together, but in the breaking.

That's what testimony does. When someone stands in your church and tells their real story—I'm still struggling. I'm still doubting. I'm still here; they’re not selling anything. They're offering something far more powerful: witness. They're saying, "This is what it looks like to be human and beloved at the same time. This is what it looks like to be held by something deeper than circumstance."

John the apostle understood this. He wrote: "That which we have seen and heard we proclaim to you, so that you also may have fellowship with us."[3] Notice what he's doing. He's not presenting doctrine or theology. He's saying: We've seen something. We've heard something. And we're telling you because when we do, you enter into a relationship with us, with God, with the story that's still unfolding.

Testimony isn't an abstraction. It's a witness. It's the eyewitness account of the encounter. And when we gather to hear testimony, something eucharistic happens. The person speaking becomes a vessel through which the church recognises Christ at work. The testimony becomes bread broken, wine poured out. It nourishes. It says: Christ is alive. Christ is moving. Christ is present in the actual, complicated texture of human life.

That's the difference between the Jesus story and every other story competing for our attention. The Jesus story doesn't fish for you and release you. It doesn't hook you with emotional manipulation and then abandon you when you're no longer useful. It stays. It's honest about the mess. It makes space for doubt, for struggle, for faith that's threadbare and insufficient. And it says: You belong here. Your story matters. You're held.

Sachs talks about how the best stories create empowerment, not inadequacy^5. Inadequacy stories tell you you're broken, so you'll buy the fix. Empowerment stories tell you you're broken and beloved, and invite you into a larger narrative where your brokenness becomes part of the healing.

That's what testimony does in church. It empowers. It says: Your story isn't something to hide. It's something to offer. Because when you tell the truth, when you speak what you've seen and heard and lived, you become part of the story that heals—the story of a God who doesn't wait for us to get it together but meets us exactly where we are.

Here's what we're up against: we live in a world where everyone's performing. Instagram lives, LinkedIn success stories, even the Christmas letters we send out—they're all curated, filtered, perfected. We're exhausted from maintaining the illusion. And the irony is, the more polished the story, the less it connects. Because deep down, we all know it's not real.

But when someone stands up in church and says, "I'm still struggling with depression. I'm still questioning my faith. I'm still trying to figure out how to keep the lights on"—that connects. Not because it's dramatic. Because it's true. And in a world drowning in curated narratives, truth is the story that heals.

This is what the Celtic Christians called a thin place—a moment when the distance between heaven and earth shrinks, when the veil becomes translucent.[4] Testimony creates thin places. The human story, told with honesty, becomes a threshold where God is palpably present. Where the eternal breaks into the temporal. Where Christ is recognised in the actual, messy, unresolved human narrative.

If you're going to invite testimony this Advent, you have to create a space where truth can be spoken without fear.

As December unfolds toward Christmas, you have an opportunity. You can maintain the polished, curated version of the church that competes with all the other polished, curated stories out there. Or you can do something more radical: you can create space for the story that heals. The story that says, “You're broken and beloved. Your doubt is sacred. Your struggle is worth witnessing. And Christ is here—not after you've fixed yourself, but right now, in the mess.”

That's the story that wins. Not because it's louder. Because it's true. And in a world saturated with stories that sell and manipulate and perform, the truth—spoken vulnerably, received with honour—is the only story powerful enough to heal

[1] Jonah Sachs, Winning the Story Wars: Why Those Who Tell (and Live) the Best Stories Will Rule the Future (Harvard Business Review Press, 2012). Sachs explores how modern marketing has become "inadequacy storytelling"—making people feel insufficient so they'll buy the solution.

[2] Sachs, Winning the Story Wars, on the return to oral tradition through digital media and the power of archetypal narratives.

[3] 1 John 1:3 (NIV).

[4] See Nicole Conner, "Thin Places: Where Heaven and Earth Embrace," accessed November 19, 2025, https://nicoleconner.com.au/thin-places-where-heaven-and-earth-embrace/.