We’ve begun a new nightly pattern in my household. Every night, after dinner’s done, teeth are brushed, pyjamas are on, and the Bible is read, out comes The Hobbit—fully illustrated, of course! We then huddle on a couch, or one of the boy’s beds, and as I read the boys are enthralled. They’re not merely hearing Bilbo’s journey unfold, they’re experiencing it. Excitement as Gandalf arrives, relief as the trolls turn to stone, tension as Bilbo matches wits with Gollum, fear as he creeps into Smaug’s lair. Why are they so invested? None of it’s real. So why are their emotions so real? Why do they laugh and fear, grieve and cheer over people who don’t exist? Stories engage our imagination and stir our affections. They invite us into experiences that mere propositions rarely can.
Jesus Told Stories
When thinking about stories, we need not go any further than Jesus, the greatest storyteller the world’s ever known. It’s striking how often Jesus could’ve simply stated the truth…yet used stories instead. Which should make us wonder: why did the greatest preacher who ever lived tell so many stories? I believe that it’s because stories have a unique ability to not just communicate truth, but to help us experience it.
Think about that well known story of the Good Samaritan. Jesus could have just said ‘love your neighbour.’ But he didn’t. He made us feel the broken man’s plight. He made us gasp at the ignominy of the supposed good guys ignoring him, and the shock of his worst enemy loving him. As he tells the story, we’re drawn in: we ride the highs and sink to the lows with the man. And as we do, it moves our hearts in a way that a mere instruction wouldn’t.
We see the same thing with the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Jesus could have simply said, ‘God welcomes repentant sinners.’ But instead, he tells us a story of two sons. We feel the ache of a son who rejects his father and the sadness of a son who obeys without love. We watch the younger son come to his senses, rehearse his confession, and begin the long walk home. Then our hearts lift as the father runs to meet him, embracing him and welcoming him back. And then Jesus leaves us standing outside with the older brother, feeling the tragedy of a heart that is near the father’s house yet far from the father himself.
Time and time again, when Jesus could have made the point prosaically, he chose not to. Instead, he told stories. These stories do more than deliver information: they create involvement. They invite listeners to step inside the truth. They move truth from the abstract to lived reality.
God Gave Us Stories
Interestingly, it’s not just Jesus who uses stories. Storytelling is woven into God’s self-revelation. Almost half of the Bible is narrative. God didn’t reveal himself only through commands, letters, and propositions. He gave us Abraham, Ruth, David, and Acts.
To show us his faithfulness, God lets us walk with Abraham up Mount Moriah carrying the wood for Isaac’s sacrifice. To help us see his tender care for the vulnerable, he lets us follow Ruth gleaning in the fields of Bethlehem. To help us feel both the seriousness of sin and the wonder of forgiveness, he lets us stand beside David as Nathan says, ‘You are the man.’
Why does God reveal himself this way? In part it is we aren’t just brains on sticks. We are people with imaginations, memories, affections, and emotions. Stories take truth and lodge it both in our minds and in our hearts.
Preach with Stories
What does this mean for our preaching? We need to preach with stories. Not because stories are entertaining, not because we want to be the centre of attention, but because preaching aims for more than informed minds, it aims for transformed hearts. Faithful stories, carefully chosen and serving the text, can help hearers not only understand God’s truth but feel its urgency, weight, and comfort.
If you’re preaching on the urgency of God’s justice, tell the story of someone who has been deeply wronged and has waited years for their case to be heard. When the congregation hears of that justice finally coming, they feel both the outrage and disempowerment caused by injustice and the relief the wrong been made right. Suddenly, God’s justice is not just a doctrine they affirm: it is a hope they long for.
If you’re preaching on sinful anger, tell the story of a father who comes home after a difficult day and snaps at his children. When you describe him seeing the fear on their faces, anger is no longer just a category: your people feel the damage it can do to those they love.
If you’re preaching on the comfort of God’s faithfulness in suffering, tell the story of a Christian sitting beside a hospital bed, praying through tears after receiving devastating news. The church will feel the uncertainty, the pain. And yet they will also be strengthened by the confidence that Christ is still good and still holding them. The faithfulness of God becomes more than a doctrine: it becomes a comfort they can cling to.
Stories don’t replace biblical truth, they gives that truth colour, texture, and emotional weight. It helps hearers step inside the reality that Scripture is proclaiming. At their best, stories are servants of biblical truth. Used well, they help our hearers see what God has revealed, feel its weight, and respond with hearts shaped by his word.
