Posted by Helen on: 12.19.2006 /
Please note: this post contains the story Barrington Bunny, excerpted from: The Way of the Wolf by Martin Bell, copyright 1970, published by Ballantine Books, New York, N.Y. It is reproduced here with the written permission of the author. Martin Bell’s official website is here: Barrington Bunny.
Gregg Lamm posted a story on here the other day with the following introduction:
Eliza,
I’m fairly new to this site and to this interesting conversation — but I’m glad my friend Dave pointed me your way.
While reading your words and the words of others, my mind keeps being drawn back to a story by Martin Bell, an Episcopalian priest and a DJ (a creative bi-vocational gig to be sure). The story is called “Barrington Bunny” … and given that Christmas is almost here, it seems like a good time to share Bell’s story, which in its own simple way speaks to much of what is being talked-through here.
Here’s the story:
BARRINGTON BUNNY
by Martin Bell (“The Way Of The Wolf” | 1970 | Seabury Press)Once upon a time, in a large forest, there lived a very furry bunny. He had one lop ear, a tiny black nose, and unusually shiny eyes. His name was Barrington. Barrington was not really a very handsome bunny. He was brown and speckled, and his ears didn’t stand up right. But he could hop, and he was, as I have said, very furry.
In a way, winter is fun for bunnies. After all, it gives them an opportunity to hop in the snow and then turn around to see where they have hopped. So, in a way, winter was fun for Barrington.
But in another way, winter made Barrington sad. For, you see, winter marked the time when all of the animal families got together in their cozy homes to celebrate Christmas. He could hop, and he was very furry. But as far as Barrington knew, he was the only bunny in the forest. When Christmas Eve finally came, Barrington did not feel like going home all by himself. So he decided he would hop for a while in the clearing in the center of the forest.
Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Barrington made tracks in the fresh snow. Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Then he cocked his head and looked back at the wonderful designs he had made.
“Bunnies,” he thought to himself, “can hop. And they are very warm, too, because of how furry they are.” (But Barrington didn’t really know whether or not this was true of all bunnies, since he had never met another bunny.)
When it got too dark to see the tracks he was making, Barrington made up his mind to go home. On his way, however, he passed a large oak tree. High in the branches, there was a great deal of excited chattering going on. Barrington looked up. It was a squirrel family! What a marvelous time they seemed to be having.
“Hello, up there,” called Barrington.
“Hello, down there,” came the reply.
“Having a Christmas party?” asked Barrington.
“Oh, yes!” answered the squirrels. “It’s Christmas Eve. Everybody is having a Christmas party!”
“May I come to your party?” said Barrington softly.
“Are you a squirrel?”
“No.”
“What are you, then?”
“A bunny.”
“A bunny?”
“Yes.”
“Well, how can you come to the party if you’re a bunny? Bunnies can’t climb trees.”
“That’s true,” said Barrington thoughtfully. “But I can hop, and I’m very furry and warm.”
“We’re sorry,” called the squirrels. “We don’t know anything about hopping and being furry, but we do know that in order to come to our house, you have to be able to climb trees.”
“Oh, well,” said Barrington. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” chattered the squirrels.
And the unfortunate bunny hopped off toward his tiny house. It was beginning to snow when Barrington reached the river. Near the river-bank was a wonderfully constructed house of sticks and mud. Inside there was singing.
“It’s the beavers,” thought Barrington. “Maybe they will let me come to their party.” And so he knocked on the door.
“Who’s out there?” called a voice.
“Barrington Bunny,” he replied. There was a long pause and then a shiny beaver head broke the water.
“Hello, Barrington,” said the beaver.
“May I come to your Christmas Party?” asked Barrington.
The beaver thought for a while, and then he said, “I suppose so. Do you know how to swim?”
“No,” said Barrington, “but I can hop, and I am very furry and warm.”
“Sorry,” said the beaver. “I don’t know anything about hopping and being furry, but I do know that in order to come to our house, you have to be able to swim.”
“Oh, well,” Barrington muttered, his eyes filling with tears. “I suppose that’s true … Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” called the beaver. And he disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
Even being as furry as he was, Barrington was beginning to get cold. And the snow was falling so hard that his tiny, bunny eyes could scarcely see what was ahead of him. He was almost home, however, when he heard the excited squeaking of field mice beneath the ground. “It’s a party,” thought Barrington. And suddenly he blurted out through his tears, “Hello, field mice. This is Barrington Bunny. May I come to your party?”
But the wind was howling so loudly and Barrington was sobbing so much that no one heard him. And when there was no response at all, Barrington just sat down in the snow and began to cry with all his might.
“Bunnies,” he thought, “aren’t any good to anyone. What good is it to be furry and to be able to hop if you don’t have any family on Christmas Eve?” Barrington cried and cried. When he stopped crying, he began to bite on his bunny’s foot, but he did not move from where he was sitting in the snow.
Suddenly, Barrington was aware that he was not alone. He looked up and strained his shiny eyes to see who was there. To his surprise, he saw a great silver wolf. The wolf was large and strong, and his eyes flashed fire. He was the most beautiful animal Barrington had ever seen.
For a long time, the silver wolf didn’t say anything at all. He just stood there and looked at Barrington with those terrible eyes.
Then slowly and deliberately the wolf spoke. Barrington,” he asked in a gentle voice, “why are you sitting in the snow?”
“Because it’s Christmas Eve,” said Barrington, “and I don’t have any family, and bunnies aren’t any good to anyone.”
“Bunnies are, too, good,” said the wolf. “Bunnies can hop, and they are very warm.”
“What good is that?” Barrington sniffed.
“It is very good indeed,” the wolf went on, “because it is a gift that bunnies are given, a free gift with no strings attached. And every gift that is given to anyone is given for a reason. Someday you will see why it is good to hop and to be warm and furry.”
“But it’s Christmas,” moaned Barrington, “and I’m all alone. I don’t have any family at all.”
“Of course you do,” replied the great silver wolf. “All of the animals in the forest are your family.” And then the wolf disappeared. He simply wasn’t there. Barrington had only blinked his eyes, and when he looked — the wolf was gone.
“All of the animals in the forest are my family,” thought Barrington. ” It’t good to be a bunny. Bunnies can hop. That’s a gift.” And then he said it again. “A gift. A free gift.”
On into the night, Barrington worked. First he found the best stick that he could. (And that was difficult because of the snow.) Then hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. To beaver’s house. He left the stick just outside the door. With a note on it that read: “Here is a good stick for your house. It is a gift. A free gift. No strings attached. Signed, a member of your family.”
“It is a good thing that I can hop,” he thought, “because the snow is very deep.” Then Barrington dug and dug. Soon he had gathered together enough dead leaves and grass to make the squirrels’ nest warmer. Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. He laid the grass and leaves just under the large oak tree and attached this message: “A gift. A free gift. From a member of your family.”
It was late when Barrington finally started home. And what make things worse was that he knew a blizzard was beginning. Hop. Hop. Hippity-hop. Soon poor Barrington was lost. The wind howled furiously, and it was very, very cold. “It certainly is cold,” he said out loud. “It’s a good thing I’m so furry. But if I don’t find my way home pretty soon, even I might freeze!”
“Squeak. Squeak….”
And then he saw it … a baby field mouse lost in the snow. And the little mouse was crying. “Hello, little mouse,” Barrington called. “Don’t cry. I’ll be right there.” Hippity-hop, and Barrington was beside the tiny mouse.
“I’m lost,” sobbed the little fellow. “I’ll never find my way home, and I know I’m going to freeze.”
“You won’t freeze,” said Barrington. “I’m a bunny, and bunnies are very furry and warm. You stay right where you are, and I’ll cover you up.”
Barrington lay on top of the little mouse and hugged him tight. The tiny fellow felt himself surrounded by warm fur. He cried for a while, but soon, snug and warm, he fell asleep.
Barrington had only two thoughts that long, cold night. First he thought, “It’s good to be a bunny. Bunnies are very furry and warm.” And then, when he felt the heart of the tiny mouse beneath him beating regularly, he thought, “All of the animals in the forest are my family.”
Next morning, the field mice found their little boy, asleep in the snow, warm and snug beneath the furry carcass of a dead bunny. Their relief and excitement were so great that they didn’t even think to question where the bunny had come from.
And as for the beavers and the squirrels, they still wonder which member of their family left the little gifts for them that Christmas Eve.
After the field mice had left, Barrington’s frozen body simply lay in the snow. There was no sound except that of the howling wind. And no one anywhere in the forest noticed the great silver wolf who came to stand beside that brown, lop-eared carcass.
But the wolf did come. And he stood there. Without moving or saying a word. All Christmas Day. Until it was night.
And then he disappeared into the forest.
Excerpted from: The Way of the Wolf by Martin Bell, copyright 1970, published by Ballantine Books, New York, N.Y. Used by permission.
Martin Bell’s official website is here: Barrington Bunny.
Gregg ended with:
Godspeed to all of us who are finding our way in the snow.
Yesterday Gregg responded to a few comments on the story with:
Friends,
I knew I was taking a risk posting this story. You don’t know me. And I don’t know you. Yada, yada, yada.
“Knowledge of someone’s heart and mind” is most often the filter we use when listening to what others say, write and/or post onto blogs and elsewhere. You don’t know my heart and mind — and I thought that by reading the 39+ posts here that I had a bit of a glimpse into who y’all are. And then I took a risk and made posted the story.
Assigning names to the characters of an allegorical story is too closely akin to assigning both motives and outcomes to how the story can, or should speak to us. So I won’t bite.
But what I will say is that none of fully knows the power of our contributions to the lives of others. God is using this email string and the other interviews and strings I’ve read involving Eliza’s experiences to speak to me about who God is, who I am, and how God’s desire to see us connected is more passionately alive and real than any other alternate reality I choose to entertain or live into.
[...]
If having theological conversations was the only way to learn truth, then hey, count me out. But if using story, multi-dimensional art, and even an occasional limerick as avenues for truth and conversation to travel can be normative and not just daft, then count me in.
Our experiences aren’t more important than truth. They’re the vehicles truth ride in. T.S. Eliot wrote, “We had the experience, we missed the meaning.” In looking for some of the meaning behind what I was reading in this blog, my heart and mind were drawn to Martin Bell’s story. Will it make sense to everyone? No, and neither with algebra. In fact, I got several D’s in it. And my life isn’t turning out all that bad — despite what my High School math teacher predicted. Different experiences, different meanings … different conversations, different connections … different paths, but often the same lessons learned. Good night and Godspeed.
Comment by: joe
1Err…
Yeah, Gregg, but the point is that the story has to be relevant and make sense to at least one person – ie you – otherwise it is just the equivalent of spam, isn’t it?
So, it isn’t a personal attack on you to ask you to explain why you think it is relevant when some of the rest of us don’t get it.
I mean, tis great that you feel comfortable posting an’all, great that you feel welcomed an’everything. But please, I’m struggling to understand what you’re going on about.
Comment by: Helen
2Gregg wrote:
Gregg, I wish you would ‘bite’ a little – metaphorically speaking, of course :-) – because I would like to know what the story means to you.
I share your opinion that stories have value but for me the value they have is hearing how they affect people/what they mean to people. So I’d love to hear from you on that.
Joe put it better than me, anyway – thanks, Joe!
So Gregg, would you enlighten us, please?
Comment by: Dave Woolsey
3Thanks to Joe and Helen for adding more bait so Gregg “bite” again. Gregg uses the you don’t know me line, so I’ll up the ante by sharing a bit about him. He often hangs out at my ministry center (AKA used car lot). So we all know that he spends time in the real world with biblical tax collectors and their kind. Surely it’s OK for him to be seen in dialog with this group.
Come on Gregg, talk to us!
Non-pastor Dave
Comment by: Helen
4Thanks Dave. Hey, I’m a non-pastor too – what a coincidence! ;-)
Comment by: Gregg Lamm
5Friends,
Sure, I’ll bite.
To me, stories are an important part of spiritual exploration because they “remind me about my past,” “inform me about my present,” and “challenge me about my future.”
But Christ, my Rabbi, also seems to regularly use stories to come alongside my conversations about theology and life to whisper (and sometimes shout) instruction my way. Here are some thoughts about how God has done that, and is doing this to me through Martin Bell’s story.
Eliza and others have been talking honestly and eloquently about their first-hand and “in the classroom” experiences with sin, forgiveness, justification, depravity and more — and then asking/discussing what of our “response” to these things may or may not have God-connections.
Here is how Bell’s story spoke to me in the midst of this milieu …
MY PAST / In year’s past I spent a lot of time labeling people (mostly in my head — remaining hypocritically sweet to their faces), telling myself (with my words) and them (with my responses) that they couldn’t come up my tree, or couldn’t swim in my pond. In other words, I thought that because what they thought and believed was so different from me, that we had little in common, and therefore not much to talk about.
Then two things began to happen, nearly simultaneously. First, I got tired of all the burned bridges in my life and started longing for “building” not “burning”. And second, I started taking “connection steps” towards people who lived differently than me, thought differently than me, and believed differently than me. And the rewards to taking these steps were huge. I brought them the gifts of my life and in return they brought their gifts to me. And along the way no one has become my “spiritual project” and neither have I become theirs.
Over time I began to see that I wasn’t choosing to live this way because I wanted to be an “initiator” of all things virtuous and true. No, I’m way more selfish than that. Rather, I was going through a paradigm-shift of heart and mind as a response to what I was learning from Jesus about how to live, talk, relate, respond, and be as a human being and as a person who was making the choice to connect with God in ways big and ways small, in ways mundane and in ways weighty. Everything I was doing, every change I was making was a response to the mysterious work God was doing in my life.
To answer the question, “Yes, I see the Wolf in Bell’s story as a Christ-figure.” I see the wolf as a strong presence (formerly to be feared, or at the very least avoided), asking questions, not demanding change, pointing the way, not demanding a reformation on his terms.
And “No, I don’t know why Bell chose a wolf anymore than I know why Lewis chose a lion.” And “Yes, all allegories fail under the weight of intense scrutiny.”
MY PRESENT / Here’s how the words of Bell’s story connect with my PRESENT … I have a friend who has recently given me conversational hints that he wants to know more about Jesus. The all-too-common realities of assessing his mid-life disappointments … kids, job, marriage not working out like he thought they would, hoped they would, or maybe even prayed they would have left him asking in true Peggy Lee style, “Is That All There Is?”
In the past I would have let these conversations float back to basketball, cars, or micro-brews. But lately I’ve been less afraid about stepping into the ring with him about these important questions … not as a theologian, not as an “answer man”, not as a “mouth for God”, not as the “pastor-teacher”, but as a friend. A friend who is simply bringing myself, along with the gift, the free gift of Jesus into the “now” of our purposefully intersecting lives.
And please know that I’m fully aware that I’m not rescuing my friend. Far from it. That’s the kind of spiritually co-dependent thinking that leads many Christ-followers towards making it their goal to turn the people God brings across their paths into altar rats and leaves them blunderingly playing manipulative “God-melodies” on their flutes. Yikes.
No, I’m not rescuing anyone. If anything, God is using these conversations, and the gift of the words that my friend speaks back to me to rescue me.
MY FUTURE / … Knowing that my father wasn’t a prophet, that I’m not a prophet, and that I am employed by a non-profit organization, here’s how I sense Bell’s story (and this conversation) might connect to my FUTURE. I see myself as all the characters in this story.
I’m Barrington … at times feeling alone and/or without purpose. Lost and then found. Full of self-doubt and then discovering my way, called to find great joy in living a life of sacrifice before God and others.
I’m the beavers, the squirrels and the field mice … needy but short-sighted about how others might feel called to breathe into my life and connect with my needs, and then grateful when they do.
I’m the wolf … coming alongside others with words, and without words, challenging myself and others to become “more than we are” by discovering our purpose and then living into it.
I spent far to much of my life informed but unformed; I’m 48 years old and have miles to go before I sleep. I want stories like Bell’s to instruct me in the ways of Christ and shape the mood, the voice, and the tone of the way I live my life.
What great mystery there is in pondering God (or the moon, or the “meaning behind our experiences”). And whether I’m reading and pondering Nietzsche Ann Lamott, Dr. Seuss, Donald Miller, Anne Tyler, Richard Foster, Enid Boynton, Richard Foster or Rolling Stone magazine, I choose to ask my Rabbi, “What do you have here for me?”
Oh, and I can’t wait to hear of Eliza’s experiences with “Holy Baptism”. Since I’m a Quaker I know little of “Holy Baptism” … at least not the kind with water … for we prefer to “Dry Clean.” Godspeed.
read.think.pray.live.
Gregg Lamm
http://www.stayingthecourse.blogspot.com
P.S. / BTW/IMHO here’s why I think Bell’s story is more than SPAM. SPAM is receiving a forwarded email story and then forwarding it to dozens of people from your Outlook/Entourage list and telling them the equivalent of “if they don’t pass this story on they’re an unfeeling dolt.”
But driving to my office across town to fetch a book, then spending 45 minutes typing out a story from that book that was meaningful to me and passing it onto a blog with the hopes of it contributing to the conversation … that my friends, isn’t SPAM. It’s a gift. Cheers!
Comment by: joe
6Hmm.. there is a bit to digest there. I would have put Barrington as the christ figure.
Comment by: Helen
7I like the idea of the Wolf being the Christ figure. Otherwise, who is the wolf?
Gregg, thanks for sharing your thoughts with us.
Neat.
I’m glad to hear you understand how manipulative some evangelism is and that you’re not being manipulative with your friend.
Comment by: Stephan
8In the film version Barrington will be played by Elijah Wood.
Comment by: benjamin ady
9Indeed.
Gregg, I like the story, and I … experienced it as having meaning and … being a good story, purely for the sake of good story, so thankyou for posting it!
Comment by: Gregg Lamm
10Stephan writes …
I actually pictured Bjork playing Barrington. Or perhaps Sting. But for sure, a person with just one name.
Helen writes …
Maybe this is why both Lewis and Tolkien said that they didn’t like people turning their Narnia and Ring books into allegories.
http://www.aslan.demon.co.uk/allegory.htm
But hey, it’s a free world … so if “Barrington Bunny” isn’t an allegory, a parable, or a combination of both … maybe a paragory (and yes, I know that as figures of speech allegories and parables are different from one another) then I’m a monkey’s uncle.
An allegory is a description of one thing using the image of another — a story with an underlying meaning different from the surface facts of the story itself.
A parable is a story which, although not usually factual, remains true to life and teaches a moral lesson or truth. Every detail of a parable will reinforce the main theme, but you shouldn’t always attempt to ascribe a specific spiritual meaning and application to each point.
Okay, that said …
I like having the wolf as the Christ figure because He’s the one who awakens Barrington to the truth of who he is and what his purpose in life is. And this is indeed what Jesus Christ has done and is doing to me.
Joe writes …
Yes, it also makes sense to me to think about Barrington being the Christ figure of the story. But I can’t help but see myself wrapped up in there too. A person fragile of ego, somehow disconnected from who I sense I am to be and what I am to do, lost but then found … and then once the conversation began with the Wolf (Christ) there was a warming that took place, not only in my understanding of who Christ is, but of who I am.
To give my life away for the sake of another? Are you kidding me? I know that many other people without professed God-connections find themselves doing noble, virtuous, compassionate things with their lives. But I didn’t belong to that club. I remember getting invited once or twice, I just never accepted the offer to live into that kind of a life.
And yet in the years since I’ve called myself a Christ-follower, I’ve found great life in dying, great freedom in serving, great hope in abandonment, and great discovery in letting go.
But hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. And I find myself lost in the snow with the regularity of a Swiss watch. Last night I had a blow out with my 18-year-old over a stupid issue involving the car. And in the middle of the “conversation” he turned silent and asked me with tears in his eyes, “Why are you always so negative about the dreams I have for my life?”
Knife to the heart! I had to stop and listen to him. He was right. I’d been too hard on him lately. I hadn’t been a good listener. I’d been trying to be the enforcer. Not much “dying” going on, not much “serving,” not much offering back to my very own son the very grace-gifts I’ve been given. Damn, I got nailed!
I’m just a guy … as busted up and messy as the next model on the lot. But I’m thankful for the opportunity to connect with you through this blog and with my flesh-and-blood friends face-to-face. And I’m thankful for the gifts of story and truth — and for the invitation God keeps giving me to have conversations with Him and others at the edge. Godspeed.
read.think.pray.live.
Gregg Lamm
http://www.stayingthecourse.blogspot.com
Comment by: Helen
11Gregg wrote:
Yes – I thought that’s what you meant when you said you saw the wolf as a Christ figure.
I see what you’re saying but I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the idea of the Christ figure giving his advice then leaving the bunny to die in the snow. He shows up again after the bunny is dead already. What use is it standing by a dead carcass all day? Overall I am uncomfortable with the way this story elevates the self-sacrifice of the bunny. Why didn’t anyone SAVE the bunny from dying?
Ouch! Parenting is hard, isn’t it?
I hope you and he were able to sort things out after he said that.
Comment by: benjamin ady
12I think the fact that the bunny dies and ends up a frozen carcass in the snow is part of why the story appeals to me.
Comment by: Helen
13I feel sorry for the bunny.
Comment by: Kathleen
14Because all that matters about your physical life is what you do for others? And THAT outlasted his life:
Comment by: joe
15Ok, I’m afraid I still don’t get the lesson I am supposed to be learning from the story.
Comment by: Helen
16Kathleen,
I don’t personally believe the only value someone has is what they do for others.
Also, if what we do for others is that important, why didn’t anyone in the story apply that and do something for the bunny that would have saved his life?
Comment by: Helen
17Joe, I am confused too. Is the message “Do what Jesus wants even if it kills you. He will be happy and show it by standing by your dead body all day in the snow if you do.”
Comment by: joe
18woohoo. sign me up then.
Comment by: Helen
19Joe, the ‘special’ kool-aid is over there.
Comment by: joe
20Do you know, there is a church group in Argentina that kills people soon after they convert. Prevents backsliding, apparently.
Cuppa tea anyone?
Comment by: Gregg Lamm
21Friends,
Maybe in the future I’ll stick to posting haiku not paragory. But I’m still glad I found this blog, and I look forward to continued reading here, even though my first attempt seems to have been a little rocky. I’m looking for “honesty” more than “agreement” or “followers” — and that’s what I’ve been given in your responses. So thanks.
I don’t believe that serving others always “literally kills us physically.” I mean if that was the case Mother Teresa would have died way before she did. But when I get it right and when I serve from others from the heart of Christ, what I find “dies” more often than not are my inclinations toward selfishness, my proclivity to ego-based manipulation, and my paralysis from fear. And I find this kind of “dying” worth living for. Godspeed.
read.think.pray.live.
Gregg
http://www.stayingthecourse.blogspot.com
Comment by: benjamin ady
22Hey–can I get some of that special koolaid or tea? I’d even be willing to pay for it.
Gregg, if we leave out the “heart of Christ” bit, I find these things true for me as well. Living inside my head megasucks for me and those around me, and one of the best ways I’ve found to get out of my head is to do something useful for someone else.
Comment by: Stephan
23Greg, thanks for sharing your story and being vulnerable with us. I appreciate the time you took and the insight you provided. Keep up the good work, even if we don’t always get it.
By the way, props for the way you handled things with your son. Some parents would have kept pushing even after the knife in the heart or not even noticed it. You took the opportunity to see the plank in your own eye and do something about it. I think your son will turn out great if he follows your example.
But I still go with Elijah Wood. I mean, those big puppy dog eyes would mean big box office bucks.
Comment by: Helen
24Greg, I see what you’re saying about metaphorical dying to self. I can handle the concept of that better than physical death, which seems so…final. (That’s a consequence of me being a ‘post-death agnostic’, I realize). Anyway, thanks for being willing to chat with us. It’s fun to have your voice added to the conversation!
Joe – I think I’ll pass on the tea, thanks ;-)
Benjamin, I’ve also found the best way to get out of my head is to do something useful for someone else. I wrote a poem once about Inside/Outside my Head, actually. It was about this time of year because it was snowing.
Stephan – yeah, I know what you mean about those Elijah Wood eyes! :-)
Comment by: HereandNow
25The discussion regarding the merit of Barrington Bunny as being germaine to the overall conversation is interesting to me. A lot of texts which claim to be “inspired” are like that. (Please don’t think that I’m saying Barrington Bunny claims to be inspired in the same sense). Some folks want to treat Genesis’ early chapters as scientific text. Some folks want to treat poetic texts like psalms as detailed historical descriptions of their author’s lives and context. Allegories and paradoxes (or whatever the appropriate plural might be)are always lacking if we insist on them being treated as anything other than a story that sparks the imagination to think about one’s place in the universe. I personally find the story a wee bit sentimental, but when I first heard it back when I worked at an Episcopal church camp, it was a powerful vehicle for getting young children and early adolescents to think about, not only self-sacrifice, but what we were trying to teach about Jesus’ sacrifice for human beings. It was valuable to communicate our own responsibility to love and give to others, and also God’s gift to us in Jesus. But it was never taught as a substitute for the Jesus talked about in the Bible–just a little story with cute furry characters who experienced heartache and pain and death and found a sense of purpose and fulfillment. I’d hate to develop any religion around the text of Barrington Bunny, but it does have relevance to a conversation about whether or not human beings have any hope of finding things like love and purpose and a way of climbing out of the pitfalls of the human condition. One very interesting question to me though, is whether or not it is any less manipulative than the teacher in Eliza’s class pounding depravity down students throats as a springboard for the call to repentance? I personally find allegories that are sloppily written to be very manipulative, and I think that Barrington is considerably more sloppy than e.g. The Chronicles of Narnia which is delightfully free of manipulation.
Comment by: Kathleen
26I don’t think that I do, either, but in the religious interpretation of the story, I think it’s somewhat teleological. Even without looking at the religious dimension, Barrington was feeling depressed and worthless, and doing for other gave his life meaning.
Because the story isn’t about them! Barrington is the protagonist.
Comment by: Helen
27Thanks for your response, Kathleen.
HereandNow, I agree that stories can be manipulative.
Comment by: Gregg Lamm
28Ya, I know what you mean. Especially ones involving animals and death! “Old Yeller” and “Bambi” come to mind. Godspeed.
read.think.pray.live.
Gregg
http://www.stayingthecourse.blogspot.com
Comment by: Helen
29By the way, I was uncomfortable having a whole story that is copyright posted on here, so I wrote to Martin Bell to ask if I might have permission to post it. He said yes as long as I add a copyright notice and a link to his site, which I have now done.
Comment by: Gregg Lamm
30Helen,
Thanks for doing this friend. Godspeed.
read.think.pray.live.
Gregg
http://www.stayingthecourse.blogspot.com
Comment by: Elizabeth
31Almost 2 years later, and I’m just today finding this blog. Is anyone still there?
I first heard the story of Barrington back in the 70′s when I was a teen at a Presbyterian church camp. It was read around a campfire, and male or female, there wasn’t a dry eye among us. This story has been with me ever since. I do believe that the best audience is our youth, who tend not to be terribly analytical, and more accepting of what ever truth they glean for themselves from the story.
The church I attend presently has just approved in council that we will be doing a function called “Everyone is Welcomed at God’s Table”, wherein we are feeding soup to anyone who wants it, rich, poor or what ever. The last line of the invitation is: It’s a gift. A free gift. With no strings attached.
In living by those particular words from the story, it isn’t about self sacrifice anymore, but the incredible feeling of freedom in doing for the least of the bretheren and doing for God. And to carry it a step further, “the least of the bretheren” doesn’t always mean the poorest or most destitute. The richest & most affluent people on earth, in the eyes of God, can be the absolute least of these My bretheren.
Thanks for this opportunity.
Comment by: Helen
32Hi Elizabeth – yes, there are still some people here :)
I reposted your comment at the top of the blog
If anyone has a reply to Elizabeth please add it there instead of here.