The diner rang with chatter and clattering plates on cluttered countertops. A table of young women struggled to unfold the massive menu, laughingly bumping elbows. Pancakes? Or meatloaf? Fish sticks? Or pumpkin pie? The whole world seemed contained on those laminated pages.
Just outside, a piece of trash blew in the wind. Not even trash; a plastic bag, a carrier of other things, empty and alone, bearing an eternal “Thank you thank you thank you thank you.” Another bag flapped fruitlessly from the bare branches of a nearby tree, torn to bits, attempting to offer some kind of warning. “Lay low,” he seemed to say, but it was a pitiful flutter, and the other bag responded “Thank you thank you thank you thank you” and flew higher still.
One by one, the young women found their gaze drawn outside. Menus fell, flat, to the table. The bag flew above the tree top, to the fifth, sixth, seventh story of the building across the street. It drew their gaze to the iron bars blocking the windows, which they had never noticed before, and then settled back to the ground.
“Have you ever seen a bag blow up that high before?” one girl asked.
“Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” the bag said. It lay helpless, discarded, barely hopping out of the way of stomping feet of passersby. The girls watched with bated breath, wondering whether someone would crush him or throw him into the trash.
Then, a new gust of wind carried it to the seventh, eighth, ninth story. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,’” he cried, spinning delightly at his newfound heights, trying to catch the breeze and stay up there. He hopped a little higher -- tenth.
“What is that old building?” Another girl asked. “It’s like 11 stories high.”
The bag fluttered down, its old contents forgotten, its old purposes replaced with this new goal: 11 stories. It jumped up and down, dodged pedestrians, danced in the air with a grace beyond garbage. It kissed those iron bars; it strained to reach the bottom of the final windows.
Finally, a man snatched him off the sidewalk, crumpled him up, hid his “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” and shoved him, against the wind, into the garbage can on the corner. He resisted, peeping a handle back out. The man shoved him down again.
“You guys ready to order?”
The girls blinked at each other. The diner came back into focus; the menus, the waitress, the noises, all at once.“Oh, uh… Another minute?”
—
Jesus used parables all throughout his ministry, choosing to tell stories to draw deep truths from reflections upon ordinary things.
ReNew York just launched our new bi-weekly writing group, and we started with this notion of parables and an invitation to craft a modern parable by going out into a public space in the city and making note of what stirs something in us.
This is a quick modern parable that I drew up as an example. Yes, a plastic bag in the wind has been done to death — American Beauty, Katy Perry, a short film… But it was honestly the moment that came to mind of something commonplace and ordinary taking shape as a narrative of personal significance for me.
