Jesus and the Dynamic Character

Students of the craft of writing often divide their characters into two camps--protagonists and antagonists. This isn't wrong. It can be limiting, however, when the lines between the camps aren't so black and white. Sometimes, the goals of the different characters are so diametrically opposed that it cannot be argued that the characters are even on different sides.

Take, for example, the story of Jesus' visit to Sychar. (A village in ancient Samaria where Jacob's Well was located.) Antagonists are hard to find in this historical account. But characters abound. And these characters can be divided into two very clear camps: static and dynamic characters.

A static character is one whose nature and traits do not change between her first introduction on the page and the last glimpse the reader has of her. A dynamic character does change. Within the writing community, there is an assumption that dynamic characters are good, and static characters are bad. This assumption is made on the belief that readers always want their main characters to change.

And you know what "they" say about assumptions...

As we have seen over the last weeks, characters with flaws are appealing to the human psyche. (Yes, really. See Rapunzel if you missed it the first time around.) But we have also seen that protagonists don't have to change to be universally loved. (See Cinderella for that argument.) Some of the characters in John 4 are static, and others are dynamic. This story, written by the best Author, expresses both the changes and the immovability of the characters through dialogue and interaction.

Jesus: A static character if ever you've met one. This man Does Not Change. Which isn't bad. If this story is your first encounter with him, you might want to read further, but from his first breath on the page, he is committed to one goal, one purpose, one way. How that commitment plays out in his interaction with other people depends on the person. With the woman, he invites her to speak. He then answers her question in a fashion that gives her the freedom to ask another question. Anything she likes. He discovers in her a deep desire for truth, and a hopelessness that it can never be hers, and answers her heart. Not her sins. Not her past. He has come looking for her soul. (Calvin Miller does a wonderful interpretation of this in his poem The Singer, chapter XI.)

His goals do not change when others enter the scene--be they his beloved disciples, or the townspeople who do not know what to believe. But being a static character does not make him less of a powerful force in this story. His goal will not change if his audience rejects it, but both the giver and the receiver in such a conversation would come away profoundly marked by the interaction.

The Woman: Our darling dynamic character. When she enters the story, she is alone. Friendless, even for having had a string of intimate relationships. Jesus does not offer to become part of this string--or even replace it. He offers her truth, where until now she has heard only lies. The freedom and joy with which she responds profoundly mark her for the rest of her life.

When she arrives at the well, it is the middle of the day. Any sensible woman would have gone to the well at dawn, before the day was hot and household chores needed attention. But this woman wasn't welcome with others, so she came alone. This one conversation with Jesus releases her from the shame of her past choices, so that she can run into town to find the people who do not speak to her and say, "Come and meet a man who knows my secrets." The townspeople already know her secrets--this is not a surprise. But they don't know her joy. This is new. Worth investigating.

The Disciples: These fellas are such an interesting bag of tricks. Dividing them into static and dynamic individually is easy (Thomas, Peter, John, Judas), but as a group? Best to side with static in this instance. When they find Jesus freely talking with a fallen woman, righteousness demands a certain code of conduct. Withdrawal. Concern. Perhaps even a little preaching. Jesus does not rebuke them outright, but neither do we observe a change in their understanding. Their questions indicate their own search for truth, echoed in the woman's enthusiastic evangelism.

The disciples, unlike the woman, have chosen their giver of truth. They are out to follow their rabbi, wherever that teaching may lead. That doesn't stop them from expecting him to follow their code of standards, but it does open their minds to the possibility of Jesus changing their standards to match his. As with almost every other account of the disciples' interaction with Jesus, these characters are on a long, slow journey to change. Sufficiently slow that their individual characters can be measured.*

The Townspeople: Like the woman, these are also dynamic characters, though on a lesser scale than she. Their response to Jesus' teaching is to him, not to the world around them. Where she rushed to invite people--friends, strangers, enemies--to see him, they rush to pursue him. Again, this isn't bad. A writer who shows that some people are changed profoundly by an encounter with Jesus, while others react to a lesser degree, tells a very real story. Not every character will respond to another character in the same way. Writers who fail to take this into account do their readers a great disservice.

This story, like many of the fairy tales we've covered so far, begs the question of a reader's response. Reading a story does not have to change the reader. But it could. A reader is not required to be a force of change in her world. But she could. In this story, both Jesus and the woman moved others around them to change. Not because they were both dynamic characters, but because both characters demanded a response from the other characters in the story.

Like the woman at the well, writers and readers are at a crossroads. We can choose to change--or not. We can choose to challenge others to change--or not. Having made the choice, where will the next road take you?







*In my small understanding, there are two exceptions to this: Nathaniel, called Bartholomew, and Jude the Lesser, called Thaddeus. My personal studies have shown that these disciples' decisions to change and responses to their choices were profoundly different. (In your own studies, you might find other disciples whose lives affect you differently.) Why? That is very much a story for another day...

The Sparrow's Gift and Some Spare Change

Where last we left our heroine, she was a bitter, spiteful harpy who saw her faults in everyone around her. Who wants to feel any sympathy towards that?

The answer, of course, is no one.

The wonder and the charm of this fairy tale begin when the old woman changes. It’s the last paragraph of the story. In some versions of “The Tongue-Cut Sparrow”, the story ends when she opens the box of demons. No change necessary for the character in that version. (Didn’t read it the first time around? It’s here.)

This story made me think of several other stories—all of whom have a character who waits until the last minute to change. In some of these stories, it’s believable and even long-anticipated by the reader. But in some of these stories, the change is never noted by the reader. People walk away from the story saying “that’s a bad, bad guy” rather than celebrate the wonder of a life in revolution. Depending on the story, this takeaway value can be either the reader’s fault—or the author’s.

In the Old Testament, the books of Kings and Chronicles both give historical accounts of the same time period, the same events, the same people. If you’ve never heard of King Manasseh, take a minute to read about him here. Most people, insofar as I know, are more familiar with this account. As you can see, he repents in one, but the other ends with God Himself cursing him. I can understand that it is convenient for people to remember him only as a wicked king, but men can be defined by a single moment in their lives, too. The moment he led the team to victory. The moment he turned from a good life, and was stricken with leprosy. The first time he said “I need help!”

These single moments are vital to us. Our lives are frail. Yes, we can trudge endlessly down the same path, never changing our steps or even looking up. That doesn’t mean we won’t look up on the next step, or turn back in the next heartbeat. Humanity is built on such hopes. The times when we turn around or climb to a peak we had considered impossible should be celebrated. Even if only in brief memories.

Characters, however, don’t seem to have that luxury. Words may not be set in stone, but—with a few lines of black ink on a white page—they can carve a complete person into the reader’s imagination. If the words are chosen wrong by the writer, the reader may never know it. But the reader has chosen to accept the writer’s words as an important part of his imagination, so it behooves the writer to give a character enough time to change on the page.

In a short story, like a fairy tale, the last page is enough room to change. Usually. With this fairy tale, the author is helped by the fact that the character’s change is unexpected—because it is sweeter. It’s a welcome surprise, that leaves the reader smiling. For a longer story, the writer has two problems:

                1. How far into the story must I carry this character before changing her?

                2. Do I owe it to my readers to make the reader want the character to change before it happens?

How do you solve these questions in your stories? These are hard questions for writers anywhere, and there aren’t easy answers. Only guidelines. More or less. But that’s a story for another day...

Ruth and her Model

While my deep and abiding love for fairy tales stems from an overexposure to the more obscure titles, I’m aware that this isn’t the norm for others. Even other writers. (Trust me, I get that look a lot.) So before I go diving into some of the lesser-known stories, I want to make sure we hit one of my favorite cross-overs.

Because any love story epic enough to merit three thousand years of continual publication is worth studying—both as a reader, and as a writer.

Now, the story of Ruth could be classified as history, or mythology (by cynics, NOT by me), or even a fairy tale (though that does stretch the definition a lot), but most importantly it is a model. As such, the more we study it, the bigger it gets. Unfold the story one way, and powerful storytelling tools are unlocked. Unfold it another, and deep symbolism changes your outlook on life. And while I promised myself I wouldn’t reprint the entirety of any story in these entries (how boring would that be—taking all the fun out of your research?), the crucial points of the plot will be covered a time or two. In an effort to keep my nattering to a minimum, I’ll start with a practical application of a model breakdown first. We’ll save archetype analysis for next week. (Yes, if I’m going to slice into an entire story in one sitting, I’ll only subject you to one such post in a week.)

Oh, and links. Here is my two-bit summary. And here is a link to the full text of the story. (For those of you who don’t know the Bible well, Ruth is only 4 short chapters. It’s not overwhelming.)

Model introduction – The cast of characters, and the questions they face.

                Ruth – young, widowed, and a foreigner. Agreeing to marry a Jew in voluntary exile is one thing, but her decision to follow his widowed mother back to her homeland (and there die, a foreigner) marks her as girl of great courage and commitment. Fabulous protagonist.

                Naomi – old, widowed, and emptied of dreams. She followed her husband into Moab, she watched her sons marry foreigners, and now her last wish is to return to her homeland and be no more. The distraction of being loved by girl who insists on chasing Naomi’s God doesn’t cheer Naomi up any. Excellent dynamic character.

                Both women face a long, hard journey. For Ruth, what kind of life can she lead as a servant to a poor, bitter widow? For Naomi, what hope can she find in a world where everyone she has loved is dead?

Model rising action – The events that lead the reader to have certain expectations.

                The villagers – Everyone remembers Naomi and her family. Naomi discourages this as much as she can, wanting to be left to die, but they welcome her back. And the young foreigner of tremendous character. (For surely no weak girl would choose to serve a cranky old woman.)

                The work – Naomi may once have been a woman of property, and Ruth may have once been the daughter and wife of reasonably wealthy city men, but their only sustenance in Bethlehem will come from whatever work Ruth can find. Throwing away her pride, Ruth follows the other poor people out into the fields.

                The prince – Boaz singles Ruth out for attention on her first day. His servants all have good things to say about her, as do the village gossips, but this doesn’t account for his kindness and help. Ruth would have to be dead inside NOT to notice, and even Naomi abandons her sourness to test Ruth’s young heart. Being both modest and honest, Ruth sets to work in Boaz’s fields. She accepts the explanation that he is a close relative, but neither the characters nor the readers think Boaz pays this much attention to every widow in his fields.

                The awakening – not of Ruth’s resilient heart, but of Naomi’s old one. As Naomi recovers her joyful spirit, the first thing she does is arrange a match between Ruth and Boaz. The daughter Naomi never had—or imagined she would want—has come so far and sacrificed so much for her. Foreign though she may be, Ruth has become family and is entitled to whatever Naomi can do to help. And what better help than to marry her off to a generous, wealthy relative who has the good sense to treat Ruth well?

Model climax – The crux of the story, where fate and free will are decided.

                The proposal – It’s one thing for Ruth to say “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am” to her mother-in-law. It’s another entirely to sneak onto a threshing floor in the middle of the night and ask someone above your station to marry you! Ruth’s courage proves equal to the task, though she is fortunate that Boaz understands her errand so quickly.

                The problem – The law, the law. Boaz could brush aside the fact that there was a closer cousin. But he doesn’t. He could disparage this situation—or verbalize a wish to keep Ruth to himself. But he doesn’t. Oh, what pins and needles Ruth must be on, to discover that she has proposed marriage to a man who isn’t free to say yes. How do men stand it?

Model falling action – The consequences of the climax and any decisions made.

                At home – Ruth hurries back to Naomi, full of strange news. Naomi knows the law, but she had not underestimated the character of either Ruth or Boaz. And, Naomi correctly interprets Boaz’s parting gift to Ruth. Full bride price. Boaz might not have spoken his commitment on the threshing floor, but she is able to reassure Ruth that his intentions match their hopes.

                At the gate – Boaz wastes no time in bringing his kinsman and the matter of Ruth to court. Both men know the law (that relatives have a responsibility to buy back land), but only Boaz knows young Ruth. The other relative refuses—on the grounds of endangering his inheritance. (This might have been because he was a Levite (who could not marry widows), or because the Year of Jubilee was approaching (when property was to be returned), or because Ruth was a foreigner (curses and laws against that).) Boaz, being a true kinsman-redeemer, would risk all these things for Ruth. Not for her mother-in-law’s land, but for her. (For those who love research, Boaz already had foreign blood floating in his gene pool. Check out Matthew 1.)

Model resolution – Is there such a thing as “happily ever after?”

                Quick wedding – While not precisely a hasty ceremony, Boaz makes his marriage legal and official the moment he is free to do so—that very morning. Wonderfully enough, none of the village look suspiciously on this. The elders offer blessings and prayers, as glad as the village women to have Naomi and her family restored to safety. Since Ruth is as much a part of Naomi’s family as the lady’s husband or sons had been, Naomi gains some welcome additions to her family, instead of losing her newfound daughter.

                Blessed birth – Tradition at the time demanded that the firstborn son of a marriage like Ruth and Boaz’s (kinsman-redeemer) be named after the bride’s first husband. (This would ensure rightful inheritance.) Seeing the devotion and close affection between Naomi and her foster-family, however, the village women make Ruth and Boaz’s son Naomi’s grandson—blessing grandmother, mother, and child for the life they have given the law. (Not only dedication, duty, and obedience, but also passion, patience, and hope.) Baby Obed, grandfather to the future King David, is given back to the woman who brought faithful Ruth to generous Boaz.

Models are rare in the fairy tale world. And all the more wonderful for it.  

Where do you find your models...?