Harvey Pekar & Personal Storytelling

A friend of mine died on July 12. I didn’t know him personally, but I felt I knew him as a friend. He was Harvey Pekar, who created the comic book American Splendor.

He lived all his life in Cleveland and made his living as a file clerk at a VA hospital for 30 years. In the early 70s, he began to write autobiographical stories and had comic book artists illustrate them.

I loved his stories from the first issue I picked up. He wrote about his everyday life–standing on a corner on a winter day waiting for a bus, an encounter with a colleague in the cafeteria of the VA hospital, his thoughts while eating his dinner. He was often worried, angry, even depressed. I was drawn to him specifically because he was so transparent, so honest about himself, so willing to explore the depths of his psyche on paper.

I felt I knew him and I liked him. His world was dark but he didn’t feel sorry for himself or seek pity from his readers. Over the years he attracted a large number of fans. In 2003, a movie, starring Paul Giamatti, was made of his life and work.

I tell you about my friend Harvey because he was not afraid to tell personal stories about his life. If you don’t share anything of yourself in your sermons, please consider it. When I was a kid, my ministers never referred to themselves. I never felt their humanity. They existed on a different plane from everyone else. I felt they were above me, distant from me, remote.

That distancing of self can be a handicap in these times. People want to feel connected to their minister. They want to feel they know something about him or her.

My model for the sharing of personal stories was my first Unity minister, Stan Burnett-Hampson. He had an easy-going manner and could laugh at himself as he described his foibles and the lessons he garnered from them.

I’m not suggesting you share your life indiscriminately. You don’t want to talk about any issue you’re having while you’re still working it through. Many things aren’t appropriate to share. You don’t want your congregation to worry about you or feel they need to take care of you. Timing and amount of detail are considerations, and the most important one is to ask yourself, why are you sharing this? It’s best when it’s used to illustrate your message or when you explain how you grew from what you learned from the experience.

Stories from your life don’t have to be revealing of your dark side. You may be talking about childhood memories and reminisce about the Bugs Bunny glass you had when you were eight and you wouldn’t drink out of any other glass and the horror of the day it slipped out of your hand and broke and a humorous reference to how that was a rich source of work with your therapist.

Are you talking about motivation? Could you share a time when you have difficulty becoming motivated and what you did about it? Stories along this pattern–I too suffered from X, and here’s what I did about it–serve as models for others. It’s one thing to say “Be more motivated,” and so much more valuable to say “I know how hard it can be to be motivated.”

The congregation at my church knew how much I loved gardening. I would share my hopes and frustrations. We laughed at my plans thwarted by rabbits and insects, my bountiful harvest of one tomato or a shriveled cucumber. During coffee after a service, individuals would often ask, “How’s your garden?” It was a way they had of knowing me.

You’ll excuse me, I’m going into the garage to find my box of old comic books. I want to renew my relationship with Harvey Pekar, someone who allowed me to see into his life, someone who I like and respect. His death saddened me.