Lavender Graduation

Lavender Graduation

May 10, 2012

Thank you for the invitation to be here today. Who would have thought a week ago that we would be standing together at such a time in our nation’s history?  We can parse the decision our President made to announce his views on marriage in a variety of ways, but when the dust settles, I think it will be viewed as a courageous decision made by a thoughtful and caring human being who will be treated well in historical perspective.

In our gatherings on Tuesday morning in the chapel on those days when classes are in session, we have spent the year reflecting on things we would change if we could: something about our selves, our jobs, our school or out world. My friend Courtney Crummett who works in our library, shared this poem last Tuesday as she explored what it meant to try to live beyond regret for what we have done or not done.

Thanks, Robert Frost by David Ray

Do you have hope for the future?
someone asked Robert Frost, toward the end.
Yes, and even for the past, he replied,
that it will turn out to have been all right
for what it was, something we can accept,
mistakes made by the selves we had to be,
not able to be, perhaps, what we wished,
or what looking back half the time it seems
we could so easily have been, or ought...
The future, yes, and even for the past,
that it will become something we can bear.
And I too, and my children, so I hope,
will recall as not too heavy the tug
of those albatrosses I sadly placed
upon their tender necks. Hope for the past,
yes, old Frost, your words provide that courage,
and it brings strange peace that itself passes
into past, easier to bear because
you said it, rather casually, as snow
went on falling in Vermont years ago.

At transitions such as the one we celebrate tonight, regret is often present in the form of “would a, could a, should a”. Would we had time to take another class taught by Lorna Gibson,.  Why didn’t I tell so and so what a jerk they were then they said such and such.  If only I had done such and such I would have been ….  We have a standing joke in my family when we are watching a particularly difficult performance or athletic endeavor: my daughter will look up and say, “If you had only pushed me, I could have done that.” It is a joke about regret, but there is a germ of truth because she remembers that we did often push her and she pushed back; we all did when pushed and that is a source of a lot of regret.

Regret can cripple when we dwell on it and that is why I like the poem. There is hope in the future, but there is also hope in our ability to redeem the past. A lot of us were uncomfortable when ROTC remained on campus during the years when “don’t ask, don’t tell” was in play, but  MIT continued to be engaged in the conversation and I think that had we stepped out of the conversations our ability to influence policy would have been lessened.

To move beyond regret is a human perspective, it is not unique to the LGBT community. There is enough regret to go around for all of us and learning to move on without regret is a benchmark for maturity. My hope for each of you is that you can move on and look to the future with hope knowing that the past is taking care of itself.

Blessing:

May you leave this place whole

May you leave this place hopeful;

Knowing that we are with you where-

ever you go and wherever you are.

You are part of MIT even as MIT has

Insinuated itself into the very marrow

of your bones, the blood that courses

In your veins, and the passion that enlivens

your spirits.

Do not forget us for we will not forget you.

AMEN

Robert M. Randolph

Chaplain to the Institute

No Regrets

My name is Courtney Crummett and in my day job I am a librarian at MIT Libraries. If you are new to Tuesdays in the Chapel, the theme for this year is “If I could change one thing.” I think we can all have different reactions to that prompt, but for me it was silence, because of course my self centeredness tendencies took it personally and exclaimed that I don’t have a lot of regrets, that regret is something I have consciously tried to avoid… I try my hardest not to live in regret.
So, I have never really understood it, but it isn’t that I am not familiar with it. This is one of those “get to know you” deep topics that people delve into on long drives, or the topic of deep conversations at coffee shops. You know the conversation, the questions, the sharing. I have always found this conversation interesting, while I enjoy hearing the stories of others, and the opportunity to get to know them, I don’t think about regret often so my stories are not well thought out, fragments, filled with lots of uh and ums.

Not having regret is certainly a survival mechanism for me. My personality is large and opinionated; I can’t really make room for a lot of regret. If so, I think I would drown in the proverbial pool of it.

No one can really do this, though. We all have regret, even just a little bit. I regret just a few things. Telling a boy in college that I loved him even though I knew it was a lie, driving too fast and crashing my great aunt’s vintage car that was and is still my prized possession, and my first real job interview that I failed miserably because I simply choked and my mind went blank…

And if you asked me to, I can pull up the memories of regret into my head. It looks like a collection of short YouTube videos. And when I come to the videos I regret, I physically pull my breath in through my teeth.  I can right now see the short film of me helping my best friend put on her wedding dress, having trouble with the zipper, pulling too hard and busting the seam. Right now I am there, standing behind her in that cabin in the Catskills, my fingers hurting and purple from pulling.  My breath sucks through my teeth and I wince. Man, I regret that one a lot. But honestly, she could care less. What is ironic is that me doing that created a moment that her and her now mother-in-law will have forever. The mother in law, an experienced sewer, came to the rescue and stitched everything up in minutes. Good as new and a great bonding moment for them. But which part do I replay in my head, the lovely ending to the story or the gruesome start?

I think we all battle regrets, especially at night when trying to sleep. I catch myself rolling down hills of memories and then all of a sudden I hear the breath pull through my teeth, my physical reaction to regret. I quickly push it away, think of something else to distract myself, puppies, fields of wild flowers, what I am planning for dinner the next day. I pat myself on the back and hope that the next time I roll onto that breath-pulling memory, the sound won’t be so loud, the regret won’t be so pronounced, the video will fade.

This first reading, Awake at Night by Wendell Berry, reminds me of when regret creeps up on me, at night, lying awake.

Awake at Night by Wendell Berry

Late in the night I pay
the unrest I own
to the life that has never lived
and cannot live now.
What the world could be
is my good dream
and my agony when, dreaming it,
I lie awake and turn
and look into the dark.
I think of a luxury
in the sturdiness and grace
of necessary things, not
in frivolity. That would heal
the earth, and heal men.
But the end, too, is part
of the pattern, the last
labor of the heart:
to learn to lie still,
one with the earth
again, and let the world go.

And I like what Wendell says, to let the world go, let the regrets go, because it is just a dream, what the world could be. And I like the part about letting go is the last work of the heart.  This poem is a tiny little regret killer.  Encouraging us to lie still let the world go.

Because holding on to regrets won’t help us. I’m not pulling extra breath that I need. All our mistakes, our regrets, make us who we are. That is why I feel so strongly about not having regrets. Every time I have said the wrong thing, every worst first impression I have given, it is who I am. Someone told me recently that things get messy before they get cleaner and if we had a pill that could make us exactly who God wants us to be instantly, someone would have already invented it. And believe me, I would be first in line. But they haven’t, and sometimes things are messy, but that is part of life. We shouldn’t regret the messy parts. It is what we do next that counts, how we push off that regret and move on.

I found another fitting poem, a response maybe to lastweek’s choice of a Robert Frost poem.

Thanks, Robert Frost by David Ray

Do you have hope for the future?
someone asked Robert Frost, toward the end.
Yes, and even for the past, he replied,
that it will turn out to have been all right
for what it was, something we can accept,
mistakes made by the selves we had to be,
not able to be, perhaps, what we wished,
or what looking back half the time it seems
we could so easily have been, or ought...
The future, yes, and even for the past,
that it will become something we can bear.
And I too, and my children, so I hope,
will recall as not too heavy the tug
of those albatrosses I sadly placed
upon their tender necks. Hope for the past,
yes, old Frost, your words provide that courage,
and it brings strange peace that itself passes
into past, easier to bear because
you said it, rather casually, as snow
went on falling in Vermont years ago.

Here, we have Robert Frost himself telling us to let go of the regret because it will turn out to have been all right, part of the plan, mistakes that make us who we were. I think it is no secret that MIT is full of overachievers, hard workers and people who expect nothing short of greatness. Regret can be an evil harbinger for folks that match this description. So, I think if I could change one thing it would be how hard we are all on ourselves, how many regrets we allow to keep us awake at night, I would change that.  I can still see the wedding dress zipper in my head, I can hear my breath suck in, but I am working on shrugging off that one, and each time it is a little less.

Installation Sermon for Kari Jo Verhulst's Installation

April 18, 2012

Text Jno: 20:24-29

It is an honor to be here. I have over the course of my time here known Lutheran chaplains reaching back to Susan Thomas. I cannot recall all of them by name; time and brevity of service come into play. This ministry has been a vital component of the religious scene here at MIT for a long time and I pray it will continue.

The gospel text is familiar and powerful. Others have been convicted by what they did not see, an empty tomb,  burial clothes lying unused. Thomas wants to see and to touch and his response when given the opportunity shakes the foundations.

Questions are a big part of what it is to be here at MIT. We all have questions, but more often than not we are asked them. Sometimes we ask our own. Some time ago I was tempted by and purchased a pair of designer jeans. They are Levis with attitude. I was tempted by spandex and the promise that they were really comfortable when traveling. The haberdasher was an ample gentleman who seemed to know whereof he spoke. The price was too high, but comfort is not to be scoffed at and I bit.

I often carry my wallet in my rear pocket.  It became clear quickly that those who wear such jeans seldom carry wallets. The pocket wore out and I had to have it repaired by a seamstress. The next time I was in the store where I had bought the pants I asked the young woman at the counter if she had noticed that designer jeans wore unevenly on the seat.  The owner was nowhere to be seen. The young woman was running the store and she drew back at the question.  She replied: “You know I really do not spend much time looking at men’s rear ends.” She was offended. I tried to explain and it got worse. I still think designer jeans made with a bit of spandex have a design flaw, but I have not found a way to ask the question that works and for the time being I just have the pockets fixed.

Asking questions at MIT is important, but you need to know how to ask the questions.  That is daunting.  Your sense of curiosity and willingness to inquire must be fearless. I spent a part of the afternoon on Tuesday learning about prions—the smallest infectious particle that resists even the most vigorous  cleansing protocols. I was not taught about prions when I took biology. I asked lots of questions and need to ask more.

The other day I was talking with a  young couple about getting married. They are from China. I had them look at the traditional marriage ceremony that I often use and when we met again they were a bit sheepish. They asked me a question: “Is it alright if we are not religious?” I knew that coming from China it was unlikely that the language of the ceremony would resonate with them but I wanted to talk about it with them. Their question was appropriate. They went on to tell me that they had been to lots of Bible classes, they were seekers in his words, but they were not Christians.  I told them that they were more than all-right; they were honest and the ceremony would have been inappropriate for them. We rewrote it so that it served their needs as they told their friends what it meant for them to get married.

These are good questions, seeking insight, direction. When you are talking about jeans it is not a fatal flaw to be imprecise.  When you are asked about religious beliefs it is important to listen well before you respond because you may not have an answer. Your response may well be a guide to further conversation. And in those circumstances there is a large part of me that would like to stop and give the answer that ends the conversation, but it is more likely that their best teachers will be their peers who from experience will tell them what being a part of a Christian community can mean.

The questions that come to us may not always have answers. We invite people into further conversations. I had a memorial service recently for man who was a Nobel laureate. His life was marked by his love of science; he was not a believer. As the memorial service unfolded it became clear that at a point in his career his belief in science had left him with unanswerable questions: science could not cure his daughter of cancer. He was a friend and I wondered how we would have talked about that? We live with unanswered questions.

Every student is a work in progress and on Monday they may not believe anything and on Tuesday they may well have all the answers. Occasionally we may even meet a Thomas:  “Unless I see the marks…I will not believe.” Thomas ought to be the patron saint of nerds. We ask questions; we answer questions! And sometimes our faith sources call out to us: think about this! Data, details, did Thomas actually touch the Lord?  We do not know, but we do know that he came to believe and then we are told: good for you! But those who come to faith without having seen are blessed. I take this to mean that facts are not the end of the conversation. Sometimes the facts are not enough.

The memorial service for James Q Wilson was last Friday at Harvard. He was known as a data driven researcher who simply sought the facts and let the implications  play themselves out. He was concerned to discover where or not human kind has an innate moral sense and his research was thorough. He wished to counter the relativism that too often seemed to dominate contemporary conversation. He did not find the evidence he had hoped he would find, but he did conclude that humankind had a moral sense that often was dwarfed by violence, greed and the lust for power. His concluding words were these: Mankind’s moral sense is not a strong beacon light, radiating outward to illuminate in sharp outline all that it touches. It is, rather, a small candle flame, casting vague and multiple shadows, flickering and sputtering in the strong winds of power and passion, greed and ideology. But brought close to the heart cupped in one’s hands, it dispels the darkness and warms the soul.

Like Thomas he had seen enough to answer his question but the answer was not as robust as he would have liked. For us who follow he casts a bright light. The posture here is of the servant who protects and nurtures and sometimes that is our role as well. We ask questions, we answer questions and sometimes we wait while the implications of what we are about become clear. It is not glamorous work, but it is God’s and it the work to which chaplains are called.

Kari Jo, May God bless your ministry.