Relations are what is important

READING: "I Just Wanna Be Mad" ~ by Kelley Lovelace and Lee Thomas Miller, recorded by Terri Clark

Last night we went to bed not talking,

‘Cause we already said too much

I faced the wall, you faced the window

Bound and determined not to touch.

We've been married 7 years now;

Some days if feels like 21

I'm still mad at you this morning

Coffee's ready if you want some

I've been up since 5, 

Thinking about me and you

And I've got to tell you 

The conclusion I've come to

[Chorus]

I'll never leave, I'll never stray

My love for you will never change

But I ain't ready to make up; we'll get around to that

I think I'm right, I think you’re wrong

I'll probably give in before long

Please don't make me smile

I just want to be mad for awhile.

For now you might as well forget it;

Don't run your fingers through my hair.

Yeah that's right, I'm being stubborn

No, I don't want to go back upstairs

I'm going to leave for work 

Without a goodbye kiss

But as I'm driving off,

Just remember this:

[Chorus]

I'll never leave, I'll never stray

My love for you will never change

But I ain't ready to make up; we'll get around to that

I think I'm right, I think you’re wrong

I'll probably give in before long

Please don't make me smile

I just want to be mad for awhile.

I was asked to speak today on the things I learned from my family that shaped my view of the world. 

In thinking about the most fundamental aspects of my family life, I have learned that relationships are to be valued over money or prestige. I have a fairly large family.   Christmas and summers were our main opportunity for the extended family to gather together, to eat, watch movies, talk late into the night, put on impromptu talent shows, share family stories, and reaffirm our connections.  We would pile in the car, my parents, brother and I, and drive anywhere from twelve to twenty hours, usually about twice a year.  These road trips are some of my happiest childhood memories.  On the rare years it was our turn to host a gathering, my mother’s entire clan would caravan to our place, carting collard greens and frozen North Carolina barbecue and plenty of sleeping bags, populating every spare inch of floor space for the length of the holiday.

My parents divorced when I was eight, and shortly thereafter my father remarried.  By the time I was ten, my father had tersely cut off any meaningful relationship with my brother and I.  This was deeply painful, and it was the emotional work of decades to try to make sense of my lack of a relationship with him.  But throughout moving house, switching school systems, and other life changes, my mother’s family remained a constant touchstone.  We continued our long drives to North Carolina and Virginia, singing and reciting poetry to keep my mother awake as she passed hour after hour behind the wheel. 

And I came to understand that the thing of real value is spending time with the people you love, who love you back.  It’s worth driving twenty hours with only a nap by the side of the road.  It’s what you do in order to hear stories about your mother as a child, to seek mutual comfort at the death of an uncle, to celebrate weddings together.  You go the extra seven hundred miles. 

And there will always be those who opt not to do these things.  To whom, for whatever reason, the relationship is not an investment.  And such things cannot be forced, and may not even be explained.  And so I learned to let those people go, and cherish all the more the ties that repaid my effort. 

In my family, we actively choose to be together.

At the same time, each member of my family is so different.  Superficially, we look different, with various aspects of African American, Caucasian, and Native American genes coming to the fore.  Some of us are hot tempered; some peacemakers.  Some of us are highly educated; others struggled to get a GED.   As my mother raised my brother and I, we were amused to call ourselves a family of Aries warriors, since the three of us shared an astrological sign and the traits of fierce independence, a love of starting new projects, and plenty of internal drive – though each of us at times “drove” in a different direction.  Some families may not have survived the close proximity of such strong personalities, but we had surprisingly few clashes. 

Why?  My mother consciously fostered an atmosphere of respect for the other’s thoughts, needs, and feelings.  We grew strong-willed, but not domineering.  And having already gone the extra mile (or seven hundred) to understand what another person is all about, it becomes easier to see the other’s point of view as well as your own.  We celebrate each other’s uniqueness, and find a way to make it all work together. 

In my family, we give each other space to be ourselves.

And so the way I approach the world is informed by the twin impulses to approach more closely, and to respect the personal space of those I care about.  The balance point changes depending on the situation and the individual, but it’s a dance that I engage in joyfully.  Because if everyone actively chooses to be here, there’s always a way to make it work.  And because relationships are the most important thing.

READING: On Marriage, by Kahlil Gibran

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.

Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. 

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. 

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

We Tell Stories

Normally, when I have a chance to speak I like to be very measured with my words.

For example, I know that if I have 30 minutes to speak on a Sunday morning that is about 2600 words.  So, normally on a Tuesday morning reflection at the Chapel here at MIT, I would plan to write 800-1000 words.  Choosing those words to both carefully convey an idea, to inspire, but also to provide verbal cues to ongoing conversations.

Today, however, my notes are scribbles.  I have chosen to write only a few verbal clues as reminders of ideas, because our topic for the semester is, “In my family we…” and in my family…we tell stories.

Stories are better told than parsed.

About 10 years ago, with a video camera in hand and my children at the table we wrote down a series of questions and let my grandparents tell the stories.  My kids were especially interested in how my Grandfather used to come to my Grandmother’s house when she was a teenager.  He would always come to play cards with my Grandmother’s parents, but looking back my Grandfather would say that was just an excuse to see Theta Bell, my Grandmother.

My kids were also interested in what their Great-Grandparents watched on television, what it was like to purchase their first television and when and how Theta Bell and Harley first kissed. 

But, one story my Grandfather saved for last.

“Timmy (my Grandfather was one of three people who call me Timmy).  I want to tell you a story, and I want you to record it and play at my funeral.” 

“Now, I’ve never told this story to no one.”

My Grandfather proceeded to tell of a prank that my Uncle, my Father and some of their buddies played on my Grandfather. 

Harley raised chickens and used to sell them locally.  And he proceeded to tell how he found out about the prank, and pranked them instead.  And he finished telling the story with great laughter, and said, “And to this day, they don’t know I did that!”

We ended my Grandfather’s funeral with this video, and we all laughed with him.

We are people whose lives are shaped by and give shape to stories around us.

When my wife was pregnant with our second child, we did not know the gender of the before the birth…so we came prepared with a boys name and a girls name.

Our second turned out to be a girl that we named Amolee.

Amolee was named after my wife’s Grandmother, Amolee.  Not only did we like the name, it was a way to honor my wife’s memory of her grandmother who passed away when she was a little girl.

Some months later, my wife’s Aunt sent us a beautiful letter about our kids that included a story that we cherish about naming our daughter Amolee.

Jeannie, my wife’s aunt, said in her letter that she only remembered seeing her Mother cry twice in her life.  Once was when Jeannie’s dad passed away, the second was on a day after Stephanie had been to the house.

Stephanie would frequently come to the house and play on the floor with at her Grandmother Amolee’s house.  At this point Amolee was also ill and not able to play with her on the floor, but would sit in the rocking chair and watch as Stephanie played.  After one visit she began to cry, as Jeannie would tell the story. 

“What is wrong, Mom?”

“I love when Stephanie comes to play, but I am afraid that she will not remember me.”

And then Jeannie wrote in her letter to us, “Guess what Mom, Stephanie is all grown up now with a daughter of her own, and guess what she named her?  Amolee.  She did remember.”

Stories shape our identity.

Jesus used stories as his predominant way of conveying understanding about God’s world, God’s way of seeing things.

One of my favorite is from Mark 3 and goes like this…

“What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it?  It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground.  Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants with such big branches that the birds of the air can perch in its shade.”

The choices we make give shape to the story we are telling.  We can be shaped by other stories that are being given to us everyday, or we can choose to shape the story around us. 

The Kingdom of God is best captured in stories; even the story of Jesus himself is a story of death and resurrection of need and hope.

In my family, we tell stories…

Tim Hawkins

Sojourn College Ministries

The Love of books and family

READING:

“The world of books is the most remarkable creation of man.  Nothing else that he builds ever lasts.  Monuments fall; nations perish; civilizations grow old and die out; and, after an era of darkness, new races build others.  But in the world of books are volumes that have seen this happen again and again, and yet live on, still young, still as fresh as the day they were written, still telling men’s hearts of the hearts of men centuries dead.

            And even the books that do not last long, penetrate their own times at least, sailing farther than Ulysses even dreamed of, like ships on the seas.  It is the author’s part to call into being their cargoes and passengers,--living thoughts and rich bales of study and jeweled ideas.  As for the publishers, it is they who build the fleet, plan the voyage, and sail on, facing wreck, till they find every possible harbor that will value their burden.”

Clarence S. Day, The Story of the Yale University Press told by a Friend. 

New Haven : At the Earl Trumbull Williams Memorial, 1920

Speaker ~ Ann Wolpert, Director of Libraries, MIT

The theme of this year’s Tuesdays in the Chapel is the completion of the phrase, “In my family, we…”

To tell the truth, I had a difficult time finding a single word or story to describe my family of origin.

I could say, as the quote from Clarence Day suggests, that we loved books and were voracious readers.  In my family reading material was everywhere. Television viewing was rationed, but reading was not (except after lights out at night). One of the highlights of our week when I was a child was piling into the car to visit the nearest public library. We children always borrowed the maximum number allowed.  In the evening, around the dinner table, we would talk about books and words, and to this day, swapping books and articles, and talking about what we are reading pervades our lives and our relationships as a family.

Or I could say that as a family we had porous boundaries.  Both of my parents were only children, and they both dreamed of having a large family.  When their own children peaked at 3 (two boys and a girl) they opened their home and hearts to others. My sister arrived at the age of 7 as a foster child.  Over the years we hosted two foreign exchange students; each for a full school year.  My best friend lived with us for a year and a half when her mother was no longer able to care for her. My brothers both had friends who lived with us for periods of time for other circumstances.  One never knew what the head count would be when the census takers knocked on the door. But for sure, we never had enough bathrooms.  When my mother passed away at the age of 52 my father remarried a wonderful woman – who brought her three children into the family mix and today with marriages and grand children and great grandchildren our family is bigger and more fun than ever. 

Or I could say about my family that we are incurably optimistic and fiercely loyal to one another.  We moved many times when I was growing up, and we learned as a family how important it is to support and trust one another.  When we’d arrive at a new home we’d all fan out and make new friends – confident that we’d find friends as good as those we’d had to leave behind. Every fresh start was approached with optimism, and we’d always make sure to look out for one another in a way that creates security when you’re the new kid in town.  By now, our lives have gone in very different geographic and career directions, and through many ups and downs.  Yet we remain as optimistic about life and as loyal to one another as we were when we were children. 

On that note of optimism, in closing, I would like to read a poem by Emily Dickinson.  Two members of my family are dealing with serious illness right now, and I am in awe of the optimism and courage each brings to the difficulties they face. 

READING

HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Boston: Little, Brown, 1960

Invocation for a new President

Invocation for President L. Rafael Reif

September 21, 2012

We give thanks for this day and

the ever moving currents of life

that have brought us to this time.

In the wider world we are mindful of the

challenges presented by a struggling

economy, the pain of war and the struggles

that promote peace.

Our spirits are pulled by political talk

that values victory more than truth,

words that tell us what we wish to hear

rather than what we need to do.

In this cacophony, may we remember

that we offer our best service by doing  well

what lies in front of us.

MIT serves the nation and the world best

when we take care of the business at hand.

We have been blessed by the service and vision

 of Presidents Gray, Vest and Hockfield, and now

we begin the era of President L. Rafael Reif.

Our challenge is to advance knowledge

and educate students in science, technology

and the areas of scholarship that will best serve

the nation and the world in the 21^st century.

What lies in front of  us are the problems of modern time;

may President Reif’s leadership be wise and may

he be surrounded by learned counsel;

may our community hold up his arms when the going is tough,

and  encourage his spirit when the days are dark for we stand or fall together

and do our work best when our collective minds inform the hands

that touch the keys that play the music, write the words that sway hearts, 

sketch the lines that define buildings, seek out genes that open pathways to curing illness, build the systems that create the renewable energy to sustain life.

That we may do these things is our prayer,

Amen.