What is Scripture? - Kurt Nelson

Rollins Chapel, Sunday 1/9/11.

Luke 4:9-12

What is Scripture?

One day during my freshman year of college,

I stopped by my mailbox between lunch and an early afternoon class,

and discovered that I had an unexpected package awaiting me.

It was from an old family friend,

who seemed to have had a surplus of packing tape,

because I couldn’t make a dent in that package, let alone open it.

So I wandered to a nearby lounge,

in search of scissors.

And there I saw Chris.

Chris was somewhere between a friend and an acquaintance.

And I asked him if he had scissors or, really, anything sharp.

He rooted around in his bag earnestly,

pulled out his bible,

and said, “Sharper than a two-edged sword.”

Chris was the kind of guy whose bible

was in an immaculate zippered carrying case.

Something which marked him as a person of piety,

and placed him at the center of an important Christian subculture on our campus,

intentionally distinct from all the casual Lutherans and Catholics.

I replied, “I’m not sure that will be useful right now.”

And he quickly retorted, “It’s useful in all sorts of situations.”

It was not,

needless to say,

what I needed at the time.

But Chris, misguided as he may have been,

knew at the very least,

knew there was something important about the Bible.

Though he seemed more than a little confused as to why and how that was.

Which makes him, I think,

a lot like a lot of us.

Peter Gomes, Harvard University’s Chaplain,

compares our relationship with the Bible,

to that special kind of relationship,

wherein we know someone,

we’ve spoken with them,

often perhaps,

exchanged friendly greetings,

frequent pleasantries,

and perhaps even more in depth experiences,

but we don’t know their name.

And it’s too far gone,

too hard,

too embarrassing to ask the basic question, “who are you?”

Despite the fact that the bible remains on bestseller lists,

informs our grammar, our politics, and even our education in strange and unexpected ways,

we seem to know less and less about it.

And it’s becoming harder,

rather than easier,

to ask some basic questions,

Like ours today, “what is scripture?”

It’s a question of course,

that assumes that scripture matters.

And perhaps you’re here because you have an inkling that it does indeed,

but aren’t entirely sure why.

Those of you who were around last term,

know we focused on “Big Questions.”

Which worked quite well, I think,

in spite of the early hour.

So for those who liked our Big Questions,

don’t fear,

for we haven’t ventured far.

And I think we’ll address,

 we’ll wonder together about many more Big Questions,

through a new lens.

Because questions about scripture,

are, I think, big questions indeed.

And we must start, of course,

with the basics,

What is scripture?

It is not,  for the record,

useful in opening tightly wrapped packages.

And it’s not, despite appearances,

best thought of as a book.

But rather as a library,

fully of historical narratives, letters, gospels, hymns,

myth, poetry, theological treatise,

collected over the course of thousands of years.

And it’s a collection that asks much of us.

What is scripture? - Richard R. Crocker

What is Scripture?
Richard R. Crocker
Rollins Chapel, Dartmouth College
January 9, 2011
2 Timothy 3:14-17

What is scripture? Scripture is a name we give to the writings that we deem uniquely valuable, uniquely important in helping us to find meaning and purpose in our lives. Holy Scripture refers to those writings deemed so valuable by a community that they are considered, by that community, to be the word of God.

That’s the bird’s eye view. Now let’s look at the more human level.
When I was ordained as a minister of the Presbyterian Church USA, I had to answer certain questions and take certain vows. Among those questions was the following: ”Do you accept the Scriptures of the Old and New testaments to be, by the Holy Spirit, the unique and authoritative witness to Jesus Christ in the Church universal, and God’s Word to you?” I said yes. I still do.

So how do these scriptures, these writings, become God’s word to me, or to anyone?

Occasionally it happens that a person picks up a copy of the Bible, and, without any background or context at all, begins reading it and finds it to be the life-transforming word of God. This happens very rarely, but it does happen. I suppose the same thing happens for some people reading the Koran or the Book of Mormon or the Bhagavad Gita. But for most of us it is different. It happens in the way that Paul describes in his second letter to Timothy. Let me elaborate.

I wonder if there is anyone is this congregation who is familiar with the term “memory verse”? As I thought. Well, for anyone raised in the Protestant churches of the South, as I was, the term is very familiar, I went to Sunday School every Sunday from before I can remember. Every Sunday, we were encouraged – or required – to learn a memory verse, a verse from the Bible. They were usually very simple, becoming a little longer as we grew older. Such verses were as follows:

“Love one another”.
“Be ye kind, one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another.”
“Children, obey your parents.”
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish, but have eternal life.”

You get the idea. I learned the bible piece meal, in verses, over many years. One of the verses that I learned in late boyhood, as a member of the Royal Ambassadors, was this one from Second Timothy: “All scripture is inspired by God, and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction and for training in righteousness.”

So, I was told, the Bible itself claims to be the inspired word of God, See, it says so right here! That settles it.

That position, however, came to seem obviously flawed to me, being a smart-alecky kind of kid. When Paul wrote those words to Timothy, I asked, did he know he was writing the Bible? When he said all scripture, did he know that he was writing scripture? How did those 66 books in the Bible (and we were taught to name them all) come to be selected anyway? How did God make sure that just those 66 were selected, and no others? And when Paul wrote “all scripture”, didn’t he mean just the Hebrew scriptures? After all, the only Christian scriptures then available were his other letters! The gospels had not even been written. (As I said, I was a smart-alecky kid.)

So how did these writings, these verses, these Scriptures ]become the word of God to me? Exactly as Paul said to Timothy. “But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it, and how from childhood you have known the sacred writings that are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus.” Continue in what you have learned and believed from childhood, knowing from whom you have learned it …. You see, what I was learning at Sunday School from infancy on was not just verses. It was love. I was becoming part of a community. My Sunday School teachers taught me more than words. They taught me kindness and faith. Indeed, they embodied it.

I came to respect the Bible because I was taught to do so by others who loved me and who found it to be sacred,, That is the way most of us learn everything. We are taught by others, and the lessons are especially powerful if they are taught to us through love and reinforced in a community. And so it was that I became a part of the Christian church, which is rooted in the scriptures of the old and new testaments, and they became, through the Holy Spirit, the word of God to me.

Only such an upbringing has made me able to believe. Simply reading the bible as another text, as I was taught to do in college, and, to some degree in seminary, reveals many difficulties – not the least of which is the picture of an apparently unloving God that prevails in certain parts of the scripture. There are obstacles to belief, obstacles that prevent these scriptures from becoming the word of God, for some people. But for me, I was taught that the Bible was a story – of creation, of sin, of God’s call to his people Israel, of their obedience and disobedience, of destruction for sin, and of the promise of forgiveness sealed in the blood of his crucified Son. And although that story has many rough spots, so does my life. I am a part of that story. I have come to find my meaning in it, my solace in it during sorrow and trial, my joy in it during times of blessing. Though it can never be accepted without interpretation, and though the texts sometimes appear puzzling or contradictory, I still find, as millions of others have, this text, these stories, to be my story, and the texts useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.

There are lots of problems that come with this tradition; it isn’t all easy. And we will consider some of these problems during this term. As a student who in college studied literature, and who still loves literature, I have read many other stories, some of which became important to me. But my life is shaped by the words of scripture, and by the community which passed on those words, and talked about them, and tried – with many failures – to live by them. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

What About the End of the World? - Richard R. Crocker

What about the end of the world?
Richard R. Crocker
November 30, 2010
Mark 13:24-31

What about the end of the world? Is it something we think about? Is it something we should think about?

I seem to spend a lot of time telling students, that it’s not the end of the world. To a student in my writing 5 class who gets a B on her first paper and is absolutely distraught, I say “It’s not the end of the world.” After a student breaks up with a romantic partner, I say “It’s not the end of the world.” When someone has been found “responsible” for a violation of college policy and is suspended from the college for four terms, I say “it’s not the end of the world.” I know, in all of these cases, that it may seem as if the world they have known has suddenly and irrevocably collapsed, but it hasn’t. All of them will live and incorporate this experience into their growth and will have new opportunities for life and love.

But then, in other pastoral and personal situations, it gets harder. When someone has committed a crime and is sentenced to prison, it seems like the end of the world. When a person receives a medical diagnosis for a serious illness, it seems like the end of the world. When a child hears from her parents that they are divorcing, it can seem like the end of the world.

But then, it can be even harder. When you sit with a family whose child has died, it really seems like the end of the world. When you are in a car accident and, through your negligence, have killed another person, it sure seems like the end of the world. These are events form which there is no recovery. Sure, life continues, but the world has, in a sense, ended.

We can say as a people that our collective world sometimes ends. The world for my parents’ generation ended, apparently, on Dec 7, 1941. For this generation of Americans, things changed irrevocably on Sept 11, 2001. Life goes on; the world did not literally end, but something of infinite value was lost.

In Advent, we think about the coming of Christ, the return of Christ, the end of the world. Mark chapter 13 is called the little apocalypse, in which we commonly understand Jesus to be talking about the end of the world. Is he talking metaphorically or literally? Does it matter?

Yes. We know that this world will literally end, eventually, in fire or ice. It can go on for many generations, if we conserve it and act wisely. It could end in a much shorter time if we act stupidly.

But I think the metaphorical interpretation of the end is just as sobering. Our life in this world will end, both literally, when we die, and metaphorically, when we feel as if we have died.

In the season of Advent, we are encouraged to think about the end of the world. It is important. The teaching of Christ leads us to believe in judgment: who we truly are, apart from all our pretention, will stand revealed. It also leads us to believe in a mercy and love that transcend our finitude. “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” And those words are the words of eternal life. Amen.

What about the end of the world? - Kurt Nelson

Kurt Nelson

Mark 13: 28-37

Rollins Chapel, 12.01.10

"What about the end of the world?"

Richard and I each wrote a brief reflection on the end of the world.

His will come soon.

We’ve entered, for the next four weeks,

the season of advent.

And at least for those of us who care to think about such things,

it’s a liturgical season which calls us to wait,

to watch,

to keep awake.

But in real life,

it’s a season too full of too many important things to spend much time waiting

and watching.

We have finals, of course.

And year-end paper work.

We have plans to make,

gifts to buy,

economies to bolster.

Many of us will travel,

see family,

and, I hope, get some much-deserved rest.

Besides, we know this Christmas story by heart.

So what do we have to keep awake for?

A baby is born.

He turns out to be a great guy,

and a great ethical teacher, and spiritual leader.

And, for some reason,

he wanted us to give gifts to each other,

and cut down evergreen trees,

and put colorful lights on them,

and stand around in the cold sipping hot chocolate,

listening to the Glee Club sing about reindeer and snowmen.

But advent points us not only to Christmas,

and all the weird stuff that now surrounds us,

but also points to the end.

Because though it may be embarrassing,

or confusing,

we simply can’t ignore the fact,

that a significant portion of Jesus’ message,

was about the coming Kingdom of God,

about the end of the world.

He reminded anyone who cared to listen,

and probably more than a few who didn’t,

that we are living toward something.

Something big and important, and world-changing.

And so each advent season,

we are encourage to ponder,

how we are still in a state of waiting.

To ponder the simple,

and perhaps terrifying notion,

that the world will not always be the way it is.

And that we know not the day nor the hour.

Indeed, even Jesus himself seemed a bit confused,

suggesting the world would end before the passing of a generation.

He may have been misunderstood,

or mistranslated,

but there it is.

Important, and confusing.

A time of, "Already, but not yet."

Now most often,

I think,

this notion of the end of the world,

is used to frighten.

There's a whole sub-genre of Christian literature and film,

depicting in terrifying detail those who are left behind,

when the judgment comes.

Seeking to effect, it would seem, some kind of conversion.

But we are smart around here.

We know, I hope,

that we are not ready.

And that nothing we can do,

no prayer we can pray,

or tithe we can tithe will make us ready,

save for grace.

The point is not fear,

the point is to live.

And to live as if we're living toward something.

Because whether it's our own lives,

or indeed the end of the world itself.

It will not always be this way.

And rather than fear,

I suspect that's meant to leave us with purpose and clarity.

Life and the world aren’t endless.

And so our call isn’t to make plans,

for the right connections, for the lucrative job,

and the big house, car, and mortgage,

so that one day we might retire happy.

Rather, I think,

we’re meant to do what we believe is good, and right and important.

Guided always by love of God and love of neighbor.

Living toward an end,

which I hope, and pray, and have faith,

will be far more full of grace and love and mercy,

than of fear, and despair.

My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me? - Kurt Nelson

Kurt Nelson 

Rollins Chapel 

11.17.10 

Psalm 22: 1-2 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? 

 

This is, I think, a different sort of question,

than the others we’ve wondered so far this term.

It's a question not so much about humanity,

or of our relationship to God.

But a question posed toward God.

It’s a question of protest,

asked by the Psalmist,

asked by Job,

asked by Jesus as he faced death,

Asked perhaps by many of us here today.

It takes various forms,

like "Why do bad things happen to good people?"

It’s asked in times of despair.

Asked, I hope, in confirmation classes and bible studies.

A question which essentially comes down to the seemingly incongruous belief

in a good and loving and powerful God,

and the fact of suffering and evil.

A question which no doubt has led some away from faith.

And the ability to ask such a question has, I hope,

drawn still others closer in.

Nearly every sermon I’ve heard or read

on this problem of evil,

turns to offer insight into the author’s own profound experience of suffering.

But I admit that I am largely unqualified to go down such a road.

I've certainly not lived a perfect or pain-free life,

but I have lived a good, and lucky, and blessed one.

I have lost only a few close friends or family,

so far.

I have been blessed by a good and loving family from the start.

and good health, so far.

And yet even I have protested and questioned.

on behalf of myself,

on behalf of suffering people with whom I’ve sat.

on behalf of countries facing war or natural disaster,

and on behalf of history-

why should such evil, such suffering exist in the world?

Such questions are, I think,

essential to the human experience,

even those of us who have lived lives far more full of grace than of trial.

And such questions are,

I think, deeply I important to the life of faith.

And I take solace, this morning, in knowing

that I have but a few minutes to address this question of suffering,

 not because I think I will be able offer a satisfactory answer

but because I’m pretty sure more time wouldn’t help.

But it’s not for lack of trying.

Indeed, so interested in the question of evil I was,

that I devoted my college honors thesis to it.

Are all religions the same? - Richard R. Crocker

Are all religions the same?
Rollins Chapel
Richard R. Crocker
November 10, 2010
Exodus 20:1-4 and Amos 5:21-24

Are all religions the same? While some people might say yes, the correct answer is no. Look around. Some religions believe in one transcendent God. Others believe in many, or none. Some believe in reincarnation. Others do not. Some believe in dietary restrictions, others do not. Obviously, all religions are not the same.

I think everyone knows this. But I think that people who argue that all religions are the same would say that they are all the same in some important way, despite their relatively unimportant differences. I think that is also not true. So why would anyone say that it is true? Because they want it to be true. Many of us are embarrassed by the particularity of our religion, especially if that particularity includes the assertion that other religions are wrong. So we try to minimize the differences and maximize common concerns. As a strategy for civil dialogue, this is good. But, in religions, as in most other areas of life, the differences are often the most interesting things, and the most important things, about us.

Consider the analogy of language. Language is the closest thing to faith. Faith is how we conceive of meaning. Language is how we express it. Language, in fact, may not simply express our deepest perceptions, but shape them. So, let us ask, just for interest, whether all languages are the same. Obviously, they are not. If they were, translation would be easy and a computer could easily do it. But, as anyone who has tried to translate literature knows, translation is very difficult. Some meanings in one language are simply absent in another.

I stand before you as a person who has studied and passed competency tests in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, and German. I also stand before you as a person who cannot really use or understand any of those languages. I can only really express myself in the language that has shaped my mind – English. I also stand before you as a person who has had some instruction in Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, as well as various kinds of Christianity. But I am only fluent in Christianity – and then only in one dialect.

I don’t think this analogy is misplaced. All languages are not the same, but they all have a common purpose: they help us to create and express our thoughts, by which we seek to comprehend the world. Religions have a similar nature. They are not all alike, but they do all have a similar purpose, which is to help us create, express, and comprehend the meaning of our existence.

So if all religions have a common purpose, doesn’t that mean they are all the same? Not at all. They are different. Every religion in some way is concerned with helping us conceive and relate to what is ultimate, but they have very different concepts of what is ultimate. That is why I absolutely reject the trite metaphor that religions are all paths up the same mountain. They are different paths up different mountains, I think. Not every religion is, for example, a path up Mount Sinai, where Moses received the ten commandments – the first two of which we read today, and which seem to imply an exclusive view of the ultimate that cannot easily be turned into relativism., Yet when we look at the prophet Amos, who spoke from that tradition, we encounter a person who, speaking in the name of God, declares that God despises rituals and solemn assemblies. What God requires instead is justice.

Well, then, can’t we all agree that while religious rituals might be different, they are all concerned with justice? No. Conceptions of justice, too, are very different – even among people of the same religion. For some, justice demands eternal punishment as well as eternal bliss. For others, justice requires capital punishment for adultery. For others, such ideas are abhorrent. There is no way to bring us all together under the umbrella of justice.

But let us not despair. Even though all religions are not the same, even though there are very different pathways and very different mountains, there is yet an important commonality. All of them are concerned with what is ultimate. And though all of them conceive of and describe the ultimate in different ways, there can still be conversation – conversations in which we learn and grow.

Conversations. So we are back to language. As I told you, I have studied many languages but feel competent only in English. All other languages require a dictionary and a lot of time. But conversations between people of different languages can happen. They require effort and preparation and study, but they can happen. We can learn to appreciate, even if we cannot fully speak, another language, and to find its peculiar concepts interesting and meaningful. Some people may even become so at home in another language that they come to prefer it – one can even say they converted to it. But most of us continue to feel most comfortable with the language we learned as children, even though our vocabularies continue to grow. It is how we make sense of the world.

I know that you are now asking: isn’t he really saying that it doesn’t matter which language you speak? Isn’t he really saying that it doesn’t matter which religion you practice – because it’s a matter of what you learned? To a degree, I am saying that. It’s hard – but not impossible - to truly adopt another language or another religion. But in another sense, I am not saying that. Different religions promote different virtues, different rituals, different understandings. This is another way of saying that they can produce different fruits. If there is any important practical difference in religions, it is known, as Amos said, not in its different rituals, or even in its different theologies, but in the fruits it produces in its followers. That is why it is so sad when people look at Christianity, expecting to find the love and compassion it preaches, and find instead violence and oppression. An honest look at the fruits of our own faith should cause us all to be humble. Humility is the prerequisite of all learning.

What can we do about the world's troubles?

Kurt Nelson, 11/2/10

Rollins Chapel.

John 2: 13-16

Richard has often reminded us this term,

that 10 minutes on a cold Wednesday morning,

is not a lot of time to address such big questions.

Thankfully this morning,

we have no such problem.

I fully expect that we will come to terms,

with what we can do about the world's troubles this morning,

in 9 minutes or less,

and have a plan of action implemented by the end of today's service.

(please plan to come next week with relevant assessment data,

so we can implement necessary changes).

I suspect few of you need convincing,

that the world does indeed have problems.

And here in the land of the phrase,

“the world’s troubles are your troubles”

I suspect you don’t need much convincing,

that said troubles are at least something of our business.

So we’ve come a long way already.

Perhaps for you the phrase "world's troubles" brings to mind issues of global concern

like war, or poverty, or environmental degradation.

Or perhaps it's more local, like family troubles, or academic struggles.

Or perhaps the problem on your mind is more internal,

like illness, depression or even apathy.

The troubles are many,

and the solutions seemingly few.

But the real problem with the world's problems,

it seems to me,

is not simply the problems themselves,

or that there are so many of them,

but also the problem of despair.

I suspect we've all faced,

or will one day face,

the problem of despair.

The feeling that there's nothing that I can do,

or indeed nothing at all to be done.

And that's why I selected this week's passage.

For it's not only a terrific example of righteous and holy anger -

which, in moderation, can be a truly helpful motivator  -

but is a story about taking first steps down a journey

when the outcomes are far from known.