Final Vespers Sermon - The World Is Not Fine.

by Kurt Nelson

My final reflection on term-long discussion of "The Meaning of the Resurrection."

I've long pondered  the meaning of the resurrection this term,

as I took in our broad ranging reflections so far.

We've heard about Love and joy, and sainthood.

Literary theory and theology of all kinds.

I decided that my closing sermon would have a fairly simple thesis:

The world is not fine,

but neither is it hopeless.

The world is full of sin.

That is, it's full of war and inequality and injustice and disaster.

And our actions,

yours and mine,

contribute to its troubles.

We can thus not appreciate the meaning of the resurrection,

until we appreciate the meaning of the crucifixion-

appreciate what it teaches us about ourselves and the world.

These two events are inextricably bound

and they teach us together,

 Now, I'm wired such that conversations

with people who speak a different language if faith than I,

are uniquely helpful and clarifying.

My faith, and experience of faith,

are perhaps uniquely formed by my consistent conversations with non-religious folk.

Maybe it's because of my own lengthy sense of estrangement from religion.

Or maybe due to some deep-seated evangelical desire.

But mostly it's because of their consistently simple and biting questions and comments

about the life of faith, which come from my conversations with non-believers.

And as I ponder the meaning of the resurrection,

in my own life,

I am left to think as much,

about my conversations with non-believers,

than of sermons, and Easters, and bible-studies growing up.

A sermon for Earth Sunday and Pride Week

Kurt Nelson, 04/26/10
John 21
This day marks the 4th Sunday of Easter.
A day also becoming know as “Earth Sunday”
And it’s also the beginning of LGBT Pride week at Dartmouth.
So it’s an exciting day for me.
And I am proud to be part of a community,
that can celebrate the resurrection, and the earth, and Pride all together,
though we probably don’t all agree on the convergence of Easter, and Pride, and Earth Day,
we are deep and broad enough to know that these things matter deeply.
And they matter together.
And we can talk about them together.
There’s a whole lot swimming around up here in my head.
A number of disparate ideas kind of shifting and moving.
And I hope that they’ll fall into some meaningful order for us.
but I’ve decided to provisionally title this sermon:
“It all makes sense in my head.”
Now it may not surprise most of you, that I would consider myself a liberal.
I am, after all, the kind of person who’s invited to preach,
during LGBT Pride Weeks, and on Earth Sundays.
And I suppose that, being honest with myself, I’m pretty happy about the label most of the time.
But be sure that mine is a distinctly Christian liberalism.
And there’s room for you there if you consider yourself a liberal.
Or if you don’t.
It’s a perspective, really, founded really in one word,
a word which is at the very center of my faith,
indeed at the very center of our Lutheran Church.
And I hope, of the Christian people as a whole…
and that word is “Grace.”

On leaving...

We spent a final full day with Habitat for Humanity in San Francisco.  It's officially far more satisfying to hang sheetrock than it is to unload and haul it.  We treated ourselves to Mission burritos around the corner from the childhood home of one of our trip members.  All in all, it was a terrific end to a terrific trip.

But, I noticed throughout the day that while our typical conversations about life, faith and service continued, they also made way for talk of travel, our immanent return to Hanover, and upcoming classes and plans for the term.  Our conversations more closely resembled those we had back on campus.  Our closing reflection was significant, but disjointed.  We all have plans to make, people to call, last minute items to buy.  In short, the trip was coming to and end.

And while I'm quite ready to return to my home and family and bed, I will grieve the end of these moments together.  We were truly present with one another for a brief period, and wonderful things happened.  But the time has come for this trip to end.  For a return to normal life.  We can simply hope that the work done, the lessons learned and the relationships developed here will remain and carry through to the next steps.  I, for one, am hopeful of good things yet to come.

Tomorrow, back to the cold.  Back to life.  I'm ready, but it will be bittersweet.

Gardens, Food, Toilets, etc.

Working, on Wednesday, with Welcome Ministries was a - pardon the pun - welcome relief for me.  There's something quite satisfying about turning a burnt-out church yard, turned dangerous open lot, into a community garden.  Especially in an area without grocery stores and fresh foods available.  And I continue to be impressed by the good and creative work of so many good people here on the ground.

The previous two days were spent serving massive meals at Glide Memorial Church's meal program.  In the course of two breakfasts and a lunch, we served about 2,200 meals.  I've never seen so much Oatmeal in all my life.  The weight of homelessness and hunger issues washes over me in settings such as Glide.  We can solve hunger with a massive meal.  But four hours later, it's back.

At those meals, one catches glimpses of humanity - people sharing food and laughing.  Hearty 'good-mornings' and 'thank yous' from guests I wouldn't expect to be cheerful.  But there are also angry words and people.  Grumpy volunteers.  And lots of despairing faces and sad stories.  It tests one's faith and hope that we can do anything but satisfy immediate needs.  So for now,  thatt's what we do.  And, while limited, it is good.

On an only moderately connected note, the water in our hostel is shut off this morning.  We have the morning off before hosting a Carnival at Hamilton Family Center this afternoon, and I planned  accordingly - with ample time to eat and shower before the 9 AM water shut down.  But mid-morning, I was in need of a restroom.  I set out to the neighborhood Vietnamese sandwich shop.  The woman behind the counter reluctantly waved me past the counter, only to be confronted with an "Out of Order" sign.  I took off toward a KFC/Taco Bell.  Closed.  I rounded the corner to see only high-rises and closed shop fronts.

This wasn't good.  I passed convenience stores and hotels.  No luck.  I was singularly focused.  But occasionally my mind wandered to the hundreds lined up just down the block at Glide.  Where, but at meal centers and shelters, do folks who are consistently, persistently without water and shelter use the bathroom?  Having walked and smelled Ellis St. many times, I knew the answer to this question.  But my own wanderings, approaching emergency levels, allowed me to consider this fact anew.  I am thankful for those who meet the basic needs of homeless people.  And thankful for the opportunity to help in a tiny way.  Even when I am drawn more to full service facilities and creative solutions to poverty.

And I found, eventually, my own relief through the metal detectors in the opulent San Fran City Hall (it was a long walk on many levels).  I suspect few of San Francisco's homeless have ever sat where I sat.

Closing on an almost-entirely unrelated note - I came downstairs yesterday as another College group was preparing to leave.  Seated on a couch was a small group of impossibly young looking students, loudly and openly complaining about any number of things.  And I realized that I had seen none of this from our group.  When the work is hard, we acknowledge it and work on.  When we're delayed or disorganized, we wait.  Play silly games.  Talk about any number of our favored subjects.  But we don't whine.  And for that, I am most thankful.  Many, myself included, have lamented the sense of entitlement that persists amongst student populations at top colleges and universities.  But it is a privilege to be among a group of intelligent, dedicated students who are here to work and reflect together, and who do so in strong spirits.  If this group is any indication, we have much about which to be hopeful.

Spiritual but not Religious

Spiritual but Not Religious
Unitarian Universalist Congregation of the Upper Valley
Richard R. Crocker
March 21, 2010
Reading: 1 Corinthians 2:6-13

Thank you for welcoming me to speak to you today. You are known, of course, for being a tolerant group of people, and your invitation to me certainly confirms that reputation. I speak to you to, honestly, I hope, first as a human being – a condition that we all share, but then also more particularly as a liberal Presbyterian protestant Christian – a condition that is becoming almost as rare as the platypus.

Your pastor asked me to speak to you about the religious and spiritual life of young people, based upon 30 years of working with young people in settings as diverse as chaplaincy at Bates and Dartmouth, being a college dean, working with adolescents as a high school English teacher, working in clinical settings including state mental hospitals for adolescents judged criminally insane, and in private practice as a pastoral psychotherapist, and also as the father of three sons. These experiences have brought me into contact, often close contact, with young people in the process of forming, or stabilizing, their identities. Since issues of faith are universal among human beings, and since answers to basic religious and spiritual questions are essential to identity, I have been privileged to share in the journey of many thoughtful, and some not so thoughtful, young people. It is from these accumulated experiences that I speak to you today. And my message is simple. Some things have changed, and some things have not changed.

Our Dartmouth.

Read more about our trip and other Tucker Foundation alternative break trips at www.ourdartmouth.com.

[Our group atop the mound of dirt we shoveled at a Welcome Ministries site  in Oakland. ]

 [And after a long day of hauling sheetrock and painting at Habitat for Humanity San Francisco.]

And, just for fun, here's an article proving that more, deeper conversation lead to happier lives.  I knew it.

San Fran So Far.

We've been, our group of 13, in San Fransisco for 4 nights.  We've painted meeting spaces for Larkin St. Youth Services and cooked a meal for 60.  We hauled a house's worth of sheetrock into a newly-framed Habitat for Humanity Home (and up the stairs) and painted a good portion of its outside.  And we shoveled two truckloads of dirt for a new urban garden in Oakland on behalf Welcome Ministries (after destroying an ivy-covered fence to allow the dirt-truck access).

We've survived 2 massive walks to and from the supermarket.  And each of our four sub-groups has planned, prepared and executed an admirable dinner.

Our backs and legs are tired.  We've laughed and joked and complained together, and played a few too-intense games of Catch Phrase.  The service work has been good, tiring, and generally rewarding, with much more to come.  Our group reflection sessions have been fruitful and well-led by our student teams.

Far more significant for me, though, are the moments together we occasionally miss during the chaos and business of the Dartmouth term.  Arguing about universal morals on the BART ride to Oakland.  Searching every market in the Tenderloin in search of suitable bread for Shabbat (a baguette from the Vietnamese bakery was the closest we could come, but it surely beat the all-pervasive loaves of Wonder Bread).  Talking about Aristotle and Jay-Z as we walk to and from our service sites. Finding meals suitable for picky eaters of all kinds.  Debating the nuances of white vs. orange Cheeze Its.

These are the things that don't show up in grant reports.  And they're easily forgotten as we plan for tight budgets.  And I too sometimes forget them when dealing with the inevitable exhaustion of the start of the spring term.  But we are simply together.  Engaged in common work, and the mundane details of daily lives.  Growing as a group.  Learning and struggling together.  And it is profound.