Ron Robinson

Alive

The world is round so that friendship may encircle it.  Pierre Teilhard De Chardin’s words were on my mind this week as I pondered the diverse friendships I have because of the variety of people I meet in my role as college chaplain. In a world where religion often divides, I regularly get to experience it as a catalyst for new friendships.  Take the past week, for instance.

Last weekend I conducted a wedding for two Wofford alums.  It was held in a beautiful Episcopal Church in Winston-Salem, and the priest there generously shared the liturgical leadership with me. 

Monday I met with a Success Initiative student who is working with me on a project focused on developing a sacred space on campus.  She is working with donors, administrators, trustees and students to explore the possibility of an on-campus contemplative space that might include a labyrinth.

Tuesday I spoke briefly at United, a weekly student-led worship experience with an evangelical tone.  It drew over 80 students.  Because of a power outage that darkened half of campus, there was a catacomb feeling to the evening.  Prayers, songs, scripture readings and reflections made for a meaningful time together. 

Wednesday I celebrated communion and offered a sermon in Mickel Chapel as I do every Wednesday at 12:25. It was a United Methodist service of Word & Table with ecumenical overtones and music from Taize.  Immediately after that we had a simple meal of homemade soup and fresh bread.  A generous environmental ethics professor added some homemade cream-filled brownies to the table. Following the meal, I left campus for the funeral of the mother of a staff member and friend. It was held at a Presbyterian church in Greenville, and followed classic Presbyterian liturgy.  Upon returning to campus, I attended Mass, which was celebrated by Father Mike, who generously hears confession and offers mass for our catholic population who call themselves the Newman Club.  Following that I participated in Wesley Fellowship.  They spent lots of time catching up with each other and had an introspective program that used photography to help us explore our situation in life.  Students, staff and faculty attended.  Students from Tanzania and Rwanda were part of the group that evening.  I missed going to the gathering of the Muslim Students Association because the Wesley program ran long.  This group joins two other new groups that are addressing the diverse spiritual needs of our campus. 

Thursday, Interfaith Youth Core had nearly 30 people respond to an interest announcement, and it has its first meeting next Thursday.  Over dinner, I met with a student who is planning an event she calls Christmahannaramadiwalikwanzaka.  Last year over 300 students attended, and this year she has arranged for more than ten religions and cultures to be represented. Late Thursday evening I led the second part of a two-part Bible study for a local group of professional men known as The Seminarians.  Two weeks earlier they talked me into wrestling with the Parable of the Unjust Steward (Luke 16: 1-12) and I spent several hours the night before doing a Greek translation of the passage.  It is still very difficult to understand.  I am glad they aren't satisfied with easy, or sloppy, answers.

Friday Night Lights means more than football for the Jewish members of our community.  Shabbat candles are lighted as the Sabbath meal is celebrated.  Hillel, the Jewish Student group, is up and running this year.  

Sunday evening I attended Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) services at Temple B’nai Israel.  These are the high holy days for our Jewish friends.  Rabbi Liebowitz, who works with our Hillel students, graciously recognized my presence at the service and offered appreciation for the support Wofford College is giving Jewish students.  Several members of that congregation are Wofford faculty and alums, and they are helping as the group develops.

And yes, I did go to church on Sunday.  I heard inspiring music, was engaged by another fine sermon by Luther Rickenbaker, and enjoyed traditional hymns and familiar (to me) prayers as I participated in worship at Central United Methodist Church.  Central was the first church organized in Spartanburg, and it was from there that Wofford College moved from idea to reality. 

Wofford College has a diverse constituency of students.  Most have some religious affiliation, but there is an increasing number who list “none” as their affiliation.  This follows a national trend.  Some of the “nones” have organized a group, too.  They are planning a program on  “superstitions.”  I always thought it was bad luck to be superstitious...

As Chaplain, my role is to advocate for all students to have a voice at the table.  In addition, I represent my own faith, and I do that in a manner that articulates Christianity, particularly United Methodist Christianity, in the midst of a religiously complex and diverse world.  I try to listen, to understand and appreciate, to question and challenge and to create a climate of collaboration.  It is work that is usually invigorating, occasionally provocative, and always inspiring. 

Howard Thurman, the activist and theologian, once said, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”  I have the privilege of having a core of students and colleagues--friends--who are very much alive.  And I have no doubt that the world needs them all.

Dance

Have you seen the YouTube video with the wedding party dancing down the aisle?  After I viewed it for the first time, I realized I was grinning from ear to ear, and I thought of  these words:  “Then maidens will dance and be glad, young men and old as well. I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.”  (Jeremiah 31:13)

When I was in first grade, my mother sent me to dance classes.  I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but when I arrived at class, there were lots of older girls, so I quickly became a bit more interested.  To top it off, my teachers, Peggy and Beale Fletcher, were the parents of a Rockette who was the reigning Miss America.  Maria stopped by the studio on several occasions and taught us some steps, so the environment wasn’t altogether disgusting. 

We learned tap and ballet.  I liked the tap--shuffle step, shuffle step, point, back, front—but the ballet was a different story.  The real problem was they didn’t make black ballet shoes for boys then, and I wasn’t about to wear the pink ones with bows on them.  Mom came through by removing the bows and dying the shoes black. 

At the end of the year I actually won a trophy.  I was excited to step up to the stage to receive it, but a bit stunned when it had a girl in a tutu on it.  A few days after receiving the trophy I tossed a basketball at it, and broke the figure.  Leave it to Mom:  she glued it back together and has it in her home ‘til this day.

I’ve grown out of most of those childish repulsions. Most things about dance are fine with me.  I enjoy watching it, particularly dance from cultures that are not my own.  Occasionally I even enjoy doing it, although I don’t feel particularly skilled at it.

My wife, Heidi,  and I have the opportunity to dance fairly often.  We’ve conducted lots of weddings—I have officiated at around 400—seven since graduation this year—and we try to attend the receptions.  In our experience, it is the rare reception where there is no dancing. We’ve even taken ballroom dancing lessons so we might enjoy the time on the floor a bit more.

I have only spent one year of my ministry in a small rural church.  The first day I walked into the Fellowship Hall and saw a sign that said,  “No Dancing,” I said to myself, “That sign is going.” And it did.  We had a square dance in that hall later that year, and it was the most joyful moment in the life of a congregation that was struggling with any number of difficulties.  No one could remember who put the sign there; but no one had said anything about it out of fear of hurting someone else’s feelings.

For those who choose to dance, it is part of the college experience here at Wofford.  There are some incredible dancers around, most notably Tom and Pat Rocks, who teach dance and had a role in the Patrick Swayze film Dirty Dancing, though their dancing isn’t the least bit dirty.

The Hopis say, “To watch us dance is to hear our hearts speak.”  Like the Old Shaker hymn says, “Dance, then, wherever you may be.”  It will give you gladness, and comfort and joy.

Orienteering

One of the merit badges I most enjoyed earning was named Orienteering.  I liked the word, and I was thoroughly invested in the activities. Simply stated, you take a map and a compass and find your way from one point to another.  

Since those long ago days when I was a Boy Scout, the equipment has come a long way.  Now, when I go fishing or hiking, my GPS has a chip that indicates the elevation I am ascending or descending.  I still use the contour map reading skills from merit badge days. The difference is that I don't have to do much work to figure out where I am.  And, when I hop into my vehicle, I have a GPS that gives me both visual and audible directions to my chosen destination.  I don't get lost as much as I used to, and I don't have to stop and ask for directions! 

The GPS systems, particularly the auto one, are not fool-proof, but they are really good.  I love hearing it say, in the British voice I have chosen, "Take the roundabout and exit onto the motorway."  My favorite phrase, shared by all of the optional voices, is, "You have reached your destination."

Today, we are having Orientation on campus.  First year students and their families are getting more information than they can possibly absorb.  Academics, student life, housing, meal plans, books, social organizations, and yes, I even spend some time talking with them about their spiritual journey and opportunities to engage in service and social justice activism.  It must be overwhelming.  Most of the students look like they come here wanting a drink of water and we turn a firehose on them.  They are looking for a sense of direction to negotiate the way ahead.  We give them handouts, web resources, and our words of insight, wisdom and advice.  They will remember some of it, but most importantly, I hope they will remember the people they meet.  The people on this campus are the real GPSs that will help students find their way.

Scientist and philosopher Alfred Korzybski famously said, "The map is not the territory."  Students will soon find this to be true, as all of us do. 

The word orientation implies, for me, that I know where I am.  That is, I suppose, a good thing. Still, orienteering is far more interesting, because it implies that I am going somewhere.

These new students are now discovering where they are, but I can hardly wait until the new semester begins, because then I’ll get to watch them go somewhere.  And some will give me the high privilege of traveling with them into new territory of ideas and values and dreams and fears and hopes and commitments.

Orientation is a two-day event; orienteering is lifelong.  It's what we do best on campus:  considering and plotting the way ahead.  Even so, the map is not the territory.

Storytelling

Yesterday I had an experience of deja vu.  It's my pleasure to sit in on, and occasionally lead, the popular Cornbread and Sushi class.  Taught by two gifted professor-writers, Deno Trakas and the poet John Lane, this class deals with contemporary southern literature and writers. I'm chiming in with some insights about hard-living people whose stories are seldom heard, and throwing in a few observations from my Southern Appalachian mountain and Cherokee background. 

Without any particular strategic planning the class has somehow brought together students from the bayou to the beach, from old Charleston to New South Charlotte, from the country club to the trailer park. There are recent immigrants from New York and Miami and folk whose families have lived on the same land for generations.  Some students' families are blends of the rough and the aristocratic, the successful and the suffering. 

Yesterday each of the students told stories about their backgrounds. One student told a brief unassuming story about where she was from and then we quickly moved on.  After another student had us laughing with a story about her kin spending Thanksgiving Day watching a turkey deep fry while crushing Bud cans on their foreheads, the student who had been brief spoke up.  "Well my family is like that, too.  I just thought that was normal, so I didn't think It was anything special enough to tell."   That's when I deja vued.  

I remember sitting in a class a few decades back , telling family of origin stories.  Until then, I hadn't thought that my own family story was particularly interesting or important.  To be honest, I was more than a bit uneasy about it all.  After all, if I told my story I'd be telling about the Cherokee traditions that influenced our household, about my maternal grandmother's herbal recipes and remedies, about my paternal grandmother's explanation of how to distinguish good moonshine from bad, or about my great uncle's life filled with tragedy and lost loves, and on and on.  Who would really care about all that?

The deja vu moment happened Thursday when I felt as if I had already heard the very words the student spoke in class: "I didn't think it was anything special enough to tell."  The truth is, I once said those same words myself.

"The fact of storytelling hints at a fundamental unease, hints at human imperfection.  Where there is perfection there is no story to tell," says the Nigerian poet and novelist Ben Okri.

Beneath the uneasiness, there is treasure.

Thin Places

This morning the Class of 2012 gathered in Leonard Auditorium for the Orientation Sunday Service of Worship. Students are not required to attend, but about 380 of the 415 class members chose to do so. They sang the hymns and enjoyed the jazz musings of Willy and David Bruenner '10. I used this service to introduce students to three things: 1) the importance of being open to this new experience they are embarking upon, 2) the fact that they are not alone as they make their way; they are surrounded by a supportive community and a God who loves them, and, 3) the concept of blessing.

John O'Donohue's To Bless The Space Between Us is a superb collection of blessings that reflect O'Donohue's Celtic sensibilities. My first exposure to his writings occurred during a spiritual pilgrimage to Connemara in the western part of County Galway in Ireland. Connemara (the Irish spell it Conamara, as O'Donohue does in his Conamara Blues) is one of those landscapes that is for me a "thin place." The Celts say that "heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller." I pray that this campus will become such a place for those who pass this way, and I welcome the opportunity to hear about your thin places.