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I do not
know when life begins. I think it was George Burns who, one
day, put down his cigar long enough to suggest that life begins
at eighty. I think it was Art Linkletter, among others, who
argued that life begins at forty. There are a lot of kids
who think that life begins when they get out of the house,
and more than a few parents who agree with them. And I have
a good friend who contends that life begins when the last
kid leaves home and the dog dies. Which explains why, when
his youngest son graduated from high school, I suggested that
somebody ought to sniff Chipper's dog dish from time to time.
Seriously,
let me begin with an apology for the "cute-sy" nature
of my sermon title. The implied question is rhetorical. It
is also dumb. Of course there is life after high school. There
is also life after college. There is life after graduate school.
There is even life after ordination. There is life after thirty.
There is life after forty. And, God be praised, there is even
life after fifty-eight.
But my
title does have something behind it. Life's major transitions
always have a hint of death in them. Before one can graduate
to something, one must graduate from something. And where
there are separations, there are bound to be separation anxieties.
For every graduate who shouts: "I can't wait to get out
of here," or "Free at last," there is another
graduate who says (so that no one can hear): "I am afraid
to leave." More often than not, those feelings reside
in the same person. My son's high school class President,
a lovely girl named Dawn Sherman, said, in the midst of a
marvelous graduation speech: "Do you realize that tonight
is the very last time we will ever all be together again?"
And the sound of 325 people sucking in their breath at the
same time, spoke with an eloquence that more than matched
her words.
To be
sure, there is life after high school. But there is just enough
death in the transition, so as to make whatever comes next
look a little bit like being reborn. The whole business of
graduation is powerful and promising. But it is more than
a little bit painful.
And what
is it you are graduating to? There are some who would say
that you are graduating to the "real world." But
I would suggest that such thinking is fraudulent and badly
in need of correction. Allow me to volunteer for the job of
Corrections Officer.
The "real
world" is not out there! If it is, what does that have
to say about your world? Are you living in a fantasy world?
A play world? A preparatory world? There are few things I
like less about the ministry than the suggestion that members
of the clergy have no working knowledge of the "real
world." And you, dear graduates, should be no less offended
at such a suggestion than I.
To graduate
from high school means, among other things, that many of you
have already:
- coped
with the divorce, or severe discord in the marriage of your
parents.
- watched
an ambulance pull up to your high school and haul off one
of your friends.
- watched
them close your school ... or conduct a day's worth of classes
under armed guards ... because one of your classmates phoned
in a threat to blow it up or shoot it up.
- found
at least two jobs ... quit at least one job ... and groused
about the wages you received at all of them.
- experienced
your first (ever) brush with failure or rejection.
- confronted
the blunt edge of your own limitations.
- didn't
get the grade you wanted ... the part you wanted ... the
letter of acceptance you wanted ... the date you wanted
... or the position on the team you wanted.
- broken
a law, gotten a ticket or crunched a fender.
- caused
someone close to you to cry, curse, or wring their hands.
- been
forced to make some rather personal decisions (under the
influence of some very powerful pressures) about whether
you would drink too much, go too far or stoop too low ...
only to discover that destiny (as a teenager) often turns
on what you uncap, uncork, or unzip.
If those
things don't constitute slices of the real world, I don't
know what the "real world" looks like. So, if someone
tells you that you are not a part of the real world yet, what
they mean is that you are not fully earning your way. Which
is probably true. But it carries with it the extremely dangerous
assumption, that the only thing separating you from the real
world is money and the fact that you are not making very much
of it. As assumptions go, that is not a very good one to get
trapped into believing. For it implies that retirees, housewives,
and others who are not a part of the full-time work force,
are also without a position in the real world. But that is
another sermon, and in order to hear it you will have to come
back another day.
Whether
or not you are making any money, you are learning a great
deal. And you must have gotten to be halfway decent at it,
or you would not be graduating. So do not let anyone disparage
that (either graduating or learning). I issue that as a warning.
For I fear that serious learning is somewhat under fire these
days, especially if there does not appear to be an obvious
and immediate connection between serious learning and financial
benefits to be gained therefrom.
Much of
Christianity (which certainly ought to know better) has climbed
onto this rolling train of anti-intellectualism. This has
become attractive to some Christians, because the faith they
preach cannot stand the scrutiny of too-scholarly a glance.
And they know it. "Don't go to school," some churches
tell their would-be pastors. "It'll only ruin you."
And I can understand how learning can get a bad press. After
all, the Apostle Paul reminds us that knowledge is one of
the things that will pass away, while love is one of the things
that will abide. Elsewhere in his letter to the Corinthians,
Paul suggests that "God has made foolish the wisdom of
the world." It is Paul's way of telling us that knowledge
is not God, and that reason has its limits. After all, if
you dissect a frog, you will have a great deal of information
on how frogs are put together. But you won't have a frog anymore.
And if you subject your faith to too much dissection, you
might not have a faith anymore. Or so the argument goes.
Paul,
of course, is talking about one particular group of Greek-Christians
who are much into mind games. He is talking about people who
claim they can think their way propositionally, step by logical
step, to God. But Paul says it won't work. Logic can lead
you a lot of places. But logic will never lead you, no matter
how carefully crafted it may be, to a God who loves. Although
a cross will.
But having
spoken his piece about the folly of worshipping knowledge,
Paul is not saying we ought to be fools. Neither is he writing
a brief in defense of stupidity. For the human mind is a wonderful
thing. I would submit that the human mind may be the most
indisputable proof that a Divine Mind is guiding the unfolding
process of creation. As Harold Kushner writes, "When
you realize that human beings are born weaker, slower, more
naked (in terms of protective body hair) and ever-so-much
more vulnerable than most other creatures, you come to understand
that apart from our intellect ... and the ability to apply
it ... we wouldn't be able to survive at all." Or, as
my late Aunt Marion used to say to people in perilous predicaments:
"You dumb cluck ... why don't you use the brains God
gave you?" Now I doubt that my Aunt Marion ever went
to church a Sunday in her life. But, at that point, she was
a pretty fair theologian.
But enough,
dear graduates, from the soapbox. Let me turn, in closing,
to a different matter. Allow me to ask what you are going
to do with all this present and future learning. I am talking
"vocation" here. Not vacation (as in chilling out
... kicking back ... blowing the summer off ... sleeping `til
noon), but vocation (as in what are you going to do with your
life, most days, from nine o'clock to five).
Vocation
is a fancy word I use to describe "the work I do."
But what I would have you remember is that the linguistic
root of "vocation" is "vocare." Which
is not so much the work I do, as the call I answer.
For I
still believe that God calls people. I believe he calls them
to do all kinds of things. And while I don't have time this
morning to flush out all of the ways that works, I do have
some "feel" for how it works in my business ...
the ministry business.
God nudges
people in all kinds of ways. Come fall, both Pam Beedle-Gee
and Sarah Moore are heading for seminary. Pam is going to
Garrett. Sarah is going to Duke. Sarah is young ... just starting
out. Pam's young at heart ... but (as years go) has already
circled life's track a few times. In Sarah's case, God used
some great experiences working with our youth group to divert
her from the world of architecture. In Pam's case, God used
some great experiences in Girl Scouts, in Bible study, and
as a two-year member of our Costa Rica work team to convince
her and John (in Abraham-like fashion) to put the house up
... load the wagon up ... get her hopes up ... and head (three
or four years down the road) for some church's pulpit.
And time
would fail me, were I to tell you Todd Query's story. Todd
is heading down the home stretch, meaning that he will soon
complete his final year at Methesco (in Delaware, Ohio) and
wait to see what God will do with him next. Todd's story is
different. But then, every story is different. Especially
Elmer's. Having just finished his career in seminary, Elmer
will start his career in ministry a couple of weeks from now.
The church is in Croswell. Where I hope they are patient.
Because Elmer is still getting his English whipped into shape.
Elmer was born in Honduras with incredible health problems.
More than once, he was written off as dead. But, as he puts
it: "My mother's faith in the Divine Doctor established
my life." After graduating from college in Honduras with
a degree in Elementary Education, Elmer taught for awhile.
But political instability in his country led him to set out
for America. He landed in Texas ... as an "illegal."
So he flew to New York City ... as an "illegal."
The person he stayed with in New York finally said he couldn't
put him up any more. So Elmer went to the bus station, plunked
all the money he had on the counter, and said: "Where
go?" The agent on the other side of the counter counted
all Elmer's money, consulted his book of fares and said: "Detroit."
Arriving
here, he sat down on a bench until someone said: "Where
are you going?"
"Detroit," Elmer answered. "You're in Detroit,"
the man said, and pointed him in the general direction of
Vernor Highway. Which was how it came to pass that Elmer Armijo
wandered into our Methodist Church in Mexican Village ...
the one we call El Buen Pastor (the Good Shepherd) ... and
which is where he met Reverend Saul Trinidad, whose first
words to him (in Spanish) were: "Brother, are you hungry?"
Eventually,
Elmer landed a place to live, a place to work, a green card
to make him legal, and a set of friends to make him loved.
All of which came through the church ... where he worshipped
... where he worked ... and where God found him (not that
God had ever lost him) and tabbed him for ministry. Now, years
later, he has jumped through all the hoops, cut through all
the tape, passed through all the classes, and (a few week's
back) when Elmer said, "Where go?", the Bishop said:
"Croswell."
I don't
know what you are being called to. I don't know what is going
on inside of you at this present moment of your life. I don't
know what is cracking loose in you ... or comfortably congealing
in you. I don't know what major idea is playing with you ...
toying with you ... or drumming its fingers for attention
on the armorplate that covers the soft underbelly of your
soul. But I do know that whatever that idea is, you had better
listen to it.
Permit
me to return, once again, to the vocation I know best. And
if you will be so kind, permit me to be momentarily crude
in order to make a more lasting point. Allow me to quote for
you, Rev. Tex Sample, who has done so much to touch my heart.
Said Tex: "The call to the ministry is a lot like the
feeling you get when you are about to throw up. You know you
can put it off for a while ... but sooner or later ... "
My friends,
there are many magnesias that will coat your call, so that
it cannot be heard or heeded. Throw them away. Then ask yourself:
"What is it that I have to keep swallowing back, lest
it bubble up to the place where I can no longer ignore it."
For as crude as that image is memorable, there is one place
where it breaks down. For the true calls of God (to ministry
... or to anything else) tend to bubble up as joy.
I once
had a friend who had reached a crossroads in her life. This
way or that? This job or that? And I couldn't make her decision
for her. Nor was she asking me to. What I did was help her
to listen to herself ... to what she was saying about both
alternatives. Or, more to the point, to the way she was saying
it. For no matter how logically she tried to present both
opportunities, there was an unmistakable bubble of joy that
accompanied her telling of the one, that I found impossible
to trace in her telling of the other.
So, my
graduating friends, listen to your stomachs. Then listen to
your joy. Because somewhere between nausea and laughter, you
may hear something you can put off for awhile. But sooner
or later ...
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