Commencement

This weekend I am going to a reception for my niece, who is graduating from high school.  It seems impossible that she could be old enough.  But I’m glad she has made it through her childhood without any major disasters. 

They call the graduation ceremony “commencement,” and graduation speakers often remind their audiences (with good reason) that the word means the beginning of something.  The life that will be her own, all her own and not her parents’, is just beginning.  She will be making her own decisions soon — and reaping the rewards or bearing the consequences for them.  It must be a joyful and frightening time for a parent; I feel some of that myself even as a mere uncle.

But I am more than 20 years on the other side of that beginning, and I see how the choices I made then and thereafter have affected who I am.  It is less obvious to me what effect my choices have had on the world I live in.  Although my name and my achievements are not likely to appear in any history books, I’m sure that I have made some small difference.  A statue of metal is shaped by many blows, some heavy and some light.  It’s hard to appreciate the effect of the individual strokes, but each has one nonetheless.

Your time is beginning, my dear niece.  Take the hammer in your hand and join us in shaping the world.

Dinner with the King

April 24, 2008

Last night I hung out at a pub with a bunch of guys from my church. Most were drinking beers (though not to the point of drunkenness), a few were smoking pipes, and one scheduled a poker game at his house after church on Saturday.  I never expected a church-related gathering to look like that! But as the pastor steered the conversation to thoughts about Earth Day and how Christians should respond to it, I was pleased to find myself taking part in an intelligent and reverent conversation. We were largely in agreement about the issues, but points made were amplified by others and the complexities involved in being a good steward of the Earth were soon apparent. It was encouraging to sit in a room full of reasonable men, discovering that my own views are neither irrational nor unusual. I also found that these guys were reading challenging material and at the same time keeping up with popular television, sports, and their own hobbies. They were neither shallow pop-culture fanatics nor arrogant ivory-tower intellectuals. They were regular guys with regular jobs, able to think and act responsibly and still enjoy life.

I wonder if it was like that when Jesus sat around the campfire with His twelve hand-picked regular guys.

The disciples I can easily imagine kicking back, sharing a few stories and arguing points of theology over some grilled fish and a little wine. It’s not so easy with Jesus in the picture. The gospels portray Him as having so much focus, so much urgency. His mission was large and His time was short. He never seemed rushed, but He was always pushing forward. No, I suspect that when Jesus was around the campfire there was an element of earnestness, an excited, nervous, determined anticipation of what He would say, where He would sent them next, what they would be doing there. Jesus was never just any guy.

I don’t mean to imply that Jesus never laughed or smiled, cracked jokes or told stories – that He was not, in short, any fun. I just think that even His jokes must have had a momentous undertone. Think of what it would be like to have dinner – even an informal one – with the President of the United States or the Queen of England, especially if you were an upper-level staff member. If you’ve ever watched “The West Wing,” I think you’ll know what I mean: even around a campfire, the President is still the President.