Commencement, a Sermon for Youth Sunday
A Sermon by the Reverend Mother Crystal J. Hardin on the Second Sunday after Pentecost (B), June 6, 2021 (Youth Sunday)
Genesis 3:8-15; Psalm 130; 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1; Mark 3:20-35
Commencement ceremonies - those fantastic springtime rituals - are now beginning to happen in person once again.
Commencement ceremonies are, of course, the culmination of a journey. And yet, commencement literally means, “begin.” It occupies then a robust middle space. It looks back, honoring an accomplishment, is marked by forward-looking advice and words of wisdom, but is, really, present tense in its relationship to us. For our graduates, it is that moment before they fly, or are pushed, from the nest of what was, before they must take that next step into the unknown of what will be. It is a moment of what is.
One of the rituals that accompanies the commencement ceremony is, of course, the commencement address. These days, the internet is full of articles claiming to have collected “the best graduation speeches of all time.” I’ll admit to reading more than a few of them.
And the best of them seem to grasp that the commencement moment requires speaking the truth – speaking to what is and what will always be. They remind us of who we are and who we can be; what the world can be with us in it. These, truly, bless us. They don’t hesitate to speak of what may befall us. They don’t ring of platitudes. They don’t promise us fame, or fortune, or other trappings of worldly success. Instead, they gather the human experience into their hands and bestow upon it a blessing.
As Dolly Parton would say, “Find out who you are and do it on purpose!” That’s what they seem to suggest that the key to life is: being who we were made to be and applying ourselves to the world.
These are not just words for graduates of course, but for us all. Because we are always presented with the chance to begin again; to shed our skin, to go a new way, or to re-commit to our present path.
As a people, we are living a commencement moment in terms of the pandemic, stepping forward from what was into what will be –with excitement, but also a bit of trepidation. Presented with opportunities to reclaim old rituals or to start news ones, to return to some of the comforts of what is past or to strike out on a new path, a new way forward. Presented with opportunities to reevaluate relationships, reestablish norms, and reorient our lives around what is good and true and life giving.
Today, our lectionary offers us the opportunity to consider those moments after what many refer to as the Fall. Adam and Eve, the world at their feet and God at their side, do the one thing that they are told not to do. In the moments after, they rush to clothe themselves as God approaches. God, their Creator, their Lord, and their Parent, draws close to them and asks: Who told you that you were naked? Many would hear anger in this question – judgment. But what if instead what we should hear is profound sadness, concern, grief. Who told you to be afraid of me? Who told you that you had anything to hide? Who told you to do anything more or less than to belong to me?
This moment in the garden is another commencement moment, an unfortunate one to be sure. It is in this moment that we begin to let someone other than God tells us who we are. It is in this moment that we begin to hide parts of ourselves from God, the one who loved us first and best, and from one another and even ourselves.
We were created to live with God, to belong to God, in wholeness and fullness – without shame. This is who we were made to be: God’s very own.
That’s the thing to remember isn’t it. That’s worth a bit of a pause. That’s where, as Christians, our own commencement must always begin and end and begin again.
Beloved child of God, no matter where you are in your life, this is the only grace I know to be true, a grace that cannot be taken from us: that we, each and every one of us, left alone with ourselves, sit in the very palm of God, born for a time such as this.
We can accomplish much or little by this world’s standards. We can graduate or not from reputable institutions. We may be loved or rejected by friends and family. But we are, now and forevermore, God’s own.
Who told you that you were naked?
Remember, that after all was said and done: The Lord God made garments of skins for the man and his wife and clothed them.
God did not walk away; God clothed them and God clothes us still— holding us close even as we try to pull away. Loving us even as sin seeks to convince us we are unlovable.
In just a moment, we will hear from two parishioners in the midst of their own commencement. May their words be a blessing to us all. And may we all take this opportunity to pause, make room for prayer, and take stock of who we are, and whose we are, before we begin again.
Amen.