May 8, 2008
I did something Tuesday night I may never do again: I offered the invocation at IUSB's graduation ceremony at Notre Dame's ACC. They had asked last year, I couldn't do it, and I figured it was an opportunity to serve my school and maybe offer a good word from God to lots of folks.
There were a couple of things I noticed. I noticed there were traditions that others understood but they seemed kind of funny to me. We were in robes with academic hoods and funny hats…made me wonder what non-church folks think when they see preachers walking around in robes and stoles.
When you approached the lectern you were to "peak" or something…it was sort of a salute…touching the front of your academic cap with three fingers of your right hand. I forgot to do it. I had not a clue why we were doing that or what it meant…which caused me to think about how strange and puzzling the rituals of the faith may be to those who do not know.
I noticed how rude people could be. I was getting myself together and the tassel on my cap was hanging down on the right side. A lay person helping lead the procession walked up to me, muttered "I assume you have a college degree," and then flipped the tassel to the left side of my hat where it belonged. "Wow," I thought. "Amazing how some people can help us out and make us feel worthless at the same time."
Now here is what really got me. To the right of the platform there was a short flight of stairs. The graduates lined up to the right of the platform, came up the steps, and came face to face with an associate professor of drama. He took a small, white slip of paper from each graduate. On the paper was the student's name. The professor was to announce the name of the graduate into a microphone. This he did in a booming, ready-for-Broadway voice.
He would read the student's name quietly so they could correct him if he got it wrong. No one else could hear this private exchange between the professor and the graduate as the pronunciation was confirmed. Then, when he had it right (they would often correct him, saying their name quietly and slowly), he would lean into the microphone, announce the name, and the graduate would walk across the stage.
You should have seen the eyes of each graduate as they listened to the professor read their name back to them. They stood there, poised to take that first step across the stage, looking up at him with these wide-open eyes…beaming to hear their name announced.
Every one of them…every one of them…wanting someone to get their name right
I'm not sure why it is so important that people get our names right. Our moms and dads, as Donald Miller writes, just picked out a name they liked and hung it on us. I could be Mike (more than a few people call me Mike) or Jack or Larry or Leonardo (okay…no family with Fenstermacher as a last name would do that…) And before I was a Fenstermacher I was a Ritter…until I was adopted. So why is it so important that people get our names right?
It stands for us, I think. It stands for our struggles and fears, our loves and regrets, our dreams and our disappointments, where we've been and where we're going. To get the name right is to see us…as we are. It is to say that we count. That it isn't just another person in a black gown walking across this stage, getting their degree tonight, moving from one stage to another in life, but it's me…this is me.
Paul, in Philippians 4:3, talks about those who work for God have their names written in the book of life. Revelations 2:17 announces that when we go through tough times and remain faithful we'll be given a new name and it will be written on a stone.
There's something about a name. I thought of us, standing before God, waiting to hear him speak our name, wondering if he sees us…knows us…if we count. We want him to know us, don't we? We want him to get our name right. And God wants us to know him…to get his name right…and that name is Jesus.
-Pastor Mark