“Winning Your Trophy”

Proverbs 3:1-6, Matthew 5:13-16

Baccalaureate Sunday

May 3, 2009

Dave Russell, First Baptist Church of Ames, Iowa USA

 

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I graduated from the University of Evansville 25 years ago this spring.  Shocking, isn’t it?  Evansville is a Methodist –related university, and we not only had commencement, we also had a baccalaureate service.

 

Since it is not the role of government to advance or favor any particular religion, public schools do not have baccalaureate services.  So while there is a baccalaureate service for graduating seniors at Ames High School, it is not planned or funded by the school. 

 

Likewise, it is not for Iowa State University to hold religious services in conjunction with graduation.  This is for faith communities to do, and this is what we are doing today.  We are fortunate - well, maybe not, depending on how you look at it – to have six graduating students in our church.

 

What do you want to be when you grow up?  That is a question we ask children, and perhaps just as often, a question we ask ourselves.  We keep on asking ourselves this question, even after we “grow up.”  It’s never quite settled because life is never quite settled.  There is always something more to do, there is always a new challenge, there is always another chapter to be written.

 

But this question is certainly a pressing one about the time one finishes their education.  You’ve completed 12, or 14, or 16, or maybe 20 or 22 years of education.  What now?

 

There are a few basic options.  More school – that’s always an option, and some of our graduates will be continuing their education.  Get a job – eventually that’s probably going to be the answer.  Then there’s always the option of trekking through Europe or Asia for a year while you “find yourself.”  Of course, at this point a lot of students are just trying to get through finals and will put off thinking about such weighty questions for the time being.  But sooner or later, such questions must be faced.  What do I want to do with my life?  What kind of future am I working towards?  Where is this all headed?  What is my life going to be about?

 

For those who are seeking to follow Jesus, faith has something to say about where we go from here.  We use words like “calling” and “vocation.”  Our calling is not so much to a particular job, although it might be, but our larger calling is to make a difference in this world.  As Jesus says, “You are the salt of the earth.  You are the light of the world.”

 

More than being called to be an engineer or teacher or horticulturist or veterinarian, we are called to be disciples.  We are called to shine our light.  We are called to make a difference.

 

William Willimon, formerly the Dean of the Chapel at Duke University, once received a call from a very upset parent.  The father was angry because his graduate school-bound daughter had just told him that she had decided instead to do mission work in Haiti.  “A BS degree in mechanical engineering from Duke and she’s going to dig ditches in Haiti,” the father said.  “You are completely irresponsible to have encouraged her to do this.  I hold you personally responsible.”

 

“Me?” asked Willimon, What have I done?”  “You filled her head with all that religion stuff.  She likes you, that’s why she’s doing this foolishness,” he said.

 

“Now look, buster,” Willimon said, struggling to keep his ministerial composure.  “Weren’t you the one who had her baptized?”  “Why, yes,” he said.  “And then, didn’t you read her Bible stories, take her to Sunday School, let her go with the Presbyterian Youth Fellowship on the ski trip?”

 

“Well, yes, but…”  “Don’t but me,” Willimon said.  “It’s your fault that she believed all that stuff, that she’s gone and thrown it all away on Jesus, not mine.  You’re the one who introduced her to Jesus, not me.”

 

“But all we ever wanted her to be was a Presbyterian,” he said.  “Sorry,” said Willimon.  “You’ve messed up and made a disciple.”

 

Letting our light shine might mean going to places we wouldn’t have imagined, doing things we never would have dreamed of.  It might mean using our degree in some creative ways.  Fredrick Buechner described vocation as the place “where our great joy meets the world’s great need.”   That might mean foregoing the conventional approach and doing something like what this young woman did.

 

On the other hand, it might mean going right into the thick of the job market and shining your light there.  Lord knows we need to have more light shone.  If you are a sales person, shining your light means being the best salesperson you can be; if you are a scientist, shining your light means being the best scientist you can be – not only doing the best work you can do, but shining your light by being a person of honesty and integrity.

 

Every single day, there are stories in the news that serve as reminders that we desperately need people of faith and integrity in the corporate world.  Nearly every day, there are stories about new biomedical technologies and promising treatments for cancer, and we need people of faith to pursue such fields.  If you’ve been paying attention, you know that the problem of child poverty is not getting better; it’s getting worse.  If you’ve been paying attention, you know that the gap between the haves and have-nots is widening.  If you’ve been paying attention, you know that we have serious problems in the criminal justice system.  If you’ve been paying attention, you know that we need to find ways to use less energy and produce fewer carbon emissions and protect our fragile world.  There are so many places where the world needs light.

 

We could go on and on.  There are needs everywhere.  We need folks to shine some light where they work, where they study, where they play, where they shop, where they visit, where they live.  We need to have more light in our neighborhoods, more light in our schools, more light in our community.

 

And this is our calling.  Jesus said, “You are the light of the world.” 

 

In his book It Was on Fire When I Lay Down on It, Robert Fulghum tells this story:

 

“Are there any questions?” is an offer that comes at the end of college lectures and long meetings.  It is said when an audience is not only overdosed with information, but when there is no time left anyhow.  At times like that you sure do have questions.  Like, “Can we leave now?” and “What was that all about?” and “Where can I get a drink?”

 

The gesture is supposed to indicate openness on the part of the speaker, I suppose, but if in fact you do ask a question, both the speaker and the audience will give you drop-dead looks.  And some fool—some earnest idiot—always asks.  And the speaker always answers.  By repeating most of what has already been said.

 

But if there is a little time left and there is a little silence in response to the invitation, I usually ask the most important question of all: “What is the Meaning of Life?”

 

You never know, somebody may have the answer… But when I ask, it’s usually taken as a kind of absurdist move—people laugh and nod and gather up their stuff and the meeting is dismissed on that ridiculous note.

 

Once, and only once, I asked that question and got a serious answer.  One that is with me still.  It was the last session of a two-week seminar in Greece with Dr. Alexander Papaderos.  He made the ritual gesture: “Are there any questions?”  Quiet quilted the room.  These two weeks had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence.  “No questions?” Papaderos swept the room with his eyes.  So I asked.  “Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?”

 

The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go.

Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me, asking with his eyes if I was serious and seeing from my eyes that I was.  “I will answer your question.”

 

He fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter.  And what he said went like this:

 

“When I was a small child, during World War II, we were very poor and lived in a remote village in Greece.  One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror.  A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.  I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece.  This one.  And by scratching it on a stone I made it round.  I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine—in deep holes and crevices and dark closets.  It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.

 

“I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game.  As I became a man, I grew to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light.  But light—truth, understanding, knowledge—is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.

 

 “I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do now know.  Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world—into the dark places in the hearts of people.  This is what I am about.  This is the meaning of my life.”

 

Fulghum continued, “Much of what I experienced in the way of information about Greek culture and history that summer is gone from memory.  But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still.”

 

We are called to shine God’s light into all kinds of dark places, reflecting love and hope and grace and peace.  If it’s all coming from within ourselves, the light will get pretty dim and we’re going to burn out.  To keep shining our light, we need to stay connected to the power source.  God is the ultimate source of our light.  As our reading from Proverbs this morning says, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight.  In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”  As you got out from here, remember the source of your light.

 

And then, don’t sell your light short.  Don’t be afraid to dream big dreams.  Marianne Williamson wrote about shining our light.  She wrote:

 

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, talented, fabulous?”  Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.  Your playing small doesn’t’ serve the world.  There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.  We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. 

 

It’s not just in some of us, it’s in ALL of us.  As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

 

Jesus doesn’t say, “Some of you, the exceptionally gifted and chosen ones, you are the light of the world.”  He doesn’t say, “You might be” or “With some hard work, you have the potential to be” the light of the world.  What he says is, “YOU ARE the light of the world.”

 

Whether you are graduating and going on to the next step of your journey, or whether you’ll be sticking around, doing what you’ve been doing, the message is the same.  You are a child of God.  You have been given light.  You are the light of the world!   Don’t hide it under a bushel.

 

I was listening to the radio on the way to church Friday morning when NPR had a story about Jean Shin, a Korean American visual artist who takes discarded everyday items, finds meaning and symbolism in these objects, and creates art.  Her creations just went on display at the Smithsonian American Art museum.

 

One of her pieces is titled “Everyday Monuments.”  At first, it looks like a mass of old sports trophies.  But on closer inspection, the little gold bowling figures are handling strollers, not bowling balls.  On the basketball trophies, the basketball has been removed and the player is holding a hammer.  The soccer player holds a typewriter and the cheerleader doesn’t have pom-poms, she is serving up a dish of food.

 

The champions, in this case, are those who do ordinary, essential work but “aren’t getting trophies today,” Shin says.

 

Most of us will not receive trophies for being an engineer.  Most of us will not get a lot of recognition for caring for animals or teaching children or designing landscapes.  They don’t give out many trophies for being a nurse or a social worker or a cook or an accountant or a graphic designer.  But maybe they should.  This artist, Jean Shin, has it exactly right.  Those who do needed, everyday things and who make a difference and make the world a better place in their own way deserve trophies.  Anyone who can go out there and shine light in their own little corner of the universe is a champion.

 

“You are the light of the world… let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”  Amen. 

 

 

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