Kurt Vonnegut gave a commencement speech towards the later end of his career, and he advised that all such speeches should begin with a joke. I toyed around with possibilities for this venue, including the much beloved green ping pong ball joke, the always-appreciated purple kingdom joke, and the new-to-many-of-you story about lil’ Johnny and the Noodle Man. However, none of them seemed quite right for the occasion, so I thought I’d do something completely different: let’s start tonight by defining our terms. I promise if you’ll bear with me, that this will be over quickly.

It may not come as a surprise to anyone here, particularly to the graduates, but I happen to think the meaning of words is one of the most important aspects of a proper education. For instance, what we are celebrating here today is most properly called commencement, signifying that this is the beginning of something rather than an ending. Graduation, after all, is simply the completion of any given set of requirements, indicating you’ve done everything asked of you to that point (even if sometimes you’ve done it begrudgingly). So, congratulations on that part of your education, graduates. This usage of commencement is found in American schools as early as 1850, though it was originally reserved for colleges (as what we might call high schools back then did not have such celebrations). But as more and more secondary schools began to honor their seniors, the term made its way down to this earlier stage. That original sense, reserved for colleges, is important because it meant the beginning stages of those privileges associated with entering a Master’s degree program or with beginning doctoral studies. Commencement was originally one step towards the next thing, recognizing that by completing the steps outlined you were invited into a new set of challenges, a new set of privileges, and a new set of responsibilities. That’s why what we’re doing here tonight is really commencement; each of you will leave this building and enter into more responsibilities, more challenges, and yes, more privileges. Graduation at any stage then is the completion of one thing, and it acts as a herald for Commencement, which is the beginning of, well, everything that comes next.

Because of this, graduation ceremonies often make me think of the Preface found in A. A. Milne’s House at Pooh Corner, the second and final of the Winnie-the-Pooh books. Hopefully, you are familiar with it. Milne explains to his young readers, “An introduction is to introduce people, but Christopher Robin and his friends, who have already been introduced to you, are now going to say goodbye. So this is the opposite. When we asked Pooh what the opposite of an Introduction was, he said ‘The what of a what?’ which didn't help us as much as we had hoped, but luckily Owl kept his head and told us that the opposite of an Introduction, my dear Pooh, was a Contradiction; and, as he is very good at long words, I am sure that that's what it is.” I’m not sure if commencement is the same thing as a contradiction, but something is fitting about celebrating the completion of high school by focusing on what lies ahead, rather than what lies behind. I’d even go far as to say that any commencement depends upon a contradiction at its heart. For years, students approaching those final days of senior year would ask if I would miss them once they were gone. And my response often surprised them, though it probably shouldn’t have. I would reply, “My job has been to prepare you to leave this place; it would be much harder to do if seeing you leave wasn’t a kind of reward.” This is true for your parents and teachers and family members present today, living in that tension between gladness that you have completed one phase of life so that you can move on to the next, which inevitably brings a sort of sadness.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The question for you, graduates, is what does that next phase of life look like? I don’t mean, “What school will I go to?” or “Where will I live?” though those are important questions. I mean the kinds of questions your teachers have been preparing you for since you first walked through the Grand Hall doors. “What new challenges will arise in my path? What new responsibilities will I be given when I’m done here?” Those questions are the ones that matter because they reveal the kind of person you are, specifically how your life up to this stage has shaped you. And it think it is worthwhile to consider this from the vantage point of what it means to be a knight or a lady. After all, that is what you will now forever be: Trinitas Knights and a Lady (Knight). This moniker is more than adornment on a t-shirt, but indicative of the kind of person this school hopes you will one day be. I say “one day” because you are not there yet. You have many more years ahead of you, Lord willing, and the growth that has begun here in this place will be completed one day, likely far from 3301 E. Johnson Ave.

This reminds me of another book, another story. One I hope you will read if you haven’t already. In the penultimate scene of Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn, Prince Lír grows furious with the magician Schmendrick as the two stare helplessly at the harried unicorn in front of them. The red bull is pressing her into eternal captivity, and Lír angrily demands, ““Do something . . . You have power. You changed her into a unicorn—do something now to save her. I will kill you if you don’t.” The poor excuse of a magician replies, “I cannot . . . Not all the magic in the world can help her now. If she will not fight him, she must go into the sea with the others. Neither magic nor murder will help her.” Allow me to read the next bit in full:

“Then what is magic for?” Prince Lír demanded wildly. “What use is wizardry if it cannot save a unicorn?” He gripped the magician’s shoulder hard, to keep from falling. Schmendrick did not turn his head. With a touch of sad mockery in his voice, he said, “That’s what heroes are for.”

There is an important lesson here, for like Lír, we must know what our role is in our own story. You leave here as Knights and a Lady. But what good does that do you? To what end might such titles be meaningful in this world?

This is the point where these kinds of speeches offer specific advice, like “wear sunscreen” or “love boldly.” Alas, I cannot offer you such counsel for I don’t know what path lies in front of you. I know the general contours, as I walked them myself, but your situations will undoubtedly be distinct from my own, from those of your parents, and in some way written for you specifically. I say “written” here because it is always worth remembering that God is the author of your life. Meaning that the Lord is the One who knows what lies ahead and He knows that you’ve been trained to handle it.

“How have I been trained?” you might be wondering. Let’s consider some of the most prominent examples. You’ve been taught that it is generally a bad idea to chew bubble gum to excess or to swim in a river of chocolate, for such vices will surely be repaid (maybe even by a man in a funny hat). You’ve been taught that looking for a pirate’s treasure is probably not a wise thing for a teenager to do, even if Billy Bones was your friend. You’ve been taught that allowing your anger to dominate you will lead to dire consequences for you and others, like the destruction of the Trojan monarchy for instance. You’ve been trained to recognize the foolishness of facing a dragon alone, especially if your friend Wiglaf is nearby. You’ve learned from the example of others that it’s not best to make quick, prejudiced opinions of your wealthy neighbor’s best friend while attending a community dance, especially based on a few candid remarks, because that person could end up being your spouse. And the list could go on. Yes, Augustus Gloop, Charlotte Beauregard, Jim Hawkins, Achilles, Beowulf, and Elizabeth Bennett, are some of the friends you’ve made along the way who tried to show you the price of certain things so that you might not suffer a similar fate.

But that is only the “what not to do” part of your education. What about things you should do? You should, for instance, be willing to forgive those who’ve wronged you, knowing that your suffering is meant for your good. You should honor your father and your mother, even when that is hard because enemies slander you and steal from you. You should go to church, even if you have to do so in disguise, for you are called to be a part of the body of Christ in this world. You should be willing to give up your happiness to protect the innocent, even if they’re headed for the guillotine. You should confess your sins, including sins you might think harmless because no one might know about them, like stealing pears. You must be willing to help bear the burdens of those closest to you, whether you fully understand the weight or not, especially if it involves a lava pit. Yes, Rolf of Cragness, Telemachus, Robin Hood, Sydney Carton, St. Augustine, and Samwise Gamgee have given you lots to consider as you go out to face what life has in store for you.

You may not have recognized it when you read those stories in class, but your teachers were doing more than accompanying you through a story; they were laying a foundation for a virtuous child of God at age 25, 35, or 45 to harken back to when things become harder than anticipated. You’ve of course learned more than just these things; I would be remiss if I ignored the lessons I know you’ve gained from your other classes and teachers. But we, those who have taught you at some point, will not always be with you. You may be far from us geographically, or like so many alumni, you may simply become too busy to reach out to your old teachers. The truth is that you will leave here and lose touch with many people whom you once considered dear, folks you thought would never be out of your life. This is the way of things. This is that sad bit I mentioned earlier.

But you’ve not been left friendless in this world. For you will always be able to take back up your friendship with those names I’ve listed in my “dos” and “don’ts”. You can revisit The Republic and The Place of the Lion. Or you can pick A. A. Milne and Peter S. Beagle for the first time. That is part of the genius of God’s design in the world; He has designed us to be a reading people who remember the strangest things from what we’ve read at the oddest hours of the night as we get older. Trinitas has made every effort to “equip [you for] a life of moral and spiritual integrity, personal and social responsibility, and a zeal to know and serve a Holy God.” It’s right there in the mission statement. Thus, to be a Knight or a Lady is to live in to that specific calling. And while the teachers here cannot be with you every step of the way, they have tried to introduce you to friends who may accompany you long after you’ve exited the Grand Hall tonight.

And so, knights and lady knights, as I close out my time this evening, I think it best to remind you of something I shared with you a very long time ago. I’m not sure how well you remember your seventh-grade self, but each of you is indelibly inscribed in my own imagination from the moment I learned you had not read the complete Chronicles of Narnia by that stage of life. Since knights and ladies are the stuff of fairy tales, I want you to take C. S. Lewis’s dedication at the beginning of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe to heart: “Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” May that age be upon you as early as tomorrow, at the beginning of something completely new.