On a bright and sunny Sunday, it happened. There we were, sitting up in the bleachers. And there they came, a line of black-robed, tasseled graduates processing into the gym.
There’s something indefinable in the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance.” Something deeply majestic; full of import, of meaning. “This is a momentous occasion,” it says, “and we’ve gathered today to mark it.”
Endings. Beginnings. Significant achievements. Milestones, markers and stones laid up in altars. All of that one feels, but cannot, perhaps, express as those black-robed graduates march past, and “Pomp and Circumstance,” it plays.
What a beautiful ceremony was held on the campus of Bethel College. Before a standing-room-only crowd, professors in ceremonial robes filed in; an invocation was given; the concert choir and their talented soloist sang “Nothing is Impossible,” and the rafters rang.
Then came a powerful message to the graduating class, a stirring lesson about transition times and fearing the Lord. About seeking him, not leaning on one’s own understanding, and that he would make the paths straight.
Listening, this not-graduate found herself caught up in the doctor’s words. It was during a time of trial, he said, that he found himself wondering if the Lord really knew what was happening. If he’d forgotten, somehow, and left him abandoned. Then, feeling alone one morning in his study, he looked to the sky. And saw, hanging there, the morning star.
In a still, quiet voice, the Lord spoke. “Jesus, the bright and morning star, was present yesterday. He is present today, and he will be here tomorrow.” In that moment, he knew without doubt that God did see, he did know, and that he who’d created the morning star could be trusted in trials and transitions.