Commencement

The term, Commencement Ceremony can be confusing. Commencement means to begin, yet the ceremonies celebrate the end of high school or college. Why isn’t graduation called a Conclusion Ceremony? 

The speakers talked about the future, a new beginning, and the commencement of the cadet’s next chapter in life.

I watched the MMA graduation ceremony live-stream to see my son’s friend. From the dry, warm surroundings of my dining room, I watched as the rain poured down, a constant background noise as it bounced off the large tents. Name after name, the cadets paraded in their dress whites. Short, tall, male, female, and all nationalities marched across the stage to get their diplomas. 

They had one thing in common, their uniform: white hat, white jacket, white pants or skirt, and white shoes. Their name tags, ribbons, and epaulets were aligned perfectly, hats tilted just right. They all did the same thing as they marched across the platform. One by one, each cadet received their diploma, shook hands, and posed for a picture. Their uniformity was impressive and the parade of white was endless. I was mesmerized. 

Then something snapped me out of my trance, four people in dark clothing came across the stage. A mother, a father, and two teenagers, a girl, and a boy, suddenly filled my screen. The father, handsome in his dark blue suit, stood at the back of this group, hiding behind dark sunglasses. The girl had a hand up to her face, and was crying into the collar of her raincoat. Like the rain, her tears were endless, mixing with her mascara and sending black streams down her cheeks. The boy stood like a statue. It was impossible to read the emotion on his face, his expression was void. 

The mother was the most animated. She received the diploma and hugged it into her chest. She kissed it, grasped it with both hands and extended it high overhead. Looking into the heavens, she kissed the diploma once more before holding it against her heart. The father placed his hand on her back. He looked down as if trying to escape. The girl, racked with sobs, now had both hands to her face. The boy remained unchanged.

And through it all, there was applause. The clapping went on for an extended time. The family, except the boy, looked out at the crowd. The mother wiped the tears from her daughter’s eyes with one hand, and held her other daughter’s diploma with the other. There was no explanation as to what happened to the missing candidate. The pain spoke for itself. Overstating the obvious, the announcer said that the female cadet’s family was receiving her diploma posthumously. And then they were gone.

One by one the cadets resumed their parade across the stage. The contrast was jarring. They were starting a new journey on their own. They had done the work, and now they would get to work. The white uniforms were a symbol of a blank canvas. Now it was up to them to create the painting that would be their life.

The family was in dark colors, as though paint had been splashed on their canvas, covering all the white. And all the hope. Their commencement is different, their new journey starting in darkness. Going across the stage and receiving her diploma must have felt like daggers through the heart. And yet, they found strength in togetherness. Ecclesiastes speaks of this when it says, “A threefold cord is not quickly broken.” (Ecc 4:12). 

The image I have of this threefold cord is a braid. Separate strands come together to form something stronger. A mother, a father, and their children walked on that stage, but a family walked off. They were one.

Although the cadets walked across that stage individually, their support system cheered for them. Families and friends wanted their cadets to know they were not alone, they were there for them. Each person watching from under the tent, sitting on a hard plastic seat, is a strand in someone's braid.

Some strands are more colorful than others, adding interest and dimension to our life. Other strands are plain but sturdy, giving us security. Depending on how long a person has been in our life determines the length of the strand. When all the strands intertwine, each braid looks different and is as unique as each person.

But the result is the same for everyone. We all have a support system we can count on. On both our good and bad days, we have people who are there for us. And just as we can turn to the strands in our braid for support, we can be the support for others. We can strive to be a colorful, sturdy, and long strand.

Rather than end this with a conclusion, I will do so with a commencement. There is always a new beginning.