One and Many

It was a sea of light blue – three thousand graduates sitting on the football field below us with family members in the seats surrounding them. In one glance, they were one class, student s who had traveled together for four years, the class of 2026. In another, they were three thousand individuals, each with his or her own story. As I sat there waiting for the ceremony to begin, I went from one glance to the other, one perspective to another, and could not help but see how important it is that I develop each as I live my life.

We live in a country that seeks to embrace the two views. Our motto, E Pluribus Unum, means out of many, one. Like the graduates sitting below me, there are many people and many states, but we are one country. I take comfort in that motto but can see countless examples when one perspective overshadowed another, when we forgot the nation as a whole because we were fixated on the individuals, or we forgot the importance of individuals because we were worried about the country as a whole.

The struggle to hold both perspectives is equally challenging for us in our daily lives. When the world and everyone I know seems to be travelling in countless directions, I long for everyone to get along and act and think the same way. It would be so much easier, I say to myself. So too, when the world claims everyone should be alike, should do or think the same way, I want to shout out that we were created unique and our job is to live into that uniqueness (and allow others to do the same). The tension between unity and individuality has always been a struggle - for people like you and me and nations like ours.

I was reminded as I watched the graduation that it’s not a question of either/or, but both/and. When the class of three thousand students stood and swayed and sang along to the song being sung on stage, I celebrated their oneness. As I listened to the individual families shout out when their graduate was mentioned, I loved imagining that graduate’s particular journey.

At the end of graduation, there were fireworks celebrating the class of 2026, then we made our way with the other families to embrace our particular graduate.

On the 250th year of our country, and as people of faith, my prayer is that we will remember the importance of both celebrations

Handing Cellos

My wife and I were on our way to hear the world-renowned cellist Yo-Yo Ma perform and were walking beside some folks who described something that happened the last time they heard him perform at Wake Forrest University. I may not have absorbed all the details correctly, but the heart of the moment is what compelled me to write this brushstroke.

He was on stage performing with the Wake Forest University orchestra. When he was done, he left the stage and the orchestra was going to perform a piece on their own. Before they began, however, Yo-Yo Ma returned to the stage as if to join them, but that was not his intention. He walked over to the lead cellist and handed him his cello (a close to priceless instrument) and asked if he would like to play it. Oh how I wish I had been there and seen the look on that student’s face! It was a moment that captures what I feel we are all called to do and be.

Whether we are a banker, lawyer, or doctor . . . a mother or father . . . adult or child . . . mechanic or artist . . . athlete or priest, I believe we all have cellos, and while we are called to play them as well as we can, we are also called to hand them to others to let them have a try. The current expression is to “pay it forward,” and the moment at Wake Forest was such a vivid example of someone taking his life and offering it to another.

Since hearing about what Yo-Yo Ma did, I’ve been reflecting on those who have handed me their cellos. It’s produced a wonderful collage of generous souls who gave me a part of their life so that I could try to make music with mine. The church calls such people “saints,” but whatever we call them, such people serve as memorable examples of what I want to do and who I want to be.

The key is to (1) figure out what my cello is and (2) to whom I can offer it. I don’t think there’s a better way to spend one’s life. I hope you agree.

Empty Chairs

She comes to church early every Sunday and sits in the same place. In continuous hope that her son (who lives in the town) will join her, she saves the seat and looks toward the door frequently. I sit across the aisle from her each Sunday and am both touched and hurt by what I see. I’m moved by her love for her son and saddened that the chair remains empty so often.

I can’t help but wonder if somehow the woman beside the empty seat mirrors how God feels, not only on Sundays but every minute of every day. Arriving early and eager for our company, God sits and looks around in hopes of seeing us walk through the door. He touches the empty seat recalling moments from the past or things about us of which he is particularly fond, but like the chair beside the mother, the space beside God, reserved for us, is often vacant. We don’t show up. Some of us feel we are too busy. Maybe next time, we say to themselves. Others don’t show up because we think we’re unworthy of such a seat. Still others refuse because we’re mad at God or doubt he’s waiting at all.

And yet . . .

I believe God’s always saving a seat for us. He doesn’t care if we’re wearing the right clothes, prepared with appropriate things to say, or have our lives in order. All he wants is us to come sit beside him. All he wants is our company. That’s all, but that’s a lot.