Graduation

In the pouring rain, Robert Hale Jr., founder and CEO of wholesale telecommunications provider Granite Telecommunications, took the stage for the graduation ceremony at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth.

Hale pointed to the security guards coming on stage with two duffle bags he had packed with envelopes of cash. Hale then announced that each graduate who crossed the stage would receive one $500 envelope to keep as a gift and a second $500 envelope to give to someone in need or a charity or cause close to them.

Video shows the students, sitting underneath umbrellas and wearing ponchos in the rain, erupting in cheers at the news. Hale, who is reportedly worth $5.4 billion, told the crowd that for him and his wife Karen, “the greatest joys we’ve had in our life have been the gift of giving. Our community and our world need our help now more than ever.”

Compton High School celebrated one of its most famous alumni when construction started on the Andre “Dr. Dre” Young Performing Arts Center. The $200 million facility is part of a larger school renovation stemming from a partnership between public and private sector, and included a $10 million donation from Young himself.

At the groundbreaking ceremony Young said,

I was an artistic kid in school with no outlet for it. I knew I had something special to offer to the world, but with nothing to support my gift, schools left me feeling unseen. I’ve always wondered how much further ahead I might have been had the resources I needed in school were available. If I had learned more about the business industry, I would have saved myself [an] extreme amount of time, money and [made] a lot of friendships.

As a founding member of the seminal rap group NWA and a leading producer in the wave of west coast hip-hop, Dr. Dre’s constant shouts out to Compton made the city virtually synonymous with his brand of music. His already large music profile swelled after the release of 2015 NWA biopic Straight Outta Compton. That same year he also released solo album Compton, the proceeds from royalties of which he promised to allocate toward the new school campus.

Idaho carpenter Dale Schroeder was a blue-collar, lunch pail kind of a guy. He went to work every day, worked really hard, and was frugal like a lot of Iowans. Back in 2005 he told his lawyer, "I never got the opportunity to go to college and so I'd like to help kids go to college."

When the working-class tradesman went to the lawyer to set up the scholarships the lawyer's jaw dropped when Schroeder disclosed the amount he had saved. As a frugal man without a family of his own, he put together a $3 million scholarship fund that has made it possible for 33 people to attend college.

Kira Conrad, the last of the 33 to have their college tuition paid in full by Schroder's fund said, "I grew up in a single-parent household and I had three older sisters so paying for all four of us was never an option. For a man that would never meet me, to give me basically a full ride to college, that's incredible. That doesn't happen."

The 33 Iowans Schroeder put through college recently gathered around his old lunch box. They dubbed themselves "Dale's kids." It was a group of doctors, teachers, and therapists with no college debt. With Schroeder gone, there's no paying it back. His only wish was they pay it forward by emulating his generosity.

When Jessica Rocha set out to celebrate her graduation from the University of California San Diego, she took a photo. And like many Instagram influencers often do, Rocha was in a field. But instead of being in a cute outfit with stylish accessories, Rocha was in her graduation gown. And her parents were on hand for the occasion.

Central to the importance of the shot was its location, and the way that it demonstrated her family heritage. In the photo, Rocha and her parents stood in the same fields where all three of them had toiled as migrant workers, planting and harvesting, for years and years. According to Rocha, after her parents emigrated to the US from Mexico they required her to work in the fields as way to remind her about the value of getting an education. During her high school years, she often worked the overnight shift with her father. They would plant strawberries late through the evening and into the morning. Rocha barely got enough sleep to take the bus to school in the morning.

Rocha took the photo to honor her parents for the way they sacrificed so that she could pursue her education. She said, “Nobody thinks about nor sees what happens behind a vegetable you grab at the grocery store. But behind it is someone who breaks their backs every day working in the fields."

Even after she made it into college, Rocha still worked the fields on weekends and during school breaks. She credited her parents for the motivation. “Many times I wanted to give up, but my parents and their pieces of advice and support were the reason I kept going. If it wasn't for how my parents raised me I don't know who I would be today."

Possible Preaching Angle:

1) Honor your parents for the sacrifices they made in raising you and their lasting influence in your life; 2) It's a blessing to look back and see the places from which God has brought us; it's also necessary for us to remember God's power and continue to trust in God's provision.

On May 27th, Timothy Harrison arrived at the local Waffle House to start another shift. But at some point, his routine was punctured by a pointed question from a coworker: “Why are you here today?”

It was common knowledge that Harrison’s school Woodlawn High was holding its commencement ceremony at a location across town. Manager Cedric Hampton chimed in, "That's when I said why aren't you going to graduation?” And he said 'I don't want to miss work.' So, I was like, you're going!"

Harrison eventually admitted that he showed up for work as usual because he didn’t have a ride. By that point, the Waffle House team was ready to spring into action. Co-worker Shantana Blevins asked, “What do we need to do?”

As it turns out, there was plenty to do, but they all banded together to get it done. Members of the team assisted in buying Harrison appropriate dress clothes, procuring the cap and gown, and transporting him to the ceremony. Hampton said his assistant manager even came in on her day off to mind the store, just so the rest of the crew could help their newest 18-year-old employee on his big day. His co-worker said they made it to the venue just in time for Harrison to participate.

The new graduate reflected on the experience, "I had people want to see me succeed, so it kind made me excited. When I put on clothes, that was a different feeling … I don't even know the words. A million dollars? It was the best feeling." And if that weren’t enough, once news of his big day spread, he was met with a full scholarship to Lawson State Community College.

After being part of Harrison’s story, co-worker Shantana Blevins reflected on her role in the rescue effort. "You never know who you can touch or who you can influence with one simple gesture."

Possible Preaching Angle:

God has empowered us to be a blessing in our community, it doesn't take a superhuman individual effort to do something good, just a willingness to do your part.

Upon his arrival to Hahnville High School, Daverius Peters was rightfully excited. His excitement, however, quickly turned to shame and embarrassment when he was turned away at the door for wearing the wrong footwear.

According to the school’s dress code, male students were required to wear dark-colored dress shoes. “I thought I could wear them because they’re black,” said Peters, who said that his outfit abided by the rest of the code, which included a white shirt and tie and dress pants.

Nevertheless, a school representative at the door disagreed, and turned Peters away. Peters recalled, “I was in shock. I felt humiliated. I just wanted to walk across the stage and get my diploma.”

Fortunately, John Butler was on the scene. Butler, a paraeducator at the school, was in attendance to see his own daughter graduate. But Peters spotted Butler, and explained the situation. Butler said, “Of course, that sounded crazy to me. There was nothing eccentric about his shoes.”

After a brief back-and-forth with the woman at the door, Butler decided the quickest way to resolve the situation was to give Peters the shoes off his own feet, so that’s exactly what he did. Peters eventually walked—actually “slid” is the more accurate term—across the stage with Butler’s size 11’s on his size-9 feet. And Butler attended the graduation in his stocking feet with no regrets.

Butler said, “This was the most important moment in his life up to that point, and I wasn’t going to let him miss it for anything. I was just happy to see him receive his diploma.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

Jesus chose time after time to honor children and those who sacrifice to serve them. If we are to be followers of Jesus, we must do likewise.

With profundity and simplicity Sarah Drew gave a commencement address. Ms. Drew, a 2002 graduate of the University of Virginia, went on to achieve Hollywood fame, landing roles on Mad Men and Grey's Anatomy—among others. As a committed Christian, Drew urged recent graduates to live their lives before an audience of One: "When the camera isn't on you, what do you do? In real time, in real life, when people really need you in order to do what they need to do, how do you show up?" she asked. "And I mean the real you—not the carefully curated social media version of you, because, let's be clear, all that world is a stage. And when we step onto it, we are players performing for our audience. Who are we out of the spotlight, when we're not performing for an audience? Most of the time, there are no cameras rolling. But life is always rolling. Whether you are the intern or the CEO; whether you are running your household or running a company; living in a basement or living in a penthouse; whether you are doing the grunt work or getting the glory, life is always rolling."

Individuals with standing in a particular professional field sometimes feel free, or even obligated, to cloak themselves in the authority of their area of expertise and make grandiose statements such as this by a professor of biological sciences:

Let me summarize my views on what modern evolutionary biology tells us loud and clear …. There are no gods, no purposes, no goal-directed forces of any kind. There is no life after death. When I die, I am absolutely certain that I am going to be dead. That's the end for me. There is no ultimate foundation for ethics, no ultimate meaning to life, and no free will for humans, either.

Logically viewed, this statement is simply laughable. Nowhere within the published, peer-reviewed literature of biology—even evolutionary biology—do any of the statement of which the professor is "absolutely certain" appear as valid conclusions of sound research. One trembles to think that an expert in the field would not know this or else would feel free to disregard it. Biology as a field of research and knowledge is not even about such issues. It simply does not deal with them. They do not fall within the provinces of responsibilities. Yet it is very common to hear such declamations about the state of the universe offered up in lectures and writings by specialists in certain areas who have a missionary zeal for their personal causes.

First grade teacher, Linda, shares an interaction she had with one of her students on the first day of school. Accustomed to going home at noon in kindergarten, Ryan was getting his things ready to leave for home when he was actually supposed to be heading to lunch with the rest of the class. Linda asked him what he was doing. "I'm going home," he replied. Linda tried to explain that, now that he is in the first grade, he would have a longer school day. "You'll go eat lunch now," she said, "and then you'll come back to the room and do some more work before you go home." Ryan looked up at her in disbelief, hoping she was kidding. Convinced of her seriousness, Ryan then put his hands on his hips and demanded, "Who on earth signed me up for this program?"

As believers, it's easy to feel a little like Ryan when we consider the Christian life. The requirements are daunting—"Surely the Lord doesn't expect me to forgive seventy times seven;" "Surely he doesn't want me to turn the other cheek when someone hurts me;" "What does he mean, 'take up my cross'?" It isn't long before you want to say, "Who on earth signed me up for this program?"

Fresh from a debate on whether or not humans can be moral without God, author and apologist Dinesh D'Souza offers a few reflections on his sparring partner, Princeton University's Peter Singer, a bioethicist:

Singer is a mild-mannered fellow who speaks calmly and lucidly. Yet you wouldn't have to read his work too long to find his extreme positions. He cheerfully advocates infanticide and euthanasia and, in almost the same breath, favors animal rights. Even most liberals would have qualms about third-trimester abortions; Singer does not hesitate to advocate what may be termed fourth-trimester abortions, i.e., the killing of infants after they are born.

Singer writes, "My colleague Helga Kuhse and I suggest that a period of 28 days after birth might be allowed before an infant is accepted as having the same right to life as others." Singer argues that even pigs, chickens, and fish have more signs of consciousness and rationality—and, consequently, a greater claim to rights—than do fetuses, newborn infants, and people with mental disabilities. "Rats are indisputably more aware of their surroundings, and more able to respond in purposeful and complex ways to things they like or dislike, than a fetus at 10- or even 32-weeks gestation. … The calf, the pig, and the much-derided chicken come out well ahead of the fetus at any stage of pregnancy."

Some people consider Singer a provocateur who says outrageous things just to get attention. But Singer is deadly serious about his views and—as emerged in our debate—has a consistent rational basis for his controversial positions.

To understand Singer, it's helpful to contrast him with "New Atheists" like Christopher Hitchens, Daniel Dennett, and Richard Dawkins. The New Atheists say we can get rid of God but preserve morality. They insist that no one needs God in order to be good; atheists can act no less virtuously than Christians. (And indeed, some atheists do put Christians to shame.) Even while repudiating the Christian God, Dawkins has publicly called himself a "cultural Christian."

But this position creates a problem outlined more than a century ago by the atheist philosopher Nietzsche. The death of God, Nietzsche argued, means that all the Christian values that have shaped the West rest on a mythical foundation. One may, out of habit, continue to live according to these values for a while. Over time, however, the values will decay, and if they are not replaced by new values, man will truly have to face the prospect of nihilism, what Nietzsche termed "the abyss."

Nietzsche's argument is illustrated in considering two of the central principles of Western civilization: "All men are created equal" and "Human life is precious." Nietzsche attributes both ideas to Christianity. It is because we are created equal and in the image of God that our lives have moral worth and that we share the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Nietzsche's warning was that none of these values make sense without the background moral framework against which they were formulated. A post-Christian West, he argued, must go back to the ethical drawing board and reconsider its most cherished values, which include its traditional belief in the equal dignity of every human life.

Singer resolutely takes up a Nietzschean call for a "transvaluation of values," with a full awareness of the radical implications. He argues that we are not creations of God but rather mere Darwinian primates. We exist on an unbroken continuum with animals. Christianity, he says, arbitrarily separated man and animal, placing human life on a pedestal and consigning the animals to the status of tools for human well-being. Now, Singer says, we must remove Homo sapiens from this privileged position and restore the natural order. This translates into more rights for animals and less special treatment for human beings. There is a grim consistency in Singer's call to extend rights to the apes while removing traditional protections for unwanted children, people with mental disabilities, and the noncontributing elderly.

Some of Singer's critics have called him a Nazi and compared his proposals to Hitler's schemes for eliminating those perceived as unwanted and unfit. A careful reading of his work, however, shows that Singer is no Hitler. He doesn't want state-sponsored killings. Rather, he wants the decision to kill to be made by private individuals like you and me. Instead of government-conducted genocide, Singer favors free-market homicide.

Why haven't the atheists embraced Peter Singer? I suspect it is because they fear that his unpalatable views will discredit the cause of atheism. What they haven't considered, however, is whether Singer, virtually alone among their numbers, is uncompromisingly working out the implications of living in a truly secular society, one completely purged of Christian and transcendental foundations. In Singer, we may be witnessing someone both horrifying and yet somehow refreshing: an intellectually honest atheist.

Do you ever feel that if anyone found out the truth about you, you'd be finished? Do you go through life basically trying to convince others that you are something you're not—that you're cool when you know you're not, that you're confident or skillful or good-hearted when you know it's not so?

John Corcoran knows what that's like. During grade school he never learned to read or write, but he caused a lot of trouble and somehow kept getting promoted to the next grade. He got to high school and mastered new skills. He says, "I started cheating by turning in other peoples' papers; [I] dated the valedictorian and ran around with college prep kids. I couldn't read words but I could read the system and I could read people."

He received an athletic scholarship to Texas Western College and cheated his way through there as well, getting a degree in education, of all things. Somehow he got a job as a teacher and for the next 17 years taught in high school without being able to read or write. He says, "What I did was I created an oral and visual environment. There wasn't the written word in there. I always had two or three teacher's assistants in each class to do board work or read the bulletin."

Finally he left teaching and became a real estate developer. Later in life he learned to read and write and became an advocate for better educational systems.

In a sense, we're all like John Corcoran. Most of us don't have to fake reading and writing, but we live our lives trying to persuade ourselves, persuade other people, and persuade God himself that we are good people. Deep down inside, though, we have a growing awareness it's not true.

Justin John Boudin, a 27-year-old man from Minnesota, pleaded guilty to fifth-degree assault charges for violently losing his temper. Here's the irony: he was on his way to anger management class when he committed the crime.

According to the criminal complaint, Boudin was waiting at a bus stop when he started to harass a 59-year-old woman. Witnesses say he yelled at her over what he felt was a general lack of respect. When she took out her cell phone to call police, Boudin punched her in the face. When a 63-year-old man tried to stop him, Boudin hit him with a blue folder that held his anger management homework. Police tracked him down by using the papers inside.

In the book Unprotected, an anonymous campus psychiatrist writes:

Radical politics pervades my profession, and common sense has vanished. Dangerous behaviors are a personal choice; judgments are prohibited—they might offend…

Where I work, we're stuck on certain issues, but neglect others. We ask about childhood abuse, but not last week's hookups. We want to know how many cigarettes and coffees she has each day, but not how many abortions are in her past…We strive to combat suicide, but shun discussion of God and ultimate meaning.

Education is not the filling of a pail but the lighting of a fire.

—William Butler Yeats, poet and dramatist, 1865–1939

In an interview with Wired magazine, filmmaker George Lucas was asked how he would be remembered. Lucas replied:

I'll be remembered as a filmmaker. The technological problems that I solved will be forgotten by then, but hopefully some of the stories I told will still be relevant. I'm hoping that Star Wars doesn't become too dated, because I think its themes are timeless. If you've raised children, you know you have to explain things to them, and if you don't, they end up learning the hard way. In the end, somebody's got to say, "Don't touch that hot skillet." So the old stories have to be reiterated again in a form that's acceptable to each new generation. I don't think I'm ever going to go much beyond the old stories, because I think they still need to be told.

It's true that in blundering about, we struck gold, but the fact remains we were looking for gold—asking the right questions.

—Francis Crick, on his Nobel Prize winning discovery of the DNA's double helix with James Watson.

I would advise no one to send his child where the Holy Scriptures are not supreme. Every institution that does not unceasingly pursue the study of God's word becomes corrupt…. I greatly fear that the universities, unless they teach the Holy Scriptures diligently and impress them on the young students, are wide gates to hell.

—Martin Luther (1483–1546)

Robert Raikes was a bit of a dandy—walking about town in his wig and claret-colored coat, and carrying a gold snuff case—but he was also a committed member of the Church of England. "I see my own unworthiness more clearly, and with this plea, I go more boldly to the throne of grace."

His first efforts to live out his Christian convictions focused on prison reform, but he then decided children must be put on the right path before evil habits were formed. One day in 1780, Raikes's newspaper business took him to an impoverished suburb of Gloucester. He was shocked to see so many children "wretchedly ragged, at play in the street." He asked a local woman about this.

"On a Sunday you would be shocked indeed," she replied, "for then the street is filled with multitudes of the wretches who, released on that day from employment, spend their day in noise and riot, cursing and swearing in a manner so horrid as to convey an idea of hell."

After this shocking encounter, Raikes hired four women to teach the children that next Sunday. After securing permission of the parents, Raikes sent 20 children to each teacher. School began at 10 a.m., let out an hour for lunch, then continued until 5 p.m. The children also attended an afternoon church service. The Bible was the basis of instruction. Raikes's announced purpose was to prevent vice and to encourage good work habits and cheerful submission to God, the law, and their station in life.

In 1783 he wrote an article in his paper, without mentioning his own involvement, noting the success of these "Sunday schools." Readers were fascinated and asked for more information. Raikes provided enthusiastic replies, which were printed and reprinted in publications across England. Other schools soon formed, and Raikes publicized their successes. He was soon able to document a national phenomenon.

His publicity campaign reached its zenith when he was summoned to an audience with the royal family. King George III wished that "every child in my kingdom should be taught to read the Bible."

Sunday schools grew dramatically. In 1787, four years after his first article, there were 250,000 Sunday school students. By 1811 there were 500,000, and by 1831, 1.25 million students in England. Between 1830 and 1833, the population increased 24 percent, and Sunday school attendance increased 225 percent. In 1833 the government began subsidizing the schools. Sunday schools spread to the United States, Scotland, Ireland, and the continent.

Eventually children's education passed into the hands of the state, and religious instruction was eliminated. The Sunday school movement lost its zeal and went into a 50-year membership decline in the early 20th century. Today we see only its faded remnants in the mere hour spent with the clean and well-mannered children of believers. But in its day, it was a remarkable institution. Adam Smith, author of the classic Wealth of Nations, declared that no plan so promising for improving morals had been devised since the days of the apostles.

In his autobiography, Dr. Lewis Smedes writes of his early years in the faith. A turning point came as a freshman at Calvin College. He writes:

The first class of the first day of my first semester was English composition. The teacher was Jacob Vandenbosch.… [He] introduced me that day to a God the likes of whom I had never even heard about—a God who liked elegant sentences and was offended by dangling modifiers. Once you believe this, where can you stop? If the Maker of the Universe admired words well put together, think of how he must love sound thought well put together; and if he loved sound thinking, how he must love a Bach concerto; and if he loved a Bach concerto, think of how he prized any human effort to bring a foretaste, be it ever so small, of his Kingdom of justice and peace and happiness to the victimized people of the world. In short, I met the Maker of the Universe, who loved the world he made and was dedicated to its redemption. I found the joy of the Lord, not at prayer meeting, but in English Composition 101."

Dr. Ben Carson, world famous surgeon, has performed more than 400 operations a year, mostly brain and spinal surgeries. Besides his faith, his mother is one of the chief reasons he became one of the premier brain surgeons in the United States. Dr. Carson said of his mother, "She was one of 24 children, got married at age 13, found out that her husband was a bigamist, [she only had a] third-grade education, and the thing about my mother is that she never adopted a victim's mentality.…She prayed, she asked God to give her wisdom because my brother and I were terrible students…."

God heard the prayer of Carson's mother. Today Carson's brother is an engineer and Ben went from being ranked as the worst student in his fifth grade class to being named head of pediatric neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins when he was 33, the youngest in the nation at the time. On the occasion of its 200th anniversity, the Library of Congress named him one of the 89 "Living Legends." In 2001, he was chosen by CNN and Time magazine as one of America's top 20 physicians and scientists.