“Do this in remembrance of me.” ~ 1 Corinthians 11:24b ~
“When you forget to remember, you become ungrateful.” ~ Mark Christian ~
[NOTE: The following is a transcript from Shane J. Wood’s commencement speech at Ozark Christian College on May 11, 2024.]
Over the last couple of years, my wife has started a tradition. Typically, the pattern unfolds after a significant moment or a life altering encounter. Sometimes it’s after a conversation with her spiritual director or a profound word that she read in a book that has grabbed ahold of her soul. Or even after an argument that her and I have had.
She doesn’t announce the tradition or try to capture it in a family picture. It’s far more subtle than that. Typically, it takes the form of a ripped piece of paper and a strip of scotch tape. Little notes that she writes and puts in places she frequents. Intersections of her life.
She has them affixed to the mirror that she stands before each morning. Taped inside the closet where she gathers her clothing each day. Even just below the keypad on her laptop she uses to work and pray. Little notes that remind her of insights easily forgotten if not inscribed.
Sometimes they contain phrases. Sometimes quotes. Sometimes even questions like, “How are you connecting today?” or “What would I do in a crisis that I could be doing now?”
One of these little traditions is posted on the upper right-hand corner of our refrigerator. And it’s probably the one I hate the most.
The little note is crafted from a torn index card, written in her elegant handwriting that she, at times, retraces if the pen doesn’t bleed to the level of her satisfaction. This little note has just a couple of simple words.
Transformation is at the top, underlined and starred to draw attention to its importance.
And then categories are allotted a percentage, indicating its significance or aspects of expected effort.
10% of transformation is content (which as an educator I find to be horribly offensive).
30% is practice and experience.
But it’s the last category that angers me the most. It’s the final category that makes me roll my eyes and long for the water filling my hydro-flask to increase its rapidity so that I don’t have to stand at the refrigerator and stare at this convicting tradition any longer than I must. And yet, every time I fill my water bottle at my refrigerator, time seems to stand still. Forcing me to stare at the 60% – Reflection.
Reflection is difficult because it’s vulnerable. Exposing. Imposing. Sobering. Infuriating. And frankly, at times, painful.
So, we avoid it. Seek excuses to prove we don’t have time to reflect. Busy-ness is our first defense. Positive spin our second. And creative rationalizations a close third. Anything to throw a wet blanket on reflection.
We do our best to outrun what we see in the mirror. To deny eye contact with the pain of our past. To shout away the haunting call and invitation to reflect. And yet the Bible is quite clear. Time and again, reminding us, commanding us to remember. To reflect. To be still and bare all before an all-knowing God.
Every year, the Jewish Passover, our Easter, is set aside as a time to remember. Remember the God who brought His people out Egypt, out of the land of slavery.
The Great Shema, in Deuteronomy 6, commands Israel to “Love the Lord your God” and also “impress his story on your hearts,” to talk about it, reflect on it “when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them…on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates,” everywhere and at all times invite the mystery of remember.
Even the fourth of the Ten Commandments, the one that reflects on Genesis 1’s “in the beginning,” God commands his people to “Remember.” “Remember the Sabbath” (Ex. 20:8). One day every single week set aside to reflect, to pause from work, to suspend all busyness, and wastefully spend time remembering.
I know what some of you may be thinking:
“What in the world is this Harry Potter looking hippie talking about. Good grief! I mean, my goodness! We are here to celebrate not reflect. I know the Bible may talk about reflecting—although you did just only quote the Old Testament…sooooooo—but goodness, I’m here to get a diploma not listen to this guy ramble about remembering.”
I know. Honestly, I know. But you chose to graduate from a Bible college known for producing preachers. So, without further ado…
Even in the New Testament, God commands us to remember. To each week come around a table, to ingest the body and blood of Jesus, and to remember the grace that brought us to the space where we are able to reflect. Why? Because celebration without reflection can guide us into a life of destruction.
And no, that’s not overstated. It’s the wisdom embedded in Scripture that commands us to remember. To reflect. To pause. Be still. And know.
You see I think one of the reasons why we fear reflection, is that, like the Holy Spirit, it is quite unpredictable. When we reflect, it can take us to places we’ve intentionally avoided. Moments in our lives that we would rather never visit again. Just move forward, stay positive, forget the past. But the past has a way of penetrating our present even when we are obsessed and worried about the future.
Only in reflection, in times of celebration and in times of struggle, only in reflection can gratitude emerge, can faithfulness be observed, can grace take root. Reflection can lead us to beauty, lead us to victory, lead us to transformation, a resurrection, a peace beyond understanding. Reflection is an invitation to encounter a God who sees us, knows us, and longs to sit with us in the sacred space of remember.
To be honest, I’ve worked really hard not to reflect on the last couple of years. It’s been a difficult time for my family and me. Professionally. Personally. Spiritually. Struggle and strain, cancer and chaos, crisis after crisis that only seems to find meaning in the context of remember.
Next to my desk, I keep this set of three pictures, each capturing a sequence of moments from one of my last visits with my mentor Dr. Robert Lowery who died on April 28, 2011.
Now please don’t let what you see fool you. For his frail frame doesn’t match the power of his mind, the passion of his soul, and the ferocious love he had for his own. He was a spiritual giant, a tender friend, and a prophetic preacher.
In fact, in 2010, one year, two months, and six days before his death, he stood on this very stage, at this very spot, and preached one of his very last sermons. His preaching was lyrical, carefully composed with thoughtfully crafted insights that were easy to remember, like, “We stagger through life. But the Christian life isn’t about waiting for the storms to pass. It’s about how we learn to walk in the rain.” And yet, it wasn’t his words on the stage that I remember most. It was his words in one of the last conversations I had with him.
We were standing in the parking lot just outside of the Casteel Administration Building on the south end of our campus. He was about to get into his car to begin his journey home. We talked. We laughed. We hugged. We remembered. And with both hands on my shoulders, he looked me in the eye, and with a tinge of a tear, he said, “Shane, no matter what comes. No matter what your studies bring or what life throws at you. Hold on to Jesus. With all that is in you, hold on to Jesus.”
Graduates of 2024—both our undergraduate students preparing to launch and our very first Master’s graduates continuing the good fight—remember these words: hold on to Jesus. Regardless of what comes or how the enemy assails, assaults, and attacks you: hold on to Jesus.
Listen, I cannot predict what life is going to bring you. How institutions and organizations will treat you. How long your mentors and wise sages will remain among you. I cannot predict how your marriages will heal or dissolve. I cannot predict how your ministries will flourish or flounder. I cannot predict where you will go, how long you live, or what you will do. But what I can offer is these words: just hold on to Jesus.
And remember: in the darkest of nights and in the light of life’s many celebrations, hold on to Jesus, because Jesus has always been holding on to you.
I love you. Congratulations.
Tradition