Both Doors Say Go

Graduation, Commencement, and the Work That Continues

We have rain this morning.

Wonderful, soaking rain—the trailing gift of a tropical storm. After the long Texas heat, I listened to it and found myself saying aloud:

“Thank You, Lord!”

Perhaps the rain is partly responsible for my moving a little more slowly today. Rainy mornings seem to give us permission to linger. But while I am sitting here listening to the rain, something else is happening.

A School of Ministry is beginning.

Today, the students at the Duncan Unit return to the classroom. Inside a prison, men will open their Bibles, take their seats, and continue preparing for whatever assignment God has for them.

Next week, another School of Ministry begins its year at Clawson Church. Bear and Kristi, who were once students in that school, are now leading it. Bear has asked me to teach the opening hour.

Then, this Sunday, the School of Ministry at International Church of Nacogdoches will graduate approximately thirteen students. I helped begin that school, but Pastor Dennis Land and the church took ownership of it and carried it forward. He has asked me to speak at the graduation.

One school is graduating.

Two schools are beginning.

At first, these may sound like separate events—one ending and two beginnings. But as I have wandered through them this morning, they have begun to look like one movement of God.

The word commencement is often associated with graduation. That has always seemed a little strange. Students have finished their courses, completed their assignments, and reached the end of their studies. Why call the ceremony a commencement?

Because commencement means beginning.

The students may be finishing school, but they are beginning the work for which the school prepared them.

Jesus never told us, “Go and make graduates.”

He said:

“Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations…teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you.”
—Matthew 28:19–20 NKJV

A school can provide instruction. It can awaken something that has been sleeping within us. It can clarify a calling, strengthen our understanding, discipline our gifts, and prepare us to serve.

But a school cannot call us.

A curriculum cannot anoint us.

A diploma cannot make us faithful.

Only God calls. Only the Holy Spirit anoints. And faithfulness is learned one obedient step at a time.

The certificate says, “You have completed your studies.”

Jesus says, “Now go.”

I have spent much of my life beginning things. Schools. Ministries. Classes. Books. For a long time, I suppose I thought stewardship meant continuing to carry whatever God allowed me to begin.

Now I am learning another side of stewardship.

Sometimes faithfulness means releasing what you have carried into the hands of those God has prepared to carry it farther.

Bear and Kristi were students. Now they are leading.

In Albuquerque, Derrek and Crystal were students. Now they are leading.

The International Church received the school, took ownership of it, and is now graduating another class.

The men at Duncan are continuing their journey, some perhaps still uncertain about what God intends to do with their lives.

This is not loss.

This is fruit.

Paul told Timothy:

“And the things that you have heard from me among many witnesses, commit these to faithful men who will be able to teach others also.”
—2 Timothy 2:2 NKJV

Paul taught Timothy.

Timothy entrusted the truth to faithful people.

Those faithful people taught others.

The gospel kept moving because someone was willing to receive it, live it, and then release it.

That is discipleship.

A ministry has not fulfilled its purpose merely because people attended. A teacher has not completed the assignment merely because students listened. The work becomes fruitful when students become servants—and servants become faithful stewards who teach others.

Perhaps that is what God is allowing me to see in this season.

The work does not have to remain in my hands to remain part of my calling.

Some seeds are planted by one person and watered by another. Someone else may sit beneath the tree. Still others will gather its fruit and carry the seed into fields the original planter will never see.

This morning, rain is falling upon East Texas.

At Duncan, students are beginning again.

At Clawson, former students are preparing to lead.

At International Church, graduates are preparing to walk across a platform and receive their certificates.

One door says:

“Welcome, students.”

The other says:

“Congratulations, graduates.”

But both doors open in the same direction.

Both doors say:

Go.

Go live what you have learned.

Go serve the people God places before you.

Go teach someone else.

Go make disciples.

The school may end.

The calling continues.