God of Elijah; God of John and his disciples; God of each one of us:
Thank you so very much for the question:
“What are you doing here?”
We are up here this morning with Elijah — in a high place.
A place reached after years of hard work, long nights,
Some sweat, some tears, some anxiety, some exhilaration;
Years of being asked questions with the expectation of finding answers.
Up here in that high place, poised to
Step out and step into… whatever is next.
And You ask again:
“What are you doing HERE?”
Lord, I pray that each of these graduates, and all of us, really,
Will hear Your question of them today
And will have learned the wisdom to do as Elijah did —
To watch and listen and to wait
In the face of uncertainty and adversity,
Even in the face of certainty,
Through the mighty winds and unsettling earthquakes
And the passionate fires of our living.
May each have learned
To watch and wait and listen for Your still small voice:
To comfort them when they are distressed,
To disturb them when they become too comfortable.
To open their eyes to the many signs and wonders
That daily proclaim Your active presence
In their lives and in our world.
To open their hearts to those blind and lame and leprous ones
For whom You have a heart.
To keep asking questions —
Of faith and life,
Of meaning and purpose,
Of justice and peace,
Of Your will and Your love.
Wise ones through the ages have taught us
That such earnest seeking after You
And Your life-giving Presence
Is the beginning of Wisdom.
May the love of learning celebrated by each graduate here today
Blossom into that deeper and abiding wisdom —
For this day,
For the next day,
For every day.
Amen. May it be so.
---
And yet, even with all this wisdom we hope for —
There are still seasons of wondering, of searching,
Of questioning our beliefs.
We don’t always walk out of the whirlwind into clarity.
Sometimes, the journey to wisdom begins in moments of doubt.
I know this because I’ve lived it.
At the end of my first year of college, I took a History of the Middle East class in my effort to get the most Indiana Jones-relevant classes as possible — I was, after all, planning to be a real-life Indiana Jones.
During the season of Lent, I came home for a visit, and my dad was offering an anointing service — a time intended to bring healing and solace to troubled souls.
Not me, I thought. I didn’t have any acknowledged torment. I was just there to support my dad.
But I had been learning about how Muslims view Jesus — as a prophet, a holy man, God’s messenger, but not divine. And it was making sense to me. I began to wonder if we Christians might have gotten something wrong. I questioned whether Jesus was just God’s most perfect example of humanity — perhaps even the Messiah — but not himself Divine.
I sat in the pew with a book about Muhammad tucked beside me, my head full of questions.
And then, somehow, I was at the chancel. I don’t remember deciding to go. One moment I was in the pew, and the next I was standing in front of my father.
When he pressed his finger, scented with mineral oil, to my forehead, my eyes welled up with tears.
I knelt, and a still small voice whispered:
“Don’t doubt. Believe.”
It was gentle, not scolding. Persuasive, not forceful.
It wasn’t a theological argument that turned my heart.
It wasn’t fear.
It was Presence — living and real.
It wasn’t an answer to my questions,
But an invitation to trust the Mystery
That had been calling to me all along —
Not to reject the questions,
But to place them in the hands of a Savior
Who isn’t offended by my wrestling.
I prayed that God would heal me of the hubris that assumed I could comprehend God’s ways —
That Jesus was bound by the limitations of my own rationality.
And the tears flowed.
I pray that same insight for every graduate here:
That we not limit — in our minds or in our hearts or in our relationships — what God can do.
---
Bless them with passion.
Let them move out from this day, not just into jobs, but into callings.
Like Moses called from a burning bush.
Like Mary called to bear the impossible.
Like fishermen called from their boats.
Let something smolder and burn deep on the altars of their hearts,
That drives and carries them into a life of purpose.
Lord, You said, “A man’s life does not consist in the abundance of things he possesses.”
Let them live by that wisdom.
Bless them with a sense of responsibility.
Lord, they not only have a contribution to make —
They have a contribution they must make.
A person wrapped up in themselves is the smallest package in the world.
In a world full of fear and insecurity,
Let them escape the gravitational pull of their own navel.
A life that we clutch, grab, and hoard to ourselves is worth little to anyone —
Especially to ourselves.
Bless them with humility.
They have received, or will soon receive, a certificate — evidence that the state believes they’ve been educated.
But let them know: their education is just beginning.
Out ahead, many who have less formal schooling may have much to teach.
Lord, if we act as though Your voice is speaking only when our mouths are open,
We will miss much.
Bless them with a legacy.
Allow them to work the muscles of this education
So that, thirty years from now, they will not only have been educated —
They will have become wise.
These two don’t always show up in the same person.
But Lord, let it be so here.
These graduates will leave a mark —
Whether they intend to or not.
Let the shadow of that mark stretch far beyond their liabilities and limitations.
Let them know the rich satisfaction, not of merely making a living,
But of living a life — full, rich, and deep.
And whether they’ve thought much about You or not —
Watch over them.
It can get awfully cold out there.
Thank You that You are not far from any one of us.
---
And so, now —
With ears tuned to the whisper of the Spirit,
With hearts wide enough to be broken and remade,
With hands ready to serve and to build,
And with feet prepared to walk humbly into the unknown.
May your life bear the fruit of wisdom.
May your questions lead you ever deeper into grace.
And may the God who met Elijah in the silence
Meet you too — again and again and again.
Reflection Questions:
- How do you hear God’s question to Elijah—"What are you doing here?"—in your own life? Where are you being called?
- In times of uncertainty, how can watching, waiting, and listening shape your response to adversity?
- Have you ever experienced a moment of deep doubt, like the speaker did? How did faith—or the presence of God—meet you in that space?
- What “signs and wonders” in everyday life remind you of God’s active presence?
- The sermon speaks of passion—what is burning on the altar of your heart? How might it lead you to a life of calling rather than mere career?
Prayer for Listening and Wisdom
Lord, in the high places of success and the low places of doubt, You ask, "What are you doing here?" Teach us to listen—to the quiet voice beneath the whirlwind, the whisper of Your presence in our restless searching. As You stirred Elijah, stir us to wisdom. May we step forward, not only with knowledge, but with hearts that burn with holy purpose. Amen.
Meditation on the Still Small Voice
Close your eyes and imagine standing on the mountaintop, like Elijah. You have endured storms, winds, and fires—the chaos of striving, searching, and struggling. But now, there is silence. Breathe deeply. In the quiet, listen. What is God whispering to you? Perhaps it is reassurance, perhaps it is a challenge—perhaps it is simply presence. Allow that silence to shape your next step.
