To the Class of 2025

Remarks to the Our Savior Lutheran School Class of 2025
Graduation: June 4, 2025
Mr. Nathan Grime

It’s an honor to speak to you, class of 2025, on this your graduation night. I’d like to begin by asking you a question: When am I going to use this in my life? I mean, when in the future am I going to use this occasion of speaking to you here for my benefit? It’s typical for graduation speakers to inform the graduates that they won’t ultimately remember anything they’re about to hear, but it’s not apparent to me that anything I’m going to say to you will be useful to me either somewhere down the road. And unless someone has an answer to the question of when giving this speech will be personally relevant in my extraordinarily successful future life, it appears that taking the time to speak to you is utterly useless to me. Is it possible, then, that in deciding to speak to you tonight, I’ve made a huge mistake? If that’s the case, why on earth did I say it’s an honor to speak to you? Is that just an obligatory thing to say at the beginning of every speech? The three of you who spoke all said it. Maybe that statement is meaningless, but I don’t intend it to be, and I don’t think you did either. Notice I didn’t begin by saying, “Good evening. It’s useful for me to speak to you tonight.” That would be strange. Nor did I say it’s profitable for me to speak to you, unless I’m unaware of a check that’s in the mail for my trouble.

That question—“When am I going to use this in my life?”—is familiar to you. You’ve asked it before while sitting in the classroom or while pouring over schoolwork, and so have I. But since, despite there being no apparent utility in taking the time to deliver this speech, here I am, speaking to you nonetheless, there must be something greater than usefulness that motivates a decision like this. Maybe it doesn’t really matter whether this will be useful to me sometime in the future because there’s something more, something greater, something more purposeful to what we do than simply whether or not we’ll be able to eventually make use of it.

And don’t worry; I’m not about to make the point that this speech is a sacrificial and selfless act for your benefit instead of mine. No, I’m indeed thinking of this from my own self-centered perspective, and from that perspective, I have no choice but to conclude that “When am I going to use this in my life?” is the wrong question. It’s the wrong question because it aims at the wrong mark. Usefulness should not be the target. The decisions we make and the actions we take must aim at something greater than mere usefulness. That’s why it would sound absurd for me to have begun by saying “Good evening. It’s useful to speak to you.” In so many contexts, we inherently understand that usefulness is not at all what we’re aiming at. In this context of speaking to you, I can call that greater aim honor by saying it’s an honor to speak to you, or I can use an often overlooked word and simply say: “It’s good to be speaking to you.”

So what does that underrated word—good—mean? Does it mean entertaining? Does it mean enjoyable? Well, does it look like I’m enjoying this? There’s, of course, nothing wrong with doing fun and entertaining things, and things that are truly good usually are enjoyable, but to call a thing good gets at something even deeper than enjoyment. For something to be good means that it’s somehow hit its mark; it’s fulfilled its purpose. A good shot makes it into the basket. A good meal is tasty and satisfying. A good performance is accurate and beautiful. In this context tonight, I could define good by saying it’s my goal—my aim—my target—to recognize and honor you as you graduate because it’s what you deserve—and thus conclude that that’s what makes this decision to speak to you assuredly a good thing.

But, enough of me working through a mental breakdown on your graduation stage. Here’s where this distinction of usefulness versus goodness applies to you. Just as any decision you make could be a question of either “What is useful?” or “What is good (or best)?”, you yourself, as a specific individual, have been created for a specific purpose. As you graduate from eighth grade and anticipate high school, it’s a natural time to ask yourself “What is my specific purpose?” And I propose to you that when you consider that question, you discard the question of What is useful to me? and instead opt for the question What is good for me? And another way of asking What is good for me? is this: What am I made for?

In our world, we can think of pretty much anything in terms of its specific purpose. What are things made for? For example, pencils are manufactured for the purpose of writing, so a pencil is made to write. And if it can write—we can call it a good pencil. A good pencil fulfills its purpose. It writes. But if the pencil is dull and broken, it cannot write, so then it’s not a good pencil. We humans are also created, so we can consider our own purpose in a similar way. But here’s the difference: what it means for us to be good people is far more significant than what it means for something like a pencil to be a good pencil. Unlike pencils, we are not made exclusively to be useful or only to do useful things. We are fashioned in the image of God, the architect Himself. And although our sin corrupts us, our God remains perfect. Since He is perfect, He is the image of goodness. And, since we are created in that image, we are made for goodness.

At this school, you learned how to solve mathematical equations. You learned to diagram a sentence. You read and wrote about history. You conducted scientific experiments. Why? What was the mark you were aiming at? What was the target, the purpose? Perhaps you’ve assured yourself or even heard from your parents or your teachers here that this was all necessary so that you’d be prepared for high school. But the problem with that answer is that in high school, you’ll be told that your studies there are meaningful so that you’ll receive college scholarships and eventually enter the workforce. And then in the workforce, you’ll be told that your work is worth it for some other purpose, if not simply for the paycheck. All of these things—preparedness, scholarships, employment, and income—might be legitimate answers to the question “What is good for me?”—and remember, that is the right question—but they’re only partial answers at best. To be clear, those achievements are good things. High school preparedness is essential. College scholarships are better than a life of crippling debt. Employment is better than the alternative. As you eventually encounter these new opportunities and responsibilities, you may feel like you know exactly what you’re doing, or you may feel that in a much more real sense, you have no idea what you’re doing. But when addressing the question of purpose, that really doesn’t matter, because all those things aren’t ends—they aren’t ultimate targets—in and of themselves.

This school has endeavored not only to make you good students, but more than that, good people. So, was it useful to learn how to diagram a sentence? Maybe. Maybe not. But, as the teacher who taught you how to do that, I honestly don’t care if it was. Rather, my concern was that in so doing, you become a person who takes aim at excellence. Not because it prepares you for high school, but because aiming at excellence equips you to make sense of your place in the world around you, and to do that certainly is good for you. It’s what you were made for. You were made to take your own step forward into this world, and your graduation from this place is one such step.

As a student, you’re used to your parents and teachers calling the shots when it comes to what’s good for you and what’s not. Perhaps that feels stifling, or perhaps you’re relieved not to be responsible for all of that just yet. But either way, you’ve always had far more freedom in deciding what to pursue than you realize. You just haven’t considered the “What am I made for?” question very extensively. But consider this: just like a pencil, if you’re dull, broken, and useless, all you need is a little sharpening to revitalize you. Sharpening a pencil makes it more like the pencil it’s supposed to be. The things that sharpen a person make you more like the person you are supposed to be. Pencils are made of wood and lead—graphite, actually—but humans are made of bodies and souls. So take aim at the things that sharpen the body and soul. These are the things that make you more human. So what are the things that can sharpen you? There are right and wrong answers to that question—no matter what the world tells you, your freedom is not absolute—but the good possibilities are limitless.

Consider taking aim at something you haven’t yet dared to pursue. Wake up one morning this summer and go for a run outside in the sunshine and breathe in the fresh air. Read a book far above your comprehension level. Begin practicing a piece of music that you’re not talented enough to play. Assist your parents or siblings with something they’d never expect your help with. Stand up tall, speak clearly, and look people in the eyes. And who cares if any of those things are useful? They’re good for you. They sharpen you. They make you more of who you are made to be. And you don’t have to wait for an adult to make those decisions for you. Get up and do it yourself. Begin a new quest, and you’ll begin to chisel away at the potential that’s been lying dormant within you. Aim high and be consistent. Do this, and you’ll have the adventure of your life—and what could be more exciting than that? But if you decide not to—if you waste away while waiting for others to propel you into action—or worse, if you live inauthentically and masquerade as someone you are not made to be, you miss your target, and you rob the world of what you are made for—what only you and no one else can possibly contribute, and that would be a terrible loss.

You can seek the things that sharpen you without completely knowing what the finished product—what you’re supposed to be—will look like, and that’s okay. But more than being okay, that element of uncertainty is part of what will make your life such an exhilarating adventure. In the legend of King Arthur, a knight began his quest by entering the forest not where there was an open and inviting clearing, but instead entered where the trees were most dense, making the path forward unknown and obscure.

However, I’d suggest that you actually understand more of what your ultimate target should look like than you might assume. When you try out for the basketball team in high school, you won’t demand that your missed shots should count on the scoreboard, because you know what excellence in that context looks like. When you make a mistake at the piano while playing a piece of music, you won’t insist that the composer failed to consider your interpretation of the piece, because you know what excellence should sound like. In other words, you know the rules of the game when you step onto the floor to compete or when you sit down at the bench to play. You know what the purpose is, and you know what excellence looks like, so you pursue it. Why would you treat the rest of your life any other way? The game is to be played according to its purpose. The piece is to be played according to its purpose. Your life is to be led according to its purpose.

If we stop here, having understood that the ultimate question as you embark on your adventure is some version of What is my purpose? or What am I made for?, we’ve made critical inroads, but the full picture is still incomplete. Along the way, you will fail, of course. You’ll lack motivation. You’ll mess things up. You’ll lie to yourself and to others. You’ll suffer things you cannot predict. Through these fiery trials, put on Christ. In this life, you fight in a raging battle, and Christ—who is the “armor of His soldiers”—sends His angels to fight at your side. You are one of those soldiers, because this adventure of life—this game of life—is still a real war. Just as in King Arthur, there will be dragons to slay. You know they can be beaten. Furthermore, in this war you are not just soldiers, but you are the very sons and daughters of the conquering and triumphant King, who is the Lord of all armies of earth and sky. And He—the King Himself, your Father—also fights for you.

But you are not the King’s only soldier, the King’s only son, or the King’s only daughter. You stand alongside your Christian brothers and sisters who fight in the same battle and endure similar hardships. They too have been created each for their own specific purpose. So ask not only What is good for me? but also What is good for my neighbor? Just as you seek those things that sharpen you into who you are ultimately designed to be, sharpen your brothers and sisters so that they too are enabled to narrow in on their target, their purpose. You know that warriors since the age of King Arthur have been called not only to honor and valor, but also generosity and piety. You learned that here not because it would be useful to know, but because it would be good for you to know and good for your neighbor. So be generous to your brothers and sisters as you serve them in love. In piety, call on your Savior, the King in every trouble, and continue to pray, praise, and give thanks to your Father. As you do these things, you won’t have time to ask yourself the question When will this be useful to me in my life? Yet you’ll know that these are all good things to do, because above usefulness, we are made for higher aims, like faith and love.

To love your neighbor is to aim at your purpose. To ask how it will benefit you is to aim too low. To abide faithfully in Christ is to aim at your purpose. To pursue the good things that sharpen your character, strengthen your body, and nourish your soul is to aim at your purpose. You’re a soldier after all. Your aim should be true. Not because it will be useful—but because what better thing could you possibly do than hit your mark?