It’s May. It’s graduation season, and it’s the time to celebrate academic achievement and see folks off to what’s new. This year I got to celebrate my youngest brother Isaac’s graduation from high school. I’m thrilled that he’s headed to Goshen College, the soon-to-be alma mater of my whole nuclear family. But I couldn’t help but realize that Isaac’s completion of high school and  journey to college will change my family dynamics.

There will be no more brothers at my parents’ house. I am the oldest. After I left for college, my two younger brothers were still in school and lived at home. Now, when I go home I can’t assume the cast from my childhood will be there. I am, of course, excited for my brother. And I am uncertain of what the next chapter of family life will look like for my family of origin. The joy and uncertainty are bittersweet.

Culturally, we like calling things bittersweet. I don’t go around identifying life experiences with food. I’ve never heard anyone say they had a creamy day or a sour shift. One might call someone bitter or sweet, but that points out we give special attention to bitter and sweet. I think we zoom into bittersweet moments in our media because there is something powerful and dramatic about these moments. To feel both joyed and grieved by a moment is complicated; that complicated experience can bring out different reactions.

Celebrating a graduation is celebrating the completion of a chapter. This chapter is complete. This chapter was good. This chapter will not be repeated. Everything on our earthly journey is temporary. We don’t know what the next chapter will be like. We don’t get to know if it will be better. All we know is that it will not be the same.

Life can move predictably, or there can be spectacular windfalls. Blessings can emerge from anywhere and alter the course of a life. There can be spectacular catastrophes: injury, death, permanent breakdown of relationships. This is the mystery of moving into a new chapter, and these are the things I worry about. We can’t know what the next chapter will bring, but the next chapter will come as surely as the sun will rise.

Jesus leans into celebration of a number of parties in the Bible. The Wedding at Cana (Jesus turning water into wine) is an affirmation that there are earthly reasons to celebrate and to celebrate thoroughly. Mary and Martha show us different images of faithfulness through different ways of being at a party. Jesus recognizes the one who is present with the houseguests.

In all four gospels, we see variations of Jesus reclining. Although the company changes, the course of the evening in each gospel is shaped by a woman washing Jesus’ feet with perfume, elevating the party and perfuming Jesus for his burial. Jesus and the party have a sweet-smelling evening together. They lean into the party and fully enjoy the sweetness of the night. No amount of savoring the sweetness can stop the next part of the story. Jesus dies. The ones at the party mourn. The next chapter comes.

And it’s bitter. Closing a chapter means saying goodbye to the good things it contained. It can also mean confronting any illusions we tell ourselves about a chapter. Thinking about my brother leaving home for college makes me concerned about what might lie ahead. The risk of injury or illness is suddenly more real. His life and our connection feel vulnerable. The city of Goshen and Goshen College are not particularly dangerous places; he isn’t more vulnerable there than he is at home. The risk isn’t changing, but the stories I tell myself are.

While I was at home for his graduation, I realized that at some point I had come to believe that while he was home, he was just a kid and therefore he was safe from harm. I think that’s a story we like to tell about kids, that they are safe from harm. But it’s just an illusion. Stories I tell myself are illusions that make life easier or happier or safer. The price to live in the present is to mourn the end of the previous chapter. The price to live in truth is to mourn the illusions.

Graduations, capstones, retirements, transitions are worth celebrating and mourning. They invite us in to remember the best and sweetest moments of a chapter and relish the fact that a chapter has come to fruition. They also challenge us to let go of the chapter. These events call us back to being present as a new chapter begins, letting go of any illusions we have created or collected.

While mourning may be bitter, it is more palatable when we allow ourselves to confront the fact that life is a mystery. Whatever that mystery holds will have its bitter moments, its sweet moments and best of all, the complicated bittersweet moments.

A bittersweet summer treat is Strawberry Arugula Salad.

Ingredients

4 cups arugula
4 cups spinach (lettuce may be substituted)
8 strawberries, quartered
Balsamic vinegar

Instructions

1. In large bowl, combine arugula, spinach and strawberries.
2. Drizzle Balsamic vinegar over salad and serve.