c. 2003 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant, managing large-scale database implementations. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C.)

CHAPEL HILL, N.C. _ Rain threatens but restrains itself throughout the two-hour commencement ceremony in the University of North Carolina’s football stadium.

It takes us a while to locate our 22-year-old son in the sea of Carolina blue filling end-zone seats. But once we do, events on stage at the 50-yard line make more sense, especially comedian Bill Cosby’s stunning address.

Once awarded his honorary degree and introduced as speaker, Cosby sheds his academic gown and strides forward wearing a blue Carolina sweatshirt and a UNC baseball cap festooned with tassel. The crowd roars.

As only a great and beloved comedian can do, Cosby speaks with mock sternness to the graduates. “It’s over!” he tells them. The cushy life isolated from adult responsibilities, viewing home as a laundry service, skating by with shopworn excuses _ “It’s all over!” Now, “you are one of us,” he cackles. “Ha, ha.”

If any other grown-up said this, it would sound harsh. But Cosby’s affection is manifest. He makes it OK to ask the question that many graduates are asking in this unsettling age, “Now what?”

He motions to families seated in the stands. “They love you,” he says. They think better of you than you think of yourself. Listen to them.

In a year when many commencement speakers are evoking patriotism and building lofty philosophical castles, Carolina’s speakers are refreshingly down to earth.

Like other state institutions, here and elsewhere, the nation’s oldest public university has serious budget problems, says the faculty’s designated speaker. We must “protect” what we have been given.

The senior class president, avoiding predictable cliches, leads one last cheer. “On the count of three, say, `Thanks, Mom! Thanks, Dad!”’ He makes the count, and a roar of thanks arises from the blue sea. My heart catches.

Afterward, rain starts in earnest, forcing us to move our between-ceremonies picnic indoors. But we are proud and dry when our son receives his diploma in the Computer Science Department’s afternoon ceremony.

Some graduates have jobs waiting for them. Many don’t. Some will strike out on their own, finally able to shed dependency. Many will move back home while they search for a future that seems surprisingly elusive.

Some graduates will stay near friends, at least until they adjust. Some will venture into that loneliness which awaits the newly transplanted in a world without dormitories, where beery hangouts aren’t quite so safe.

In saying farewell to his friends, Jesus said they would “abide” in his love. Life would separate their courses, but they would remain in each other. Whatever began in their brief time together would continue to join them, changed but steadfast.

Jesus knew their fears, he knew his talk of departure was disturbing. Like these graduates, the disciples wondered how goodbye could mean hello, how completion could be called “commencement,” how an end could constitute a beginning. They would find answers only by venturing forth.

“It’s rough out there,” Cosby told the nervous. Indeed it is. Not enough jobs, not enough peace, a political world spinning wildly, too many looters, too many predators, too much fraud, plus the self-doubts that seize every child commencing to adulthood.

Cosby didn’t use the biblical word “abide,” but I think that is what he meant, as he gestured to families in the stands and to graduates in the end zone and tried with his gift of humor to underscore our oneness. Whatever lies ahead in this unsettling age, we have each other. Abide in that.

Like a parent to a child, sometimes God walks ahead of us, showing us the way. Sometimes God walks beside us, listening and comforting. Sometimes God walks behind us, marveling at who we are becoming. Like the comedian urging end zone and stands to look at each other, not at him, Jesus urged us to turn our heads and to love each other.

We must share umbrellas, move some picnics indoors, say goodbye even as we negotiate hello, sense each other’s joys, fears and sorrows, and every once in a while dare to shout our gratitude.

“That came off pretty well, didn’t it?” says our son about the unison cascade of thanks. Yes, it did.

DEA END EHRICH