Daily Devotional

How did I become a knight?

In a previous devotional, I mentioned the “coming-of-age” ceremonies my father designed for me and my two younger brothers. These types of ceremonies are common in various cultures. Two good examples are the quinceañera, a massive birthday party for fifteen-year-old girls in Latin America, and the bar mitzvah, the ceremony that marks the entrance of thirteen-year-old Jewish boys into the community. My family’s coming-of-age ceremonies are a little more... medieval.

In the High Middle Ages, there was a defined path for young men of the nobility to attain the status of knighthood. Around seven or eight, they would become a “page,” assigned to serve a noble family with various household tasks. The next stage was to become a “squire” around thirteen or fourteen.  Squires were apprenticed to individual knights, who would train them in chivalry, entrust them with the care of their horse and armor, and even lead them into battle. After attaining adulthood (either 18 or 21) AND proving their skills, squires were eligible to be knighted.

Thus, my father gave each of us boys a “page ceremony” at 8, a “squire ceremony” at 13, and a “knight ceremony” at a later point (more on that below). The ceremony consisted of a formal dinner banquet attended by all our male relatives, youth pastors, and significant role models. Each ceremony included a review of our definition of manhood and code of conduct, a review of our accomplishments in the previous stage, and an explanation of the privileges and responsibilities of the new stage. (A page was allowed to watch Star Wars, and a squire could watch Lord of the Rings.) The page was apprenticed to Mom, with various household responsibilities; the squire was apprenticed to Dad, with more emphasis on repairs and home improvement. All this happened in an ornate setting decorated with my father’s impressive collection of pewter figurines and medieval weaponry.

In a culture where our major coming-of-age ceremonies are simply driving age, voting age, and drinking age, this might seem archaic. But embedded in these rites of passage were deep truths not just about what it means to be a godly man, but how to get there practically. Maybe what we need in our cultural moment is something a little more medieval. Consider the following:

1) These ceremonies gave us vision. We not only had a clear definition of manhood (see my previous devotional) and a code of chivalry, but they were presented in a way that captured the imagination. Sitting in those ceremonies as a boy, looking at heraldry banners on the wall and swords on the table, I wanted to be a knight. The idea that a “real man” was the guy with the hairiest beard, the biggest muscles, and the highest “body count” was never compelling for me.  I had a real, biblical vision of masculinity presented to me on a regular basis, not only in my own ceremonies, but also in those of my younger brothers.

2) These ceremonies gave us direction. Promotion to page and squire was automatic, age-based; not so with knighthood. While the squires of yore had to demonstrate their skills in riding, fencing, swimming, and etiquette, my knighthood required mastering other areas: scheduling, financial management, meal preparation, theology, church involvement, childcare, and gentlemanly conduct towards ladies. Many of these came with a formal test: hosting a formal dinner party, overseeing bill payments for three months, watching my younger siblings for an entire weekend. As a result, we knew exactly what skills and responsibilities separated the child from the adult. “Adulting” was less scary, if not less difficult.

3) These ceremonies gave us community. The image, burned into my brain, of all the significant men in my life sitting around a table was a visual reminder than we weren’t in this alone. Each of those men at the table had walked the path to knighthood before me; if they made it, so could I. This was reinforced by the calligraphic name plates at each man’s seat: “Sir David Tremaine,” “Sir Monnie Brewer,” “Sir David Ake.” Like Frodo in The Fellowship of the Ring, I was flanked by warriors, knights who would guide and protect me on my quest for manhood. These ceremonies taught me that no man is an island. Men need other men; “iron sharpens iron” (Proverbs 27:17).

Why am I sharing this? Perhaps because these ceremonies remind me of the father’s call to “train up a child in the way he should go” (Proverbs 22:6) and “bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (Ephesians 6:4)—a call that my dad modeled so well. Perhaps because I think all of us who interact with children or teens—parents, grandparents, youth leaders—should reflect on how well we are demonstrating to our young people what it means to be a godly man or a godly woman... not just with lectures and hackneyed aphorisms, but in ways that fire the imagination. Young people desperately need our guidance and hands-on support to navigate this crazy world we live in.

But I suppose these ceremonies have been on my mind recently because my wife Lauren is expecting our first son, little Elliott James. It’s hard to put into words the mixture of pride, joy, and responsibility I felt when I learned we were having a boy. God has now given me the task of training up a godly man, and I feel the weight of that task deeply. I want my son to be able to declare (to paraphrase my favorite line in all of Star Wars), “I am a knight... like my father before me.” So I suppose in the end, I share all this to ask you to pray for me and my son—that I would have the strength, wisdom, and courage to walk the path of knighthood alongside him.

"English Standard Version (ESV)
The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers."