Rev. Joseph Boyd

As I was waiting for the subway in New York City, I would get annoyed when a delay was announced. Sometimes the delay would be relatively minor – 5-10 minutes, sometimes 20 minutes, sometimes over an hour. It was common that a delay would be announced, and a short while later the passengers would receive an announcement that was met with audible sighs and frustration – this train will not be running at all. Please ride a complimentary shuttle or plan to ride another train. One time the train stopped at 96th Street, and an announcement came on that this would be the last stop. It was a Saturday. It was a beautiful fall day. I decided I couldn’t handle waiting in a long line for a shuttle bus, and I hated being crammed shoulder to shoulder. I walked. I walked to our apartment on 122nd Street. Do you know the thoughts that went through my head as I walked those 25 blocks? I was not thinking wow, it’s fall in New York – how beautiful. I was not thinking how fortunate that I have the health and ability to do this walk. I was not thinking how great that this is a day when i don’t have a pressing appointment, and can just take my time. These may have been fleeting thoughts, but they were not the thoughts I remember most.

The feeling and thought I remember most was annoyance – annoyance that I had to choose between walking and being crammed on a shuttle, annoyance that the train stopped 25 blocks from our apartment, annoyance that things didn’t go according to my expectations.

I look back now at that moment, and think how ridiculous was I to spend that time intent on being annoyed – I let that walk go unappreciated. This was a minor, small delay in the scheme of things. There are many other delays that are harder to weather. I was thinking of immigrants in Texas who were hit simultaneously with Hurricane Harvey and ICE – the immigration police. I think back at my own life where the answers I yearned for in response to loss seemed out of reach, delayed, kept secret for the time being.

One of my favorite plays is Waiting for Godot, about two men passing the time waiting for this man named Godot, a man who never shows up. It is a play that looks at the human condition as a struggle to deal with an eternal delay, how to live a life waiting for something or someone, even when they never show up, at least not in ways we can recognize.

Immediately after Katrina, a classical theatre company in Harlem staged this play as two African American men trapped on a rooftop surrounded by water…waiting for godot, waiting for help, and dealing with Godot never showing up.

This has been one of the burning questions of my ministry. How do we deal with our hopes being continually delayed? How do we deal with the expectation spoken or unspoken that something or someone will eventually save us, but they never show up? We’re kept waiting, and our life becomes a response to this wait.

Our faith does offer salvation – it says that we are saved by love. But what is this love, and how will we know when it’s here?

Kobun Chino was one of the first Zen Masters ever to formally teach American students. He had a great reputation in Japan as a teacher, and he was known as an expert archer. American students in San Francisco heard about Kobun, and invited him to come teach at Esalen Institute, a retreat center in Big Sur just south of San Francisco. They paid his airfare from Japan, and invited him to live there for free if he would teach American students archery.
Kobun was honored, and said he would love to teach American students the ancient art of archery. So he came, and the Esalen institute was buzzing with excitement. It was 1959, and most of the people had never seen a Japanese Zen master in person. They had heard Zen translated by Alan Watts and other philosophers, and they made Zen look very appealing and attractive. Kobun arrived, and he asked the people if he could set up his targets on the grass along this cliff which overlooked the Pacific Ocean. They said of course, we will let you set up anywhere you’d like. Kobun said ok, tomorrow morning at 8 am I will give you all a demonstration of Zen archery. Word quickly spread about this, and now the place was really buzzing. People called their friends in San Francisco to drive down, and get here by morning, to witness a Zen master in his element. 8 am the next morning, one target was set up. Kobun wore his robes, and took many minutes to mindfully string his bow. Other people commented watching Kobun string his bow – look how still and elegant he is, look how present he is. After stringing his bow, Kobun picked up his arrow, and walked very slowly about a hundred feet away from the target. He then looked at the crowd of Americans and bowed to them, to all those about to witness his feat.
Kobun pulled the arrow to his bow, took careful aim, and then released. The arrow shot over the target and went into the Pacific Ocean. The American students were shocked, speechless. There was an uncomfortable silence for a second, everyone was so embarrassed for Kobun. Kobun turned to face the audience, and shouted – Bulls Eye!

I love this story. Kobun offered a very important and funny teaching. All these American students were struck with the consciousness that most of us have had at one time or another – that if we just had the right teacher, the right school, the right job, the right spouse – things would more or less go our way. We can think that with some special insight and talent we can get reality to conform to our expectations. The goal of a spiritual practice is the opposite – it lets us meet disappointment with dignity.

Samuel Beckett who wrote Waiting for Godot struggled with depression. He admired James Joyce, but he knew he couldn’t write like him. He remarked he couldn’t write like Joyce because he had a different view of the human being – when he looked at being human he couldn’t help but see limitation and failure. Beckett spent years trying to cheer up, beat his depression, and learn to see the world with more optimism. It didn’t work…it actually made him feel worse.

Beckett’s breakthrough was walking on a dock in the middle of a snowstorm on a January night, and he said he realized he could make his depression work for him – he would write about limitation, he would write about failure, we would write about waiting for fulfillment, and fulfillment never coming. He said he realized that would be a life worth living – engaging the mind and world he knew. He didn’t have to pretend.

Sarah in Genesis 18 has the same mind as Samuel Beckett. Sarah knows she is old, she knows she has limitations. She knows she is past the age of child bearing. She is content to live inside her tent. She is no longer waiting for anybody or anything. Her hopes have been delayed, so long delayed, that she’s simply given them up. She’s accepted her limitation, she accepted that perhaps God’s plan has failed, and she will not be the mother. Maybe when she was younger, but not now. Now she lives simply. She is not in despair, she is not cynical. She has just accepted limitations, limitations of biology, limitations of aging, limitations of a brief human life. In her own quiet way perhaps, she has been able to look at the plans that never panned out, the missed opportunities, and say Bulls Eye! – it was not the way I thought my life would go, but I’m still glad it happened.

Then visitors come to her tent. She’s not interested in visitors. She’s happy in her tent – so she lets Abraham do the entertaining. Abraham goes above and beyond – he bows down to them all the way to the ground. This is an act of worship or adoration only given to royalty and God. Scholars deduce that Abraham knows that these visitors are the embodiment of God – he know they’re carrying a special message for his family. He literally bends over backwards, even begging, to not let this opportunity pass him by. Like many of these biblical stories, the men are usually given the spotlight. Abraham has been interpreted in this passage as faithful, never giving up hope in contrast to Sarah who remains in the tent.

When i read this passage, I don’t relate to Abraham – I relate to Sarah. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Sarah. She seems to be grounded in her experience – I don’t sense any bitterness or hard feelings. She has a great sense of humor. Abraham is excited to hear that Sarah is going to have a son, but Sarah’s response makes the most sense to me when she says basically “Oh goody, This is what I have to look forward to in my old age – childbirth! I don’t interpret Sarah as someone who is afraid or rude, inhospitable. I see her as a woman who has finally learned that she doesn’t have to pretend.

She doesn’t need to just play the part, and act polite every time a visitor appears. She can be herself. She can be old. She can have her dreams deferred. She can even live in a tent without much complaint, which i think is quite an accomplishment.

She’s not sitting around any longer hoping for a child. She’s living her life, ready to experience the consequences for how her life has turned out to be. And just as she’s reached this point, she gets the news she’s going to have a son. She laughs. I imagine this being a deep, resonant laugh. It’s not a chuckle, it’s not a laugh of relief, not even a laugh of joy. It’s a laugh that is powerful and full of complicated emotion. It’s a laugh that expresses shock, surprise, and uneasiness. It’s a laugh that expresses all the years she’s waited, all the years that she’s spent softening her heart and mind to the way things actually turned out for her. It’s a laugh that says “now when I’ve just digested disappointment, now this.” It’s a laugh that expresses shock that the wait hasn’t ended. She now will wait for 9 months with a child in her belly…and the waiting will go on from there…waiting for her son to walk, to talk. Sarah thought the wait was over, and now it’s just beginning.

I see the announcement of Sarah’s pregnancy as a metaphor for all of us that have hoped for anything. We hope, and then we lose hope without becoming hopeless in how that word is usually interpreted. We learn to put hope in different things – we adjust, we pivot, we start to see how we can live the life we actually have instead of always waiting for something to fall into place. We learn to accept our limitations. Sarah’s story shows that when we thoroughly embrace our limitations, entire worlds open up. It’s what happened for Samuel Beckett. It happened for Sarah. It could happen for us.

This is our last service down here until next summer. When I first saw this church with my own eyes, I fell in love with the sanctuary. I couldn’t wait to get up there. I was looking forward to moving up there first week of September. But then we had the piano repaired, and we needed to delay. Now that I’ve worshipped down here for a couple months with you, i’ve learned to accept this space with its odd acoustics, and informal feel. I’ve grown to appreciate it. As soon as I’ve reached that point of appreciation, it’s now time to move on. I look forward to moving on with you.