Waiting

With some photos from a snowy eve's walk

One of the more unusual plays of the 20^th century was Waiting for Godot, by Samuel Beckett. The entire play consists of two men talking as they wait for a third (Godot) to show up and join them.

As you might imagine, the play is not plot or action driven; there is no action and no real plot. Just two men wondering if Godot will show up or not, and talking about all the difference it makes if he does or does not.

They want Godot to show up; but they are also intimidated by the idea. They feel listless and purposeless until he comes, but are not even sure if he will show up at all. They are stuck with each other and with meaninglessness until and unless Godot comes. In fact, the meaninglessness becomes so deep that they resolve to hang themselves, for at least in doing this they are doing something meaningful. But this action, too, is frustrated.

Here is a brief outline of what “happens” in the second and final act:

The sun sets down and the moon rises. Estragon wakes up, takes off his boots and puts them at the front of the stage. Let’s go far away from here, says Estragon. We can’t, says Vladimir, we’re waiting for Godot. What if we dropped him? asks Estragon. He would punish us, says Vladimir. They go again through the subject of hanging themselves on the tree and Estragon takes out the rope from his trousers which serves him as a belt, causing his trousers to fall down They test the strength of the rope by pulling it and it breaks. We’ll hang ourselves tomorrow, says Vladimir, unless Godot comes, then we are saved. He tells Estragon to pull on his trousers, and Estragon only now notices they are down around his ankles. Shall we go? Yes, let’s go. They don’t move. Curtain.

You can perhaps sense why the play is not as popular as a superhero flick. It is depressing, yes, but also thoughtful. For, as you may have understood, Godot is a stand-in for God. The play is a powerful commentary of how humans must cope with two powerful thoughts: First, that without God there is no inherent purpose or meaning of human lives. Second, it’s not clear whether God is here or not. We are waiting for God to show up somehow and in some way, for only then will things make sense. But God does not seem to be around. If, after death, He is there…then our lives take on a drastically different meaning than if He is not there. But until then we must go on without knowing.

I thought about that play this weekend, for Amy and I are in a waiting period. Waiting for something that will change our lives. But unable to do anything, except wait and think about what we are waiting for.

Last week I had a PET scan to see if the cancer had spread from the prostate to other areas of the body. The answer to that will be a game changer.

Most men with prostate cancer have it just in the prostate or the regions surrounding the prostate. These men have a 5-year relative survival rate of around 99 percent. That is, almost all of them will be alive in another five years. They will still have some very nasty surgeries and treatments, but they don’t have to start revising their will.

But for those men whose prostate cancer has spread to the lung, liver, bones or other areas the prognosis is different. Quite different. The five-year relative survival rate falls to around 30 percent.

So, yeah, a lot is riding on this PET scan diagnosis.

It’s been almost a week now, and we have had no results. Amy and I go in to see the oncologist Wednesday to talk about the next steps, so we will know by then what the PET scan showed. But for now, we are simply waiting.

I am prepared for the worst. I think. I say that now but might be humming a different tune on Thursday. The pathology report was pretty bad, and I imagine I face worse odds that it has spread than most men with prostate cancer. Still, there is a much better chance that the cancer has not metastasized than that it has.

The waiting is difficult.

But not as difficult as another kind of waiting we face.

I long to see God. I long to be with God. I long for God to restore this world, to extinguish the evil, and perfect the good. I am homesick for a land I have never seen: a new heaven and a new earth. I am not content here and cannot be content. As MLK said in a different context, “No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream".

More: I long to see our son again, in a new and healed state. To see his face, and hear his voice, and hold him in my arms.

But I have to wait, for that lies on the other side death and resurrection.

And here’s the thing: I don’t KNOW that all that will be on the other side. I don’t KNOW that death is not simply extinction, that my desires are not wishes with no basis in reality. I do not have certainty that “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well" as Julian of Norwich put it. I don’t KNOW that I (or anyone) will see God.

That may be a strange thing for a pastor to say. But I have come to understand how different it is to say “I know” than “I believe”. I don’t have certainty. I have faith. The two are mutually exclusive.

I choose to believe what I cannot prove.

I believe that death is not the end. That the worst thing is not the last thing. That I have more to hope for on the far side of the grave than on this side.

And I must wait. Wait to know if it is true. And wait to experience it.

I am waiting for Godot. And I believe He will come.