The Hour Has Come

Headmaster Byron Hulsey delivered the following sermon on Wednesday, May 24, 2023, in St. Andrew’s Chapel before the tradition of Senior Shake.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by the essence of time. One of my prevailing memories as a child was wishing and hoping that it would pass more quickly. My father was a priest in the Episcopal church, and Sunday services would crawl by. All I wanted was to go home and watch NFL football. I remember the dull ache of a long school day, when I desperately wanted to go outside and play. Here at Woodberry, I’ve long believed that the days are long and slow, but the weeks fly by in an instant. And now we’re at the end of the year, and it feels in some ways like we just started. 

I’ve always loved the world of athletics, and time is a critical element of so many sports: timeout, overtime, shot clocks and play clocks, step-back threes as the shot clock expires and you’re down by two. Earlier this week I read through the top ten performances in each of the outdoor track and field events through Coach Phillips’ years in the Tiger Nation. In some events, mere hundredths of a second separated the places. On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve never understood the ambiguity of extra time in soccer: how exactly it’s calculated and then applied by the referee. I played and coached baseball, one of the few sports historically not governed by time until this year in the major leagues, where there’s now a pitch clock to speed up the games. 

Sadly, we humans spend much of our time dwelling on the miseries of what has already happened or glorying in the distant triumphs of the past. Alternatively, we tend to worry about the difficulties that may come in the future, or dream about how much better our next chapter is likely to be. All the while we miss our lives and the moments of the here and now that shape who we are and who we are likely to become. It has taken me many, many years to anchor myself in the present moment, and, in the words of a man I admire, “be where your feet are.” To be honest, I’m still not as good at being present as I would like to be.

Time is on our minds tonight, and it’s a theme running through the lessons in your bulletins. In tonight’s Gospel reading Jesus is preparing to leave His disciples, telling them very directly, “The hour has come.” For many in the Woodberry community, the hour has come for you to say goodbye. Leaving a community like this is a rite of passage, and it should not be easy. Maybe you are a senior who has been here for two, three, or four years. Perhaps you’re a member of the faculty who’s been here for a year or two, a dean of students who’s been here for four, a chaplain for five, a beloved coach for thirteen, Mr. Reid for forty-eight years, or Mr. Huber for an astounding fifty-one. We’re all called upon to say goodbye.

We know through moments like this that our relationships will change, just as the disciples’ relationship with Jesus changed when He ascended to the Father. I believe in the importance of saying goodbye and leaving well. Learning how to say goodbye well is an important part of a good life, and it is akin to learning how to live with grief. It’s an expression of our character and who and what we value most. The class of 2023 and I and many others in our community have learned to grieve massive personal losses during your years in the Tiger Nation. We’ve had to say goodbye, even when, especially when, we so desperately wanted another outcome. I pray that each of us will draw upon God’s strength to walk through the valley of the shadow and into our grief as part of a good life.

When the Greeks analyzed time they distinguished between “chronos” and the way time is measured with clocks and watches, and “kairos,” which many philosophers understood as “deep time.” It’s like what Gene [Park] was describing yesterday as getting lost in time when he’s coding, those euphoric moments in our lives when we’re in the flow and lose all sense of boundaries. It’s those threshold-like moments when the past, present, and future somehow intersect in magical ways. Aspiring to enjoy more “kairos” like moments is a meaningful goal for all of us. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel described the sacredness of the weekly Sabbath and his belief that “we must not forget that it is not a thing that lends significance to a moment; it is the moment that lends significance to things.”

Making the most of our moment in time is a good way to lean into these last days and the responsibility we each have to say goodbye. We’re together now, but one day we’ll be alone and we’ll need touchstones like the Boys’ Prayer to tie us one to another, even in our solitude and in our occasional anguish. As Woodberry boys, we’ll always need the tie that binds. For poet William Stafford, it was what he called the “thread you follow. It goes among things that change. But it doesn’t change. People wonder about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread. But it is hard for others to see. While you hold it, you can’t get lost. Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old. Nothing you can do can stop time’s unfolding. You don’t ever let go of the thread.” 

And for those periods of grief, either now or in the future, may we draw strength from one another and from God’s peace that passes understanding. For Hannah Coulter, the elderly woman narrator in Wendell Berry’s beautiful novel reflecting on the story of her life, grief is tied inextricably to love like a thread through time. I want to read an extended passage from Hannah Coulter that captures this truth far better than I ever could:

“I began to know my story then. Like everybody’s it was going to be the story of living in the absence of the dead. What is the thread that holds it all together? Grief, I thought for a while. And grief is there, sure enough, just about all the way through. From the time I was a girl I have never been far from it. But grief is not a force and has no power to hold. You only bear it. Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery. Sometimes I could see that love is a great room with a lot of doors, where we are invited to knock and come in. Though it contains all the world, the sun, moon, and stars, it is so small as to be also in our hearts. It is in the hearts of those who come in. Some do not come in. Some may stay out forever. Some come in together and leave separately. Some come in and stay until they die, and after. I was in it for a long time with Nathan. I am still in it with him. And what about Virgil? Once we too went in and were together in that room. And now in my tenderness remembering it all again, I think I am still there with him too. I am there with all the others, most of them gone but some are still here, who gave me love and called forth love from me. When I number them over, I am surprised how many there are. And so I have to say another of the golden threads is gratitude.” 

As Jesus tells his disciples, “the hour has come.” And as we prepare for the Senior Shake and the first of our painful goodbyes, I invite you to join with me in a quiet period of kairos-like reflection. In the spirit of Hannah Coulter, I invite you to reflect upon those in your life who gave you love and called forth love from you, whether in your families, your friends from home, or here in the Tiger Nation. 

May you always know that you are welcome here at Woodberry and may it be for all of us a “great room with a lot of doors.” Perhaps that’s not far from Jesus’ assurance that “in my Father’s house there are many mansions.” Saying goodbye to those you love rips at the heart, and because it hurts, it’s a reminder, ironically, that our cup runneth over. May we always be grateful. Amen.