“How Sabbath?”

First Congregational United Church of Christ

September 26, 2010

The Rev. Sharyl B. Peterson

Scripture Readings:  Deut. 5:12, Eccl. 4:6, Ex. 31: 12, Mk. 2:27, Psa. 23: 1-3a,

Mt. 14:23, Isa. 58:13-14, Lk 5:15-16, Eccl. 3:1, Mt. 11:28

Several years ago, I travelled with my parents to Florida to see my Aunt Cecil, my mom’s oldest sister, who was then in her early 90s.  The apartment building she lived in was right on the edge of an inland waterway, and there was an enormous marsh about 100 feet outside her third-floor patio.  And twice a day, a most remarkable thing happened in that marsh.

            I would be sitting out on the patio, enjoying the evening cool, and listening to all the sounds and cackles and cries the birds made as they flew into the marsh-reeds to sleep for the evening.  And all of a sudden, right in the middle of a cacophony of noise, all those hundreds or thousands of birds raising a racket, every bird-sound would stop.  Like a switch had been thrown.  And from then on, through the night, you didn’t hear a single bird-sound.

            And then, just as dawn was breaking, just as the sky was barely beginning to get light, it was as if someone had thrown another switch, and every bird in the marsh started honking, and quacking, and squawking, and calling, all of them at once.  And every time it happened – each evening – and each morning.  It seemed to me little short of miraculous.  It was as if in their very cores, every one of those birds somehow knew –and lived out – the rhythms their Creator had placed in them.

            In the same way, for all of us who don’t have plans to travel to Florida right now, in many of our own gardens right here in western Colorado we can see a similar kind of built-in knowing, and living, in some of the plants we are growing.  For example, Bob and I built two wooden arbors in our back yard this summer, and we planted morning-glory vines in pots along each side of the arbor.  And every morning, when he goes out to feed the horses, just as day is breaking, those morning-glory flowers are in full and glorious bloom, with every possible shade of purple and magenta in their blossoms.  And by early afternoon, they have all folded themselves up again, and all you can see is their pale green and white “wrappers.”  Until the next morning, when they open up again, with the rhythms built into them.

            It seems like flowers are pretty smart about “knowing” (however they do that) when it’s time to bloom (to work) and when it’s time to stop for awhile.  And birds, it seems, are also pretty smart about “knowing” (however they do that) when it’s time to eat and chatter and fly (to work) and when it’s time to stop for awhile.  Knowing, somehow, deep within their very cells, that there is a time for activity – whether it’s squawking or opening wide to the sun – and a time for rest.  And, as I noted last week, when we considered “why Sabbath?” – that is, why should we humans observe Sabbath rest? – human beings used to know that too.

For at least 1,000 years before Jesus’ time, our Jewish ancestors observed the Sabbath on the seventh day of the Jewish week, which was Saturday.  And that is when they still celebrate Sabbath, from sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday.

            Christians, on the other hand, celebrate Sabbath on Sunday.  They haven’t always done that, and it’s certainly nowhere to be found in the Bible.  But since about 300 years after Jesus died, when Christianity became the official religion of the land (under Constantine), Christians decided that Sunday observance made more sense than Saturday observance, since Sunday was the day of Christ’s resurrection.  For Christians, Sabbath-keeping is all about helping us not only honor the ancient traditions of our ancestors – remembering the Sabbath day and keeping it holy – but also about our need to remember the way God continues to come to us, continues to work in our lives, even continues to surprise us from time to time!

Like back on that first Easter morning, when a woman named Mary, distraught with grief over the death of her friend and teacher, Jesus, went out to a cemetery in the pre-dawn darkness to weep for her beloved friend, and to anoint and wrap his body for death.  But instead of finding the horror and the death and the pain that she expected, Mary encounters God’s incredible grace – God’s incredible ability to change everything, even death.  And as a sign of God’s love, she finds her friend, Jesus, calling her by name, and comforting her, as only Jesus can do.

It is that surprise – that extraordinary act of God’s love – which we celebrate (or at least are supposed to celebrate) on Sunday Sabbath.  Wayne Muller (whose book, Sabbath, I commended to you last week), puts it like this:  “Sabbath implies a willingness to be surprised by unexpected grace, to partake of those potent moments when creation renews itself, when what is finished inevitably recedes, and the sacred forces of healing astonish us with the unending promise of love and life[1].”

            Now, as I said last week, for centuries people of faith knew that, and did that.  In fact, they didn’t just “remember” or “honor” or “observe” the Sabbath, they started inventing a whole bunch of new rules for exactly how it should be remembered and observed.

Last week, after service, several of you shared stories with me about how awful Sundays were in your homes.  You told me about all the rules your families followed, and forced you (as children) to follow as well.  So that Sundays – Sabbaths – what should be the most wonderful and joyful day of the week – became times of dread, and anger, and resentment.

Which is not at all that God intended in giving us the Sabbath.  What God intended, Scripture tells us, was to enforce in human beings – just as in marsh-birds, and in morning-glories, and in every other living thing – that important rhythm between working and taking rest.  Between attending to the practicalities of obtaining food and shelter and raising children, and attending to the nurture of one’s soul, one’s faith, one’s relationship with the Holy.  And it wasn’t optional.  It was mandatory.  It wasn’t one of the “ten suggestions” but the “ten commandments.”  And it is a commandment that Jesus reinforced in his teaching – both in his words and in his actions – over and over again. 

            For me, one of the most powerful movie-scenes of all time is a scene in the original version of “Jesus Christ, Superstar.”  Based on a couple of those passages we heard this morning from the Gospels, including Luke’s version, which we did not hear, the scene in “Superstar” (the movie) shows Jesus performing some of his miracles.  In this scene, he has been healing huge crowds of people, with more and more and more people showing up, needing him, seeking his healing power, and Jesus touching and healing one after another and another.  Until finally, after countless blessings and healings, he cries out “there are too many of you, and not enough of me!”  I can’t do this anymore!  I need some down-time!

            I think the reason I find this so powerful is that, if Jesus was, as we affirm in our statements of faith, “fully human,” in the sense of embodying what our human experience is like, he had to have felt that way at least sometimes!  And if he felt that way sometimes, he can then understand that we feel that way sometimes.  And if he can understand it, he can also help us out of the morass of exhaustion and over-busyness that we’ve created for ourselves.

            And so, what the Gospels show us clearly is that when Jesus had been working hard, constantly healing, teaching, reaching out to others, from time to time, he simply stopped.  He took a Sabbath-break, whether it was the “right day” of the week or not.  Whether the work was finished or not, he would “send people away, or disappear without warning, dismissing those in need with neither excuse nor explanation (nor leaving anyone behind “on call”), and retreat to a place of rest[2].” 

He would go away, away from the crowds, away from his disciples, away to a quiet place where he and his soul could be alone with God.  “When the moment for rest had come, the time for (work) was over (and Jesus) would simply stop, retire to a quiet place, and pray[3].”

            Now, maybe you’re thinking, “well, that’s fine for Jesus.”  “He was Jesus.  He could do whatever he wanted.”  “It doesn’t work that way for the rest of us mere mortals.”  “How on earth are we supposed to rest, to make Sabbath,with all the other things we have to do?”

            Ah, but let’s take a look at the Gospels again.  And notice that on those times when Jesus does not go alone, but invites his disciples to come along with him, he didn’t wait until they had gotten all their work done, either.  He simply called them, right in the middle of their to-do lists, right in the middle of everything they had to do, and told them to come away for awhile.  Come with me, he said.  Now.  It’s time for rest.

            It’s the same thing he says to us.  Come with me.  Come to me.  Now.  Not whenever you have time, or can get around to it.  Right now.  It’s time to rest in me.

            And here is the good news about this invitation:  First, that God loves us enough to offer us not just an invitation, but a commandment:  take a break and rest!  And second, that we – you and I – do have a choice, whatever we may believe about our indispensability in the world.  We can choose to obey God’s commandment.  We can choose to obey Jesus’ commandment.  We can choose to take the Sabbath back.  And we can do it in far more life-giving and life-enhancing ways than some of our faith ancestors may have wandered away into.

            And we can do it, not just by going to church on Sunday morning (although remember, worshipping God is an important part of Sabbath), but in other ways as well.  Wayne Muller, in his book – and many of the other contemporary good authors on Sabbath-keeping – offer a myriad of suggestions for how to create Sabbath-time.  A few of them appear on the bookmark that is in your bulletin this week.  And I want to suggest a few more.

            One of the most ancient of contemplative practices is to stop whatever you’re doing – and pay attention to your breath.  Sit comfortably.  Close your eyes.  And notice your breath flowing in, and out.  Notice the sensations in your body as you breathe – how your chest expands, how your tummy pooches out, how your shoulders rise and fall.  Don’t try to change the way you’re breathing, just feel the rhythm of your regular breathing pattern.

Doing this for even a few minutes a day creates a “mini Sabbath” that can deeply relax and restore you.  And if you add to your “noticing” the realization that God is, moment by moment, breathing us in and out, you may also experience a sense of deep gratitude, and of connection to our Source.

            If that doesn’t strike your fancy, take a leaf from the book of our Jewish ancestors in faith.  On the day you observe as Sabbath, will yourself to truly abstain from just one form of work.  Choose one appliance or device that you normally use a lot.  Perhaps it will be your television … or your telephone … or your computer … or your washing machine … or something else.  And let it (and yourself) “rest” for a Sabbath period.  Whether it is for a morning, or an afternoon, or an entire day, give yourself a quality of time when, in Muller’s words,  “you will not be disturbed, seduced, or responsive to what our technologies and tools have to offer.  (And) notice how you respond in its absence[4].”

            As a third option, if you’re more of an outdoorsy kind of person, and prefer opening yourself to God in nature, try a true “Sabbath walk.”  Take a walk – or a hike – it’s up to you, either by yourself, or with someone you love … and agree before you start out that for a specified period of time (no less than an hour) you will both refrain from speech.  It will probably seem a little weird at first.  (But) As you walk in silence, notice what comes up for you.  What thoughts arise?  What feelings come forward?  (And) What does that tell you about how you normally use speech?  Notice whether you can hear God more clearly when you (and others) are not speaking.

            Finally, as yet one more alternative, you could: go get a book (or several) about Sabbath, and read everything in it, making notes as you go, and make a list of all the possibilities that look good to you, and prioritize your list of possibilities with a system of check-marks or colored stars, and choose one to focus on first, and practice it for two weeks, paying attention to what happens, and at the end of the two weeks, evaluate it systematically, and decide whether to continue this practice or try something else, and … well, you get the picture.

Or, you could do what Jesus so lovingly suggests.  Stop.  Now.  Not when all your work is finished, but now.  Just stop.

            Not with a harsh screeking of your spiritual and physical brakes, but with a gentle – but firm – slowing down.  Quieting down, outside and inside.  Listening … with the ears of your spirit … and noticing what you may be surprised to hear.

            As one poet put it, “Surrender to the silence.”  As Mother Theresa put it, “God is the friend of silence and rest” … let yourself be with your friend.  Or, as Jesus put it, “You, who are so tired … so exhausted from all your never-ending activity and work … you who are laden with heavy burdens of all kinds … you, God’s beloved child … come to me and rest.” 

            May every single one of us gratefully, and graciously, accept the invitation.  Amen.