Sabbath

It’s that time of year. Calendars are filling up, “to do” lists multiplying. In the church, we’re planning the new program year—looking ahead to children’s chapel and weekly choir anthems and community outreach and new classes and social gatherings. The word of the day is “busy.”

Yet into this hectic time comes scripture’s whispered reminder of an idea our society has almost forgotten: “sabbath.”

Sabbath sounds nice. But we are so very busy. There just isn’t time. Maybe next week. Maybe next year.

If we think of sabbath at all, we tend to think of it as a burden, yet another rule we ought to follow. There was a time in this country when stores were closed on Sundays, noisy activities banned. Few remnants of those laws remain. The only example I can think of is the local law that says liquor stores can’t open on Sunday mornings. Afternoons, though, are fair game.

If I asked you where the Biblical rule about sabbath comes from, many of you would probably mention the story of Creation. “On the sixth day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done.” It’s true that our God is a God who rests. It’s true that the pattern of sabbath is woven into Creation itself. We should always remember that.

But sabbath as a law came later. And when it came, it came not as a burden, but as a gift, as a symbol (and more than a symbol) of liberation.

In the book of Exodus, we’re told that the Israelites had spent years in slavery in Egypt, years without rest, years of relentless toil, growing crops, making bricks, building palaces and temples for Pharaoh. They knew no sabbath in Egypt. It’s only after their escape from slavery that God tells them they must observe the sabbath.

In the wilderness, six days a week, the Israelites gather manna, the bread from heaven that sustains them when they have nothing else. On the seventh day, God tells them to stop. No gathering. No hoarding. Just trust that the portion they gathered on the sixth day will be enough. Some can’t help themselves. They go out anyway. But the fields are empty.

Sabbath isn’t merely a rule. It’s a reprogramming. A detox from empire. They had been taught that their worth was in what they produced—how many bricks, how much grain. But the law of sabbath said otherwise. The sabbath said: You’re free. You don’t have to work all the time. You’re not a slave anymore.

Sabbath isn’t primarily a legal burden. It’s meant to be a joy. Or as Isaiah puts it, a delight. A foretaste of the world as it should be. Sabbath isn’t a reward for hard work. It’s a sign of who God is, and who God’s people are called to be. Sabbath calls out: “Enough!” You have enough. You are enough.

Today’s Gospel reading tells a story about sabbath. It’s a story that I think we often get wrong, a story that we too often interpret as permission from Jesus to set aside the whole idea of sabbath rest.

Jesus is teaching in a synagogue. A woman appears, bent over, unable to stand upright. For eighteen years, she’s suffered. Jesus sees her. Calls her to his side. And then he heals her.

The leader of the synagogue rebukes Jesus for healing on the sabbath and Jesus defends himself. “Does not each of you untie your ox or your donkey from the manger and lead it away to give it water?” he asks. “And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?”

Does the fact that Jesus healed on the sabbath mean that sabbath doesn’t matter? I don’t think so.

I think Jesus is going back to sabbath’s roots—going back to the idea of sabbath as liberation, of sabbath as a time that breaks bonds and takes away burdens. The woman bent over for eighteen years needed to be set free, and the sabbath day was exactly the right day for that freedom.

Sabbath time isn’t only about taking a break from work. It’s not about the kind of “self-care” that we do to make ourselves more productive in the long run. Sabbath is about refusing to be defined by how much we can get done in a day.

But that idea is so foreign to modern American culture. We define ourselves by our work, by our productivity, by our résumé and list of achievements. Rest may at times be necessary (and even welcome), but it’s almost never a point of pride. As the poet Wordsworth put it, “getting and spending” is the pattern of our lives. I might add “accomplishing” to that list.

But what if Jesus is still calling out to us, bent over as we are under the weight of our endless tasks: “You are a daughter of Abraham, a son of Abraham—be set free from this bondage?”

Our God is a God who rests. A God who gives us sabbath as a gift, as a promise, and as a reminder. Sabbath says: You don’t need more. You don’t need to earn love. You don’t need to prove your worth. Lilies in the field don’t work overtime. Birds don’t have a 401K. But still God sees that their needs are met.

It can seem impossible, though. We’re busy. We have responsibilities.

But sabbath invites us to do something truly radical. To stop. To trust. To remember.

If you can, set aside a day. Light a candle. Put away your phone. Turn off the TV. Share a meal. Talk to the people you love.

If you can’t manage a day, start with an hour.

Not because you’ve finished your “to do” list. Not because you’re caught up on all your work and deserve some time off. Not because a break today will make you more productive tomorrow. But because rest itself is holy. And because amidst all the noise of our busy lives, sabbath still whispers, “Enough.”