A Reflection on Sabbath
for the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara
June 29, 2014
Silence walks in and pulls up a chair.
She touches her hand to my shoulder.
Where have you been? You're so hard to find
In this noisy world, I told her.
I'll make a cup of good coffee or tea.
I want to hear my heart beat.
Won't you just sit here with me?
I wrote that snippet of a song while I was walking my dog on the beach a couple of years ago. I was thinking about how much I love the time of silence in our church services, how I always want it to be a bit longer, how I wish I could find more moments to sit with silence and feel her soft breath. On that walk -- watching my dog Zeke embrace every moment on the beach -- I left my "to do" list behind, put my smart phone away, and accepted the gifts the day was offering. I listened to the still, small voice inside me and I heard it call for quiet and rest and, what's more, I heard it in a song! I sang out loud as I walked. My heart was light and I felt connected to everything around me, from the sea to the sky, to the creative process within me. I gave myself over to this time I had carved out of my day for renewal.
I wish I could tell you that all of my dog walks are that joyful and mindful, but sadly, at least half the time they feel like one more chore I have to squeeze into an already busy day. Like a lot of people, I am not very good at giving myself permission to rest. Doing "nothing" makes me feel guilty, so I tend to take a more circuitous path to resting that is really not restful at all. I trick myself into slowing down by distracting myself. I'll look at the pile of dishes after dinner and say, I'm just going to check my email before I get started on those. Next thing I know, I've read my email and scrolled mindlessly through facebook, and 45 minutes have gone by. Do I feel rested and renewed after this electronic binge? No. I feel guilty and lazy. I feel like I have had spiritual junk food instead of real sustenance. And I wonder, what if I had given myself permission to sit with my kids in the living room for 45 minutes after dinner? What conversations might we have had? What peaceful silence might we have shared while we read together?
In his book, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives, author Wayne Muller writes, "Sabbath is more than the absence of work; it is not just a day off, when we catch up on television or errands. It is the presence of something that arises when we consecrate a period of time to listen to what is most deeply beautiful, nourishing, or true. It is time consecrated with our attention, our mindfulness, honoring those quiet forces of grace or spirit that sustain and heal us."
Sabbath is rest with intention. It is about clearing a space for something to grow, or quieting the din for something to be heard. It is a time to reflect, to play, to bless, to feel gratitude and experience joy in the ordinary. Sabbath is about honoring the rhythms and cycles of our lives and recognizing the importance dormancy plays in growth. In Jewish and Christian traditions, sabbath is not just a suggestion; it is a commandment from God! Remember the Sabbath is on the same list of rules as thou shalt not kill, and thou shalt not commit adultery, for Heaven's sake!
Some of us feel guilty when we stop working. But Sabbath is not selfish. Quite the contrary. We need the sabbath to fill our stores so that we can do good work in the world. When I don't give myself time to rest and reflect, I get sloppy, lazy and resentful. I snap at my kids more than I listen to them, I get impatient with the students I work with, I view my day as one long to-do list. When I don't allow myself to rest I lose my appreciation for the rhythm and cycles of life. Focusing instead on the Sisyphean tasks of chores and obligations. As Wayne Muller writes, "Sabbath is not only for ourselves; rested and refreshed, we more generously serve all those who need our care. The human spirit is naturally generous; the instant we are filled, our first impulse is to be useful, to be kind, to give something away." Muller says that by sabbath-keeping our work will have the "wisdom of rest" in it.
Remember the sabbath. OK, but how do we do that? Some years back I took an Adult RE class on sabbath here at USSB from our own Ken Saxon. We explored the elements that would help us create a practice of sabbath that was meaningful for each of us. We considered the candles, prayers, and food from the religions of our childhood. We explored whether we needed to experience the sacred rest of sabbath alone, with family, in community, or all of the above. We thought about the best times for us to honor the sabbath. Do we want to start our day with a prayer? Do we want to create a weekly meal with family or friends? Is it important for us to be in nature?
When the class was over I initiated a Sunday afternoon walk with friends, kids, and dogs, followed by a meal of soup and bread with my family. It was a gentle way to end the weekend and prepare for the week ahead. We brought out the good dishes; we lit a chalice; we listened to music; we said a blessing and shared what we were grateful for. And it was lovely. ... Until we began to neglect our sabbath meal and it eventually faded away. Sabbath, like children, marriage, friendships, and gardens, needs to be tended in order to thrive.
Like any good Unitarian Universalist, my sabbath practice is always evolving. Right now it centers on gratitude, silence, nature. ... And challah french toast.
My boyfriend, Chuck, lives in Oakland. We begin every morning by texting each other three things we are grateful for. This morning pause to remember what is good in our lives is like a small prayer to start the day.
Every evening my dog, Zeke, insists on a sabbath walk on the Ellwood Mesa. He doesn't KNOW it's a sabbath walk, but the joy and connection with the natural world he exhibits have all the earmarks of a sabbath walk and, when I am present and open, I feel that joy and connection too. He reminds me.
And at the end of the day, sitting in my bed, I take out my gratitude journal and write down three more things I am grateful for, enjoying the feel of pen on paper after a day of texting and typing. I could write a whole reflection about how the regular practice of gratitude has changed my outlook on life, but suffice it to say, feeling grateful for all that I have right now is an essential piece, maybe even the crown jewel, of sabbath for me.
And then there is the challah french toast.
We used to have a family tradition of french toast on Saturday mornings, a late relaxed breakfast of comfort and sweetness. Sadly, this tradition withered in the face of Saturday soccer games and a crumbling marriage. Last year I decided my children and I needed to revive it. Typically we make French toast with thick slices of Trader Joe's cinnamon swirl bread and we do not scrimp on butter and sugar.
But when Chuck started joining us for Saturday french toast, he brought something new to the table: Challah bread, the bread traditionally served at Jewish shabbat meals. Beautifully braided and golden brown, challah bread makes for thick, soft pillows of french toast that soak up butter and powdered sugar and leave a perfect indentation to fill with berries. So good! Chuck's daughter is living in IV this summer, so we are inviting her to join us for challah french toast too. Yesterday I even pulled out the good dishes and lit a chalice. We listened to music; we enjoyed our wonderful children; we slowed time down for awhile. -- And voilà! A sabbath meal was born. I'm even thinking of bringing back Sunday evening soup so that our weekend is bookended by sabbath meals -- restful time with people I love.
***
A couple of years ago I was snow shoeing in Mammoth with five close friends. It was October. There was already a fair amount of snow on the ground, and it felt like we had the mountain to ourselves. As you can imagine, a group of six women does not naturally lend itself to silence. But I insisted we spread out, sit down, and be quiet for 10 minutes. It was such a complete silence, snow buffered and soft. I could have stayed wrapped in that restful place all day. -- Silence, nature, people I love, gratitude -- If that's not sabbath I don't know what is.
I wish I could command all of you to remember the sabbath, to make time for sacred rest in your lives, but I am not God or any kind of boss around here. What I can do, however, is remind you that together we observe the sabbath every Sunday morning right here. We're doing it right now. And I can invite you to join me in restful silence. I encourage you to close your eyes and listen to that still, small voice inside you. Hear what it has to say.
