When
I left my position as youth director at the Church of the Good Samaritan, almost
five years ago, I planned to take three months of “Sabbath” while discerning
what might come next.
What
is it? How do you do it?
I
was trained to stay busy. I can sleep late- but rarely. I can hang in the
hammock – if I’m reading something useful, planning something in my head, or
taking a short break from the gardening at hand.
Three
months of Sabbath?
The
time went quickly, helped along by Dan B. Allender’s book named, simply. Sabbath.
What I enjoyed about Allender’s approach was his idea that Sabbath is a way to
reset the defaults inside us, reorient our vision, and find our place again in
the larger plan.
I
had always thought of Sabbath as partly about rules, and partly about rest. Both, I confess, bore me. And who would want
three months of either?
Allender
suggests that the key to Sabbath is joy. Puzzling over God’s “rest” on the
seventh day described in Genesis 2, Allender suggests “it should be obvious
that God rests not because he was weary from his labor.” As Isaiah reminds us,
“The Lord is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth. He
will not grow tired or weary.”
Seems
kind of obvious. But that suggests we’ve misunderstood some key point in the
rationale for Sabbath. According to Allender:
Menuha is the Hebrew word for rest, but it is better translated as joyous repose, tranquility, or delight. God didn’t rest in the sense of taking a nap or chilling out; instead, God celebrated and delighted in his creation.
Allender
explores this theme of celebration and delight, our uneasiness with the idea
that God desires our joy, and our preference for forging ahead on our own
rather than pause long enough to see what wonders God has in mind.
The
central section of Allender’s book considers “Sabbath purpose” as seen through
the avenue of
Five
years ago I was grieving the loss of play as I stepped out of active youth
ministry. I have never lost my love of play – Capture the Flag in the woods,
Boggle around a ski lodge table, impromptu games imvented by teens in pajamas
at a Girls’ Night lock-in.
One
of the tragedies of American adulthood – even childhood! - is that play is so
narrowly permitted. In fact, think about it: for American women past a certain
age, what kind of play, if any, is allowed? Youth ministry gave me space to
stand on my head, reenact “Three Chartreuse Buzzards,” practice my offense in
foosball, trash talk the opposition during our legendary games of Golden Fleece.
Allender
reminds his readers of the incredible value play offers as a way to step
outside of what is and see what might be, just as a small child might try on a
Superman cape to explore a very different persona. He quotes Jürgen Moltmann, a
theologian who explores “the interplay of creation, liberation, future, and
play”:
We enjoy freedom when we anticipate by playing what can and shall be different and when in the process we break the bonds of the immutable status quo . . . the significance of games is identical with that of the arts, namely to construct ‘anti-environments’ and ‘counter-environments’ to ordinary and everyday human environments and through the conscious confrontation of these to open up creative freedom and future alternatives. We are no longer playing merely with the past in order to escape it for a while, but we are increasingly playing with the future in order to get to know it. (Theology of Play)
I
remember playing paintball several years ago with a middle school boy who was
used to being discounted. Both he and I, I’m sad to say, had been considered
extraneous by our highly-competitive team. Our captain had a strategy that didn’t
include either of us, and feeling a little left out, we planned our own simple
maneuver. To the surprise of both teams, my normally timid accomplice captured
the flag and delivered it to the other team’s pole while I provided strategy
and cover and shouted wild encouragement. It was just a game, yet the
alternative environment, our freedom to act, our escape of our predetermined
roles, shifted things in every direction.
Allender
says, “Play redistributes power and gives the opportunity for convention to be
reconfigured by the unexpected and the inconceivable.” This is true in games of
every kind, but Allender is on to something bigger: What would it mean to play
with God? It sounds faintly heretical. Does God play?
In
a spiritual direction session a number of years ago, I mentioned some
difficulties and challenges I was facing. I was invited to spend some time in
silence, picturing those challenges and inviting God to show me his presence in
the midst of them. I imagined a long, mountainous path, strewn with heavy
boulders. The terrain ahead seemed so daunting I couldn’t imagine moving
forward. Then, as I invited God to show me his presence, I had a clear sense of
Jesus himself, running lightly over the tops of the boulders. He motioned to me
to follow and I stood, unable to move, conscious of my own poor balance, my
serious fear of heights.
“What
would you like to do?” he called. “Shall we dance across? Should I carry you
over? Or . . . ” I remember the unexpected sense of glee I heard – and felt - in
his voice, “shall we heave them all out of the way? Like this?” In my
imagination I saw him tossing the boulders that troubled me, flinging them like Frisbees,
bouncing them like weightless balloons.
I
caught a glimpse of delight and play in that moment of meditation. My own
approach to problems had always been much heavier. Yet, as I've seen so often
since, to God every challenge is an occasion for him to show his grace, his
strength, his goodness, an “opportunity for convention to be reconfigured by
the unexpected and the inconceivable.” A chance to break through my narrow view
with his greater, more joyful reality.
The
path leading up to that time of Sabbath felt a bit like the imagined path
littered by boulders. In every direction lay uncertainty, challenge,
difficulty, even dread. In the years since, I’ve experienced a sense of being
lighter on my feet, less fearful of the heights around me, in many ways, more
playful.
I’ve been drawn more deeply into new possibilities, unimagined opportunities,
reconfiguring of the status quo in my own life and in structures far larger. I
take time each day to listen, to enjoy “menuha”: respose, tranquility, delight.
And I work hard in ways I can only describe as all-out, unexpected fun.
This
summer my husband, Whitney, has found himself in his own three month
sabbatical. Unlike mine, his will end with a reinvestment in the ministry he’s
been part of for the past eighteen years. But for both of us it’s been a time
of learning to hold even more lightly, to trust more deeply, to explore more
fully Jesus’ invitation in Matthew 11: 29:
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Menuha!
[This summer I'm reworking some earlier posts, as travel and time outside limit my time for blogging. This blog appeared, in slightly different form, on July 31, 2011]
Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences in this are welcome. Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.
