“Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six
days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to
the Lord your God; you shall
not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your
livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the Lord made
heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day;
therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath
day and consecrated it.”
-
Exodus 20:8-11
To
be frank, I was a little peeved. Having left behind an unfinished sermon, a
messy apartment, and a list of errands still needing to be taken care of, I had
driven 25 minutes to the nursing home in McGregor to visit one of our elderly
church members, only to find out upon arrival that he was leaving for the day
to spend time with his son. Now it would take another 25 minutes just to get
back to square one, and then it surely wouldn’t be long before my son was
hungry for a snack and my work was derailed once again. The morning was barely
underway and it already felt like a waste.
Walking
outside the nursing home, I noticed a porch swing to my left and decided to sit
for a second and recalibrate my plans for the day. Setting my son down, I sighed
with exasperation and started running through the things I still needed to do. I
thought about the points of my sermon for Sunday and how I might connect them, about
the fastest route for getting all my errands done, about what time I might eat
lunch—and since thinking rarely happens in a linear, orderly fashion, I thought
all of this at once, and didn’t really come up with much of anything.
As
I stewed, I checked on my son. With a look of intense concentration, he was
picking up rocks from the dirt and placing them on the sidewalk, one by one.
Looking up at me, his face burst into a grin and he held up one of the rocks to
show me what he was up to, then went back to his task. Watching him play, I suddenly
noticed how pleasant the temperature was—something you don’t get to say much during
a Texas summer. The wind was blowing lazily, enough to be refreshing without kicking
up dust, and the sun was shining but not yet baking. Looking up, I noticed for
the first time the view in front of me, acres of green pasture as far as the
eye could see. As many days as I’d been to that nursing home, I’d somehow
missed its backdrop every time.
I
looked back down at my son, smiled, and then joined him on the sidewalk. And
for 20 minutes or so, we played in the dirt. Work would wait—nothing could have
been more productive in that moment than enjoying the beauty God had put right
in front of me.
It
took me a while to realize that, because I was so fixated on getting work done.
After all, in our 21st century, social media-driven, technology-reliant
society, you never have to stop working. There’s always an e-mail to compose or
a news story to read or an assignment to complete. There’s no true end to the to-do
list, no finish line that allows you a breath of rest.
It’s
in such a time that we need the concept of Sabbath, a God-ordained time of
rest, more than ever. When God gave His people the Ten Commandments, He knew we
would face numerous temptations which, if acted upon, would hurt us and the
people around us. He knew we were better off not stealing, not committing
adultery, not coveting one another’s possessions…and not working ourselves to
death. The Sabbath, with roots in the creation of the world, demanded that time
be taken away from the pursuits that would otherwise occupy our minds constantly.
We needed to be reminded that the world keeps spinning even when we rest.
It’s
easy to live like a blur, always striving and pushing and working, convinced
that stopping for even a moment is a waste of time. But God calls us to not only
use the resources and talents He’s given us, but to enjoy and appreciate them,
to rest in His mercy instead of relying upon our works. This weekend, take some
time to set the lists and the news and the social media aside and notice the
blessings God has given you. Trust me—it’s far from a waste of time.
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