than two hands full of toil
and chasing after wind."
-- Ecclesiastes 4:6
Meditation: by Wendell Berry from a collection of poems he wrote over an eight-year period. Each of the poems was written on a Sabbath day.
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.
Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.
After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.
Reading: by Austin Considine from an article entitled “And on the Sabbath, the iPhones Shall Rest” (The New York Times, March 17, 2010)
The Fourth Commandment doesn’t specifically mention TweetDeck or Facebook. Observing the Sabbath 3,000 years ago was more about rest and going easy on one’s family — servants and oxen included.
But if Moses were redelivering his theophany today — the assembled crowd furiously tweeting his every sound bite — one imagines the frustrated prophet’s taking a moment to clarify what God meant, exactly, by a “day of rest.”
For starters, how about putting down the iPhone? Easier said than done in an age when careers rise and fall on the strength of one’s Twitter prowess. But that’s exactly what a group of Jewish tastemakers is trying to promote this weekend with its first annual National Day of Unplugging.
The experiment, which lasts from sundown Friday,… to sundown Saturday, is the brainchild of Reboot (rebooters.net), a nonprofit think tank of hip, media-savvy Jewish professionals, based in New York…, with staff members in Los Angeles and San Francisco. It was founded in 2003, and its members include television executives, Web developers, writers, filmmakers and C.E.O.’s: people for whom the act of “unplugging” could well be most difficult — and most needed.
Reading: by Barbara Brown Taylor from An Altar in the World (p. 128)
Until about fifty years ago, Southern culture made Sabbath practice easier by not offering any alternatives. Movie theaters and municipal swimming pools were closed on Sundays. If you needed a cup of flour for the baking-soda biscuits you were making for Sunday dinner, then you were flat out of luck unless your neighbor had one to spare. When you got through eating lunch you threw a big white sheet over the dining room table to keep the flies off until supper, because no restaurants were open on Sundays. You did not even hear the whistle of freight trains in Georgia on Sundays, because it was illegal to haul goods on the Sabbath.
When Alexis de Tocqueville visited the United States in 1840, he wrote of the Christian Sabbath, “Not only have all ceased to work, but they appear to have ceased to exist.”
If he had come back in the 1960s, he would not have recognized the place. More than 90 percent of homes had television sets by then, and almost 40 percent of them were tuned to Sunday football. The gross domestic product had become the foremost indicator of the nation’s health and well-being. Entertainments and shops of every kind were open on Sundays, as the culture reneged on its “no compete” clause with the church. Merchants were no longer willing to stay closed to help the churches stay open. People of faith were free to keep the Sabbath if they wanted to, but not because there was nothing else to do. They would have to make their own choices from now on.
Reading: by Wendell Berry (from the Foreword of Living the Sabbath by Norman Wirzba, p. 11)
We are living at the climax of industrialization… The industrial era at climax… has imposed on us all its ideals of ceaseless pandemonium. The industrial economy, by definition, must never rest. Rest would deprive us of light, heat, food, water, and everything else we think we need. The economic impulse of industrial life… is limitless. Whatever we have, in any quantity, is not enough. Our bellies and our wallets must become oceanic, and still they will not be full. Six workdays in a week are not enough. We need a seventh. We need an eighth. In the industrial world, at climax, one family cannot or will not support itself by one job. We need a job for the day and a job for the night. Thank God for the moon! We cannot stop to eat. Thank God for cars! We dine as we drive over another paved farm. Everybody is weary, and there is no rest.
The Seventh Day
A Sermon Delivered on September 1, 2013
By
The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann
This is my iPhone. (show phone) As some of you know, and as I have explained in past sermons on the subject, I love my iPhone. But what you may not know is that I hate my iPhone.
I love its seductive beauty, and the power it gives me, wherever I am, whenever I choose, to make phone calls, or read my email, catch up on the latest news, browse Facebook and Twitter, or check the latest weather report, again, and again, and again.
And I hate the fact that it is almost irresistibly convenient, forever tempting me to dive into a world digital trivia and distractions. The presence of an iPhone in my pocket, rather than providing calming convenience, more often than not, creates a sense of restless anxiety.
As someone once put it, a smart phone or computer “fits with anxiety like a lock [and] a key.” Whenever you have an anxious moment in your life, or in your world, and you want a little hit, just check your email again, and again, and again.
* * *
The people who came up with the idea of a National Day of Unplugging were vividly aware of how in our wired world many of us have become slaves to the very devices that were supposed to make our lives easier. And so they crafted their very own “Sabbath Manifesto,” with ten principles that serve as reminders to somehow observe the Sabbath.
And – wouldn’t you know it – there is an app for that. Which I happen have right here on my phone. With this handy Sabbath Manifesto app, I can click on “Check Out” and automatically send messages to all my friends and contacts, to tell them that I am offline for the day. If I click on “Reminders” I can set up the app to send me a text message every Friday afternoon reminding me that the Sabbath is coming up. And if I click on “My Manifesto,” I can re-read the ten principles, or add my own. As the app tells me: “We created 10 core Principles open for your interpretation. If some of these Principles don’t align with your vision of what a day of rest should be here is a chance to build your own Sabbath Manifesto to share with friends and family.”
The original ten principles of the Sabbath Manifesto are very straightforward:
1. Avoid technology – check out.
2. Connect with loved ones.
3. Nurture your health.
4. Get outside.
5. Avoid commerce.
6. Light candles.
7. Drink wine.
8. Eat bread.
9. Find silence.
10. Give back.
Very straightforward, but not easy. Entering a time of rest is tricky. It isn’t only that we have learned to maintain a constant level of activity, and have cultivated anxious habits of distraction with computers and smartphones, shopping sprees and endless entertainment opportunities. It isn’t only that we have now reached the climax of industrialization, and seem trapped in an industrial economy that tolerates no rest. Getting rest is difficult. And has been for quite a while.
Back in 1919 a disciple of Sigmund Freud named Sandor Ferenci identified a mental disorder he called “Sunday neurosis.” Every Sunday – or, in the case of Jewish patients, every Saturday – the Sunday neurotic developed a headache or stomachache or a bout of depression. After ruling out various physiological causes, Ferenci figured out what was bothering his patients. They were suffering from the Sabbath.
As Ferenci saw it, “the Sunday neurotic, rather than enjoying his respite, became distraught; he feared that impulses repressed only with great effort during the work week might be unleashed. He induced pain or mental anguish to pre-empt the feeling of being out of control.” (“Bring Back the Sabbath,” by Judith Shulevitz, The New York Times, March 2, 2003)
The New York author Judith Shulevitz studied Ferenci’s research and came to the conclusion that what he saw a century ago among citizen of the bustling Vienna metropolis comes very close to what today we call “workaholism”: an addiction to activity and perpetual productivity. And even if those afflicted with the compulsion are able to resist the urge to work, they are immediately overcome by withdrawal symptoms – anything from anxiety attacks to overwhelming feelings of guilt or inadequacy.
To Shulevitz, the Sunday neurosis sounded very familiar. She writes, “About a decade ago I developed a full-blown weekend disorder of my own. Perhaps because I am Jewish, it came on Friday nights. My mood would darken until, by Saturday afternoon, I'd be unresponsive and morose.” Her struggle with this weekly depression finally led her to explore Jewish practices surrounding the Sabbath.
In my experience the dynamic Shulevitz and Ferenci describe is not evidence of a pathological neurosis, or a psychological disorder. I think it is a very common experience.
The Christian author Barbara Brown Taylor writes:
“Anyone who practices Sabbath for even an afternoon usually suffers a little spell of Sabbath sickness. Try it and you too may be amazed by how quickly your welcome rest begins to feel like something closer to a bad cold. Okay, that was nice. Okay, you are ready to get back to work now. Yes, you know you said you wanted this, but now… you are beginning to feel sluggish. What if your energy level drops and never comes back up again? What if you get used to this and want never to go back to work? Plus, how will you ever catch up after taking a whole day off? Just thinking about it makes you tired.” (p. 136)
One consequence of withdrawing from the demands of the world around us, and seeking a time of rest, is that we may suddenly notice demands of the world within us. Before long, things within us will flare up.
Most of us move fast enough during the week to outrun these things, Taylor writes,
“but if you slow down for a day, then all kind of alarming things can happen. You can start crying without having the slightest idea why. You can start remembering what you loved about people who died before you were ten, along with things you did when you were eighteen that still send involuntary shivers up your back. You can make a list of the times you almost died in your life, along with reasons you are most glad to be alive.” (p. 137)
* * *
Rest is a crucial aspect of our psychological and spiritual wellbeing. But the commandment to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy, is really about much more than simply getting some rest.
On Friday evenings, when the first three stars become visible in the darkening sky, the Shabbat service begins with the lighting of two candles. The two candles are reminders of the two Sabbath commandments in the Torah – each of which call the faithful to be more like God.
The first, and more familiar commandment is based on a passage in the Book of Genesis. In six days God created heaven and earth, and all living things of the earth and sea. And on the seventh day God rested. God blessed the seventh day, and made it holy. (This is the first time “the holy” is mentioned in the Bible. Everything created throughout the first six days was “good.” But the Sabbath was “holy.”) When we light the first Sabbath candle, we remember that we are part of God’s creation. And in taking a day to rest, we are doing as God did. We are like God, made in God’s image, the scriptures say. We are created. And we are also creators.
The second commandment is found in the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 5, verse 12. You should work for six days and rest on the seventh, it says. But this time the commandment isn’t based on the story of Genesis, but of Exodus. On the Sabbath, you shall not work, and neither shall your sons or daughters, and neither shall your beasts of burden, and neither shall any of your slaves. The Sabbath should serve as a reminder that you yourself were once a slave in the land of Egypt. And that God set you free.
The Sabbath serves as a reminder of this ancient story, in which God liberated us from Egypt’s economy of exploitation. A story that offers hope that we need not remain enslaved in the economy of industrialization today. We can be free.
Wayne Muller writes,
“Sabbath time can be a revolutionary challenge to the violence of overwork, mindless accumulation, and the endless multiplication of desires, responsibilities, and accomplishments. Sabbath is a way of being in time where we remember who we are, remember what we know, and taste the gifts of spirit and eternity.
Like a path through the forest, Sabbath creates a marker for ourselves so, if we are lost, we can find our way back to our center. “Remember the Sabbath” means “Remember that everything you have received is a blessing. Remember to delight in your life, in the fruits of your labor. Remember to stop and offer thanks for the wonder of it.” Remember, as if we would forget.” And we do forget. (from Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, p. 6)
As Barbara Brown Taylor puts it:
“By interrupting our economically sanctioned social order every week, Sabbath practice suspends our subtle and not so subtle ways of dominating one another on a regular basis. Because our work is so often how we both rank and rule over one another, resting from it gives us a rest from our own pecking order as well. When the Wal-Mart cashier and the bank president are both lying on picnic blankets at the park, it is hard to tell them apart. When two sets of grandparents are at the lake with their grandchildren feeding the ducks, it is hard to tell the rich ones from the poor ones. (p. 131)
Sabbath is the great equalizer, the great reminder that everything we do on this planet affects all who are woven into this web of life with us. According to the Book of Leviticus, Sabbath is not only about getting rest, but also about freeing slaves, forgiving debts, restoring property, and even giving the land itself every seventh year off.
When we look more deeply, we realize the goal of the Sabbath is not really rest. Getting rest is simply a doorway we must pass through, in order to experience the true meaning and message of the Sabbath. Certain insights are only accessible to us, once we are willing and able to come to rest. Only when we are willing and able to resist the compulsion of perpetual action, only then will a whole new world of possibilities reveal itself.
I find this sense of the Sabbath conveyed perfectly in the words of the Tao to Ching, when the author asks us:
Do you have the patience to wait
Till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
Till the right action arises by itself?
The Sabbath isn’t really about rest. It is about remembering that we are not the center of the universe. The world doesn’t depend on our frantic activity. The earth could turn just fine without us.
We are not the masters of creation. We are a part of it. We are created, and we are creators. We are collaborators in creation. Like God, we have the power to transform ourselves, and, in some small way, transform the world.
The Sabbath seeks to remind us of who we truly are. We are not merely producers and consumers, employers and employees, masters and slaves. We are all simply people. We are brothers and sisters, all of us children of God – each of us a recipient of the gift of life, and countless blessings we too easily forget. And it is up to us to create a world in which every person is free, and life’s abundant blessings are equally shared by all.
The fourth commandment tells us to remember the Sabbath. It is holy. And we are called to keep it holy. Neither church nor state can force us to observe the Sabbath. We are free to keep the Sabbath – or not. We make our own choices.
Some hip professionals in New York and California are choosing to unplug. They offer us ten principles, which we can practice. And they encourage us to come up with principles of our own.
Wendell Berry chooses to walk in the woods, to go among the trees and sit still. There he faces his fears and remains quiet. Until fear itself is transformed into song. And in the quiet, he can hear its song. And he sings along.
What will you choose?
As we choose, may we have the wisdom to remember the Sabbath
May we have the patience to let our restlessness leave us
That in the stillness we might hear a new song,
a song that speaks of a better world – a world of love and justice –
which we are called to create.
Amen.
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