July 22, 2010
Sabbath is essentially the ceasing of all habitual and compulsory attempts to be happy, to perform, to achieve. It is interruption of all the things that formulate the rhythms and traffic and monotony of the week. Hiking these last two weeks has been for me an internal Sabbath, a being wholly present to put one foot in front of the next and breathe in scenery more beautiful than any human concoction. The first few miles evoke much internal noise, but eventually and especially as I get tired, my focus sharpens to a handful of singular thoughts: "Keep moving forward." "Stop and look around." "Sit still for a bit, will ya?"
And in this place of simple thoughts, base thinking and being, something profound takes place. I'm more present to my surroundings, and they are more present to me, and I notice and am more deeply aware of the Presence to which they invite.
Moltmann says that our world is a parable of greater things, of a new heaven and a new earth, of God's kingdom. Embedded in the parable are gems, seeds of hope and promise, as well as remembrance and presence. And God desires that we know this through the vehicle of the sabbath rest: a knowing not to control or dominate but to participate and discover treasures written into things that seem ordinary but come to life to those with ears to hear and eyes to see. They wait eagerly to disclose great things, yet they will not compete for our attention.
I'm beginning to think that this was God's original intent behind the Sabbath observance: a rhythmic interruption beckoning us to step out of life's traffic, sit still and listen, a time to be wholly present in God's presence. This is, in the end, why I'll gladly strap a pack on my back and walk for miles letting go and listening for a voice greater than my own. The further I walk, the more I hear it.
No comments:
Post a Comment