Leaving Church - Barbara Brown Taylor [50]
“I am so sorry,” she said, handing it to him along with her registration. “I know I was speeding, but I’ve been lost for the last forty minutes and I cannot find Tower Terrace anywhere on this map.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that too, ma’am,” he said, writing up her citation, “but what made you think that hurrying would help you find your way?”
What made any of us think that the place we are trying to reach is far, far ahead of us somewhere and that the only way to get there is to run until we drop? For Christians, at least part of the answer is that many of us have been taught to think of God’s kingdom as something outside ourselves, for which we must search as a merchant searches for the pearl of great price. But even that points to a larger and more enduring human problem, which is the problem of mortality. With a limited number of years to do whatever it is that we are supposed to be doing here, who has time to stop?
According to the Hebrew Bible, everyone does, for at least one full day every week.
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)
How long had it been since I had remembered the Sabbath? I was certainly aware of the concept. I had even declared Friday my Sabbath instead of my day off, but on that day, as on every other day of the week, I stayed very busy. I worked on my sermon, shifting loads of laundry from the washer to the clothesline during my frequent breaks, and when that was done I cleaned the litter boxes, fed the animals, and thought about what to cook for supper unless I had a wedding rehearsal to attend. The only material difference between Friday and any other day of the week was that I worked at home in sweat clothes instead of at church in clericals.
Like every other clergyperson I knew, I believed I had no alternative. Taking a full day off was so inconceivable that I made up reasons why it was not possible. If I stopped for a whole day, there would be no more weekend weddings at Grace-Calvary, or someone else would have to do them. Sick people would languish in the hospital and begin to question their faith. Parishioners would start a rumor that I was not a real shepherd but only a hired hand. If I stopped for a whole day, my animals would starve, my house would grow mold, weeds would take over my garden, and my credit rating would collapse. If I stopped for a whole day, God would be sorely disappointed in me.
While remembering the Sabbath really does involve a radical shift of priorities, these were all lies. Observant Jews have kept the Sabbath holy for millennia, even those caring for half a dozen children and elderly parents whose needs do not stop when the sun goes down. Sabbath is written into the ancient covenant with God. Remember the Sabbath, the rabbis say, and you fulfill all of Torah. Stop for one whole day every week, and you will remember what it means to be created in the image of God, who rested on the seventh day not from weariness but from complete freedom. The clear promise is that those who rest like God find themselves free like God, no longer slaves to the thousand compulsions that send others rushing toward their graves.
When I was a junior in high school, my boyfriend Herb played on the varsity basketball team. He was not the star player, however. The star player was a boy named David, who scored so many points during his four-year career that the coach retired his jersey when he graduated. This would have been remarkable under any circumstances, but it was doubly so since David did not play on Friday nights. On Friday nights, David observed the Sabbath with the rest of his family, who generously