sabbath ramblings: soaking in the sun before it escapes...

Today is the Sabbath in my tradition. Too often, the integrity of this holy day is discarded in Christianity. No longer is it a time for rest and reflection - a feast with family and friends as takes place among my observant Jewish friends that honors God's care of creation beyond our control - but rather a frenzied scramble to get to public worship before attacking the chores necessary to give our primary attention to the demands of a new week's work. It is totally back-ass-wards. A puny, hollow shell of its former majestic self. I know I usually violated the heart of Sabbath during my days of ministry - rushing around to get myself and family to church - and then quickly working the crowd after services so that I could get in at least one administrative meeting before lunch. I know I failed to imbue my children with a gracious Sabbath sensibility, too - a regret I will carry to my grave. The wise Abraham Joshua Heschel put it so well in his small text The Sabbath:

To gain control of the world of space is certainly one of our tasks. The danger begins when in gaining power in the realm of space we forfeit all aspirations in the realm of time. There is a realm of time where the goal is not to have but to be, not to own but to give, not to control but to share, not to subdue but to be in accord. Life goes wrong when the control of space, the acquisition of things of space, becomes our sole concern.... Gallantly, ceaselessly, quietly, (we) must fight for "inner liberty” to remain independent of the enslavement of the material world. Inner liberty depends upon being exempt from domination of things as well as from domination of people. There are many who have acquired a high degree of political and social liberty, but only very few are not enslaved to things. This is our constant problem—how to live with people and remain free, how to live with things and remain independent.

Twenty five years ago, Di and I started to reclaim the Sabbath for ourselves. We invited others in our congregations to join us as well without high expectations. In those early days, some church folk actually became belligerent and testy when I made it clear that on the Sabbath I wasn't going to do any work unless it was an emergency of mercy. That was, perhaps, my first encounter with how some react to healthy and holy boundaries: they see judgment when it is all about grace. Over time, however, we were able to find a Sabbath rhythm that worked for us more often than not. Today, after a leisurely simple breakfast on the deck, we chose to spend time with the Lord's first word - creation - and be in the garden and the yard. It was just too gorgeous outside to do otherwise.

We are slowly working through a workbook we found in Canada by Jessi Bloom entitled: Everyday Sanctuary - A Workbook for Designing a Sacred Garden Space. Right now we are experiencing two meditations: 1) Meeting the garden's spirit; and 2) Getting to know the land. I took two books out of the library yesterday to help me understand the native plants of New England and how to address various problems with our soil. It will be a multi-year prayer with bench marks throughout the seasons. As a part of this incarnational meditation, I have returned to another sacred text, Christopher Hill's brilliant Holidays and Holy Nights: Celebrating 12 Seasonal Festivals of the Christian Year. I worked my way through it last year, but only scratched the surface. His words resonated in my heart and mind as I cut huge boughs and hauled them back into the wetlands.

In summer we celebrate our at-homeness in the world. Michaelmas (in late September) balances that feeling. In autumn we feel our not-at-homeness, the sense of wanting something else, something we can't name. We feel like wayfaring strangers... Summer is static - in Latin, solstice means "the stationary sun." On summer days, time feels as if it stands still. The Divine is quite close, in the dark shining green of the leaves, the warm soil under our feat, the hum of the insects. Summer is a sacrament of natural harmony with God, when we can see that "fallen nature" is really only nature seen with fallen eyes... Autumn is not a dreaming time... In autumn, we fall from the dreaming paradise of summer back into the conflict of light and dark... and there are still people who hate and fear the coming of the dark. (p. 36)

In a week, the autumnal equinox will be here. The cross quarter day of fall - a time to own the shift in the sun - an invitation to prepare for the coming cold. And dark. And mystery. We are starting to prepare a fall and winter calendar for both our garden and home. It is another way of being embodied in time and place. Next week, we will also be back in Canada: first attending a workshop on nonviolent communication and forgiveness with the community of L'Arche Ottawa; and then celebrating the wedding of two beloved friends and colleagues at L'Arche. Indeed, as I look at the calendar, their ceremony will be on the Feast of Michelmas, the cross quarter day of autumn, halfway between the summer and winter solstice.

Soon I will prepare roast chicken, boiled potatoes with chives from the garden, and fresh native corn. It was a joyful, holy and restful autumn Sabbath.