In my reading for class
this week,[1]
it was suggested that Sabbath really wasn’t meant to connote a time of rest,
but rather, a time of indwelling. This floored me. Sabbath means so much more
sense as a time of indwelling, as a day of homecoming, as a day of feasting.
Sabbath, as a day of
rest, has a pesky habit of pointing us back to ourselves and OUR rest from OUR
work. It becomes a time when we say “no” to things. We do well to bear in mind
the reminder that the rationale for this is that saying “no” to things, such as
work, is tantamount to saying “yes” to God. Perhaps. Is it not odd, though our “no”
to the world should be a “yes” to God, and moreover, that it was God who said “yes”
to the world despite the resounding “no” the world shouted when God hung on the
cross?
God’s YES of the
resurrection echoing in our minds, lips still stained with wine and bread stuck
in our teeth, we walk out of the church doors to the world and say “no.”
But what if the
Sabbath is the day we invite the world home? What if Sunday is the day that we
are reminded of what it is to say “yes” to the world? What if Sunday is the day
that we remind others what it is to say “yes” to the world?
Yes to the goodness of
creation.
Yes to the belovedness
of its messy, inconvenient creatures.
Yes to doubting moody
whiny prophets.
Yes to poetry and love
song.
Yes to “not my people”
discovering their new name.
Yes to the blessing of
the poor, the weak, the lowly.
Yes to the cross and
the resurrection.
Yes to our no’s.
Sunday is the day we
hear God, perhaps a little drunk by this time, yelling from the heavens “There’s
still room!” At first, we don’t think the voice is meant for us. We look
around, trying to find someone more deserving, less sinful, less fearful of the
shadows, less scared of the darkness we lug around with us. Again and again,
the yes comes. Yes, you.
All of creation has
been waiting all this time with baited breath. It has been waiting for you to
wake up, to walk out to this world and, squinting in its bright, messy glory,
and say “yes.” Nobody should miss out on this feast. First off, there’s way too
much food and way too much wine. The Patriarchs and Matriarchs are tipsily
telling stories, laughing so hard they’re almost falling out of their chairs.
The Older Brother forgets himself and puts his arm around the Prodigal.
Sabbath is the day of
homecoming. It points us away from ourselves and toward the feast, to which all
the prodigals slip in at the last minute, taking their as-of-yet empty seat at
the table.
[1] NT Wright, Paul
and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013), 557-562,
but especially 560. Though I am not ready to endorse his argument and, indeed,
think I will remain reticent to do so, his discussion of both Messiah-time and,
particularly, Sabbath, is quite powerful.
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