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Sabbath Time
A Sermon byThe Reverend Roberta Nelson
October 29, 2000
Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
Bethesda, Maryland
When I was growing up I remember that, in my grandmother's house, the Sabbath was a sacred day. My
grandmother prepared the traditional Sunday dinner on Saturday. All she had to do was to warm it. We
could not play games, read the comics, or do any kind of "real" work. I remember my grandmother and
my aunt getting into a rip-roaring argument because my aunt Emily wanted to knit. When my father was
growing up, he was paid by an orthodox Jewish family to light the lamps and stoke the furnace on the
Sabbath. There are religious groups today that observe the Sabbath in similar ways.
We may not wish to observe the Sabbath in such a ritualistic way, but we do need Sabbath time. One of
my daughters reminded me not to use myself as an example -- she knows me well! I needed some
Sabbath time this week, but making the time was very hard. It has taken me years to appreciate the need
for time and space to do what Wayne Miller calls restoring the sacred rhythm of rest.
Last week end, I watched a video interview of the Unitarian Universalist minister Harry Scholefield, now
well into his 80s, in which he said "Without a spiritual practice, a person will dry up and blow away."
Harry would often challenge his students with the question "How is your devotional life?" Most students
were taken aback by such a question, thinking that it was too personal. Even so, most of Harry's students
took him seriously. Harry knows and we know that we lead busy, sometimes frantic, demanding,
cluttered, and simulating lives. Many of us have too much on our plate. Most of the people I talk with are
trying to balance family, work, travel, and volunteer commitments. They are feeling pulled and pushed in
many directions. Many feel guilty because they find it difficult and even painful trying to keep up with
the myriad of opportunities available in this area -- plays, concerts, art exhibits, the news.
People yearn for help in setting priorities and boundaries, for help in clearing away their deluge of mail
and phone calls so their lives can take on more wholeness. In Scholefield's video there are beautiful scenes
of Harry sitting in his back yard early in the morning, wrapped in a blanket and writing in his journal, of
him walking on the beach, of him talking with his great grandchild about something she has found in
the grass. He speaks of looking, listening, working, as a spiritual practice. He calls this the practice of
welcome, of choosing what we bring into ourselves so that it will always be available to us whenever we
may be in need. Remember his line,"... people without a spiritual practice will dry-up and blow away." All
of us need to stay in tune with the deepest longings of our heart and soul and the wisdom of the ages.
In his book, Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, Wayne Muller writes:
I use the word Sabbath... [to represent] a specific practice and [I use it as] a larger metaphor, a starting
point to invoke a conversation about the forgotten necessity of rest. Sabbath is time for sacred rest; it may
be a holy day, the seventh day of the week, as in the Jewish tradition, or the first day of the week as for
Christians. But Sabbath time may also be a Sabbath afternoon, a Sabbath hour, a Sabbath walk -- indeed,
anything that preserves a visceral experience of life-giving nourishment and rest.... Sabbath time is time
off the wheel, time when we take our hands from the plow... while we drink, if only for a few moments,
from the fountain of rest and delight.
Sabbath is more than the absence of work; it is not just a day off, when we catch up on television or
errands. It is the presence of something that arises when we consecrate a period of time to listen to what
is most deeply beautiful, nourishing, or true. It is time consecrated with our attention, our mindfulness,
honoring those quiet forces of grace or spirit that sustain and heal us....
Sabbath does not require us to leave home, change jobs, go on retreat, or leave the world of ordinary life.
We do not have to change clothes or purchase any expensive spiritual equipment. We only need to
remember.
A few years ago, I received an anonymous gift, the book Everyday Sacred by Sue Bender. In her book she
asks "[Are ordinary things] entitled to reverence?" and says that to make every day sacred, she had to step
back and look at the way she judged events or occasions in her life. As Abraham Heschel said, "The place
to look for spiritual substance is in every day existence." In recent years, I have found myself collecting
more and more books of poetry. I do not memorize poems, but I do read certain ones over and over again.
In my office, I have notebooks of favorite pieces that intentionally are not organized by author or subject
matter. They are browsing books. When I am looking for a piece to enhance a service of any kind, I sit and
read through them until one resonates with what I'm looking for. It is a Sabbath Time as are some of my
other practices -- tending a garden, preparing a meal, setting the table, lighting candles, reading a story,
choosing a special gift, visiting with a friend, watching the autumn leaves fall.
Bender tells the story of the French playwright Jean Genet, who said he wanted to roam the countryside
like a monk, holding a begging bowl to be filled with what he needed for the nourishment of life. His idea
being that whatever was placed in the bowl would be his nourishment for the day. Begging does not
appeal to me, but the idea of discovering on a daily basis those words, spaces, experiences that nourish
does. There is something to learn from creating regular routines or daily rituals that help bring rhythm
and heightened possibilities for experiencing the sacred. The hard part is making time and remembering
to do them. This poem by Mary Oliver is one way I observe the Sabbath:
Stars
Here in my head, language
keeps making its tiny noises.
How can I hope to be friends
with the hard white stars
whose flaring and hissing are not speech
but a pure radiance?
How can I hope to be friends
with the yawning spaces between them
Where nothing, ever, is spoken?
Tonight at the edge of the field,
I stood very still, and looked up,
and tried to be empty of words.
What joy was it, that almost found me?
What amiable peace?
Then it was over, the wind
roused up in the oak trees behind me
and I fell back, easily.
Earth has a hundred thousand pure contraltos --
even the distant bird
as it talks threat, as it talks love
over the cold, black fields.
Once, deep in the woods,
I found the white skull of a bear
and it was utterly silent --
and once a river otter, in a steel trap,
and it too was utterly silent.
What can we do
but keep on breathing in and out,
modest and willing, and in our places?
Listen, listen, I'm forever saying,
Listen to the river, to the hawk, to the hoof,
to the mockingbird, to the Jack-in the pulpit --
then I come up with a few words, like a gift.
Even as now.
Even as the darkness has remained the pure, deep darkness.
Even as the stars have twirled a little, while I stood here,
looking up,
one hot sentence after another.
-- Mary Oliver, Stars in West Wind,
Houghton Mifflin, 1997
In Sabbath time we can sense the spiritual. When we are not doing anything, saying anything, listening to
anything, we can hear the humming of the spirit. It is a reservoir of power and wisdom that will keep us
from being "blown away." Our spirit keeps us alive, dynamic, centered, and engaged. Spirit resonates with
the mystery and awe of being alive at this very moment. It comes from deep inside and needs our nurture
and care -- our Sabbath time -- to stay alive and well.
Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
9601 Cedar Lane
Bethesda, Maryland 20814-4099
Tel: 301-493-8300
Fax: 301-897-5713
e-mail:n cluuc@his.com
Sunday Services at 10:00 a.m.
(one service only throughout the summer)
© 1998-2000, Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
The web site is being maintained by
Maury Merkin
and Joe Perry
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