Today, in the church life, has always felt like a suspension, or the penultimate bar of a big piece of music. We’ve made it through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, and the big emotions resulting from the last supper, foot washing, betrayal, reading of the passion and execution. And now, we wait.
We know this isn’t the end of the story, and we’re eager to rush to the ending, to Easter’s glory. And because time marches on, there’s a little bit of that Easter sense that creeps in to today. Plans for brunch are being made and Easter eggs dyed. In normal years, churches are readying their spaces for Vigils or Easter day services. Flowers arranged, pews dusted, choirs practicing, and sermons finished.
In normal years, it’s very easy to skip right over Holy Saturday, and not rest at all. But in our creation story, God rested one day out of seven. And today, Holy Saturday, Jesus rests.
In this weird pandemic year, it might be easier for us to rest, if we think about it. We can’t busy ourselves with many of the things that we normally do. But we are called to rest. Every Sabbath day, rest.
I am definitely not any good at that. But if I cannot rest, I cannot be rejuvenated. I’m not talking about binge watching TV, or mindlessly scrolling through social media. Rather, Sabbath rest is doing something that connects you with God. Sitting silently. An intentional holy yoga practice. A walk in the neighborhood. Even a intentionally prepared meal.
And if we cannot rest one day a week, we should at least try to rest today, one day a year. This year, it should be easier to find rest, although it’s getting harder to discern rest from boredom.
This morning, I’m thinking about today’s rest. About being present in today. Not worrying about yesterday’s pain, or tomorrow’s joy. I’m thinking about that penultimate bar of music in a beautiful arrangement, where the expectation and pause are critical, and often held just a little longer. That’s where we are today. Rest. And wait for it . . . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment