SERMONS 

Sabbath: Not Time Subtracted, but Over and Above

Opening Words
Lao-Tzu

Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are.
When you realize there is nothing lacking,
the whole world belongs to you.

May this be an hour of contentment for us, a Sabbath time to rejoice and celebrate the gift of Life and the gifts of life.

Meditation
Henry David Thoreau

There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of head or hands. Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a reverie, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sang around. I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance.

Sermon

Some years ago, when my husband John first started getting serious about riding his bike, I puzzled over the way he kept going for more. More distance, more speed. He wasn’t competing with anyone else, really, only himself. I kept thinking, what will be fast enough? In the last few years, since I’ve started running, I’ve come to a better understanding of this drive. You need to understand I’m not really a runner—I almost never run more than three miles at a time. And, relatively speaking, I’m quite slow. But the urge to be faster is there. Every now and then it really gets hold of me. And I’ve got to tell you, fast feels good. Sure, it’s partly the endorphins—but there is something else too. Something about going faster. I like it.

A couple of years ago, I attended a meditation retreat with Thich Nhat Hanh (a zen Buddhist monk whose teachings have influenced me). The retreat was on the campus of the University of California, San Diego. As you can imagine, it was an odd sight, the mixture of students and faculty with monks in their robes and retreaters with our meditation cushions. I had some free time one afternoon and decided to take a run. On my way across campus to the cliffs above the Pacific Ocean I ran into, well, ran by, the young monk who was the leader of my small dharma group. He was waking, as is the custom, slowly and mindfully. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other all the while recognizing his connection with the earth. When he realized who I was, I could see a little surprise, and then a smile. (They always smile, those monks.)

Pretty soon I realized the red on my face was not just from the exertion—I was embarrassed. To be moving so fast. Wasn’t I there to be learning how to move more slowly? How to be still and quiet? The rest of my run gave me an opportunity to reflect on my reaction to this meeting of worlds. Later on I spoke with the monk about how seeing him (or really him seeing me) when I was running made me feel. He smiled. Then he said, “Were you running mindfully?”

Actually I was. Exercising is something I do mindfully. It helps me focus and in fact helps me slow down my mind. I am present to the moment more when I run, or swim, or bicycle, than when I’m doing many other things. It’s the running I do at other times that causes me problems.

Gandhi reminds us that “there is more to life than merely increasing its speed.” And yet so many of the messages we receive urge us on, ever faster. Work more, volunteer more, produce more, consume more. A traditional tale tells the story of our lives. Rabbi Levi saw a man running in the street, and asked him, “Why do you run?” He replied, “I am running after my good fortune!” Rabbi Levi answers him, “Silly man, your good fortune has been trying to chase you, but you are running too fast.”

I doubt seriously that I have to make the case that most of us are moving too fast most of the time. I’m guessing, that like me, you know this all too well. We know it from the pace of fitting in errands before work or before the kids are out of school. From fatigue at the end of the day that leaves us with only enough energy to sit in front of the television. (Unfortunately, too often, the frenetic action on programs and commercials does nothing to help the mind relax.) Or perhaps you have felt it from time to time in physical maladies that are crying out to make you stop. (I remember getting really bad colds after particularly busy semesters in college.) Sometimes it shows up when we have to deal with the stress of change or grief, and we discover that our reserves are used up. Or maybe there is just chronic dissatisfaction. A sense of missing something important. Something you need.

Wayne Muller, in his wonderful book, Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in our Busy Lives, makes the case that in fact the culture around us is programming us for dissatisfaction. He argues that the consumerism which is now the foundation of our society depends on our being dissatisfied. And that the best way to keep us that way is to make sure we don’t stop our running, don’t go back to the house for a book.

He describes a magazine advertisement showing a beautiful man and a beautiful woman sitting together in their beautiful house. They are having tea, the dog sits peacefully beside them. “A picture of perfect happiness.” (p. 134) What is it about that picture that attracts us? Muller would say that what attracts us is the possibility of stopping. That’s simple enough. The system doesn’t work quite that simply though, because ironically the message we get is that we can’t stop, not until we are as beautiful, not until we have the right kind of tea, the right kind of house, the right whatever. It’s really a clever trap. The attraction is to something genuine. Time. Peace. Happiness. It is dressed up, though, as things, many things, we must obtain, which keeps us from ever getting it, since we will always have to work more, keep moving, in order to buy the next thing we need to stop.

Muller found this amazing advertisement that was in a window at Macy’s advertising perfume:

You want it. You want it bad. Sometimes so much it hurts. You can taste it. You feel like you would do anything to get it. Go further than they’d suspect. Twist your soul and crush what’s in your way. Then you get it. And something happens. You become the object of your desire. And it feels incredible.

Just in case you’ve doubted lately how far advertisers will go. They want us to twist our souls. They need it. They need it bad.

I want to urge, with Muller and Lao Tzu, that we remember that we have everything we need to stop. We have everything we need to find a moment of peace. We have everything we need to experience the beauty of Life. We will find the peace, we will experience the beauty, if only we will stop.

For some of us we had the gift of stopping over the summer. A trip to the mountains, the beach, or to a friend’s house for a few days. Vacation time is a wonderful way to stop. Sadly, this sometimes leaves us believing that the only opportunity we have for stopping is a few days in the summer. Perhaps you’ve noticed that a great many of the world’s religious traditions emphasize the practice of Sabbath. For centuries they have understood that we need a regular time of stopping much more often than once a year. Many would say once a week. I think we ought to think big and believe we can have this every day.

Or maybe I should say think small. It doesn’t take much. It can be as simple as expressing gratitude for the day before we get out of bed. It can be a few moments of quiet in our office before we dive into the tasks of the day. It could be watering a plant with mindfulness, lighting a candle, counting our breath at the red light. I would recommend starting small. Don’t ask yourself to meditate for twenty minutes every day to begin with. That’s cruel and probably self-defeating. Simply find a way to stop, for one minute, or five, and breathe in the beauty of life, give thanks for the joy, hold the grief, acknowledge a struggle. Sabbath time can be as simple as that.

Most of you know that I am preparing for a big chunk of Sabbath time. Like other Unitarian Universalist ministers, I receive periodic sabbatical leave. Sometime soon after next Sunday’s service, John, Caleb and I will be leaving for Virginia for the fall. John will be working at Georgetown, Caleb will be attending second grade there, and I will be spending my time more still than usual. Listening. Meditating. I have a couple of goals that are of the academic and institutional sort—but my main job while I’m away from here is to be still.

I found a story that captures my hope for this time away. It comes from South America. There is a tribe there that would travel great distances, marching for days at a time, covering vast distances in a short time. But in the midst of their walking, suddenly, they would stop. They would sit and rest for awhile and then make camp for a couple of days before going on. It was explained that their time of rest was necessary so that their souls could catch up with them (p. 70).

All of us need time, now and again, for our souls to catch up with us. I am very grateful you are giving me this time. I am thrilled to have it. I am taking very seriously my obligation to wait for my soul. To go back to the house for the book of poetry. To not allow the bloom of the present moment to pass by me unnoticed. I will come back just before the new year refreshed by this Sabbath time. I hope it will help me be a better minister. I also hope it will help you see and experience what a wonderful congregation you are.

During this time may you also consider the Sabbath. Coming to church is one way to stop and honor time. There will be wonderful speakers throughout the fall. Enjoy them. And enjoy each other’s faces on Sunday mornings. Perhaps you might also consider developing, if you do not have one already, a Sabbath practice. Some way you can stop in the midst of your day to remember. In his book, Muller wisely reminds:

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.

Sabbath will help us remember who we are. That we are precious individuals with the capacity for love. And Sabbath will help us remember what a gift this Life is. With all its grief and struggle, there is beauty and the possibility of love.

Practicing Sabbath is not something we do only for ourselves. It is not only about finding inner peace. Ultimately it is all about how we live in the world, what we offer of ourselves to this weary world. If we cannot be still and see the world in all its vast possibilities and beauty, we will come to believe it is a world without possibilities, devoid of beauty. We will forget the beauty and worth in each other, and in ourselves. We will move through the world (as we sometimes do) thoughtlessly, carelessly, using up what is here for the sake of keeping moving.

If, on the other hand, we can stop, practice the Sabbath, listen to the still small voice within, experience the life-giving force all around us—then we are much more likely to move with care through the world. Kindness and compassion are possible then. And suddenly the possibilities and the beauty of the world are ours. The peace that we find within will bring peace to the world.