It’s a beautiful day outside, a blessed relief from the oppressive humidity that’s clung to the city all week. Like most mornings, I settled into my meditation, ready to center myself and then dive into the day’s tasks. But today, the familiar stillness felt different. A quiet resistance simmered beneath the surface, a sense of something holding me back. Then, a line of scripture, a phrase I hadn’t consciously thought of in years, began to hum in my mind: “Remember the Sabbath Day and keep it Holy.” It wasn’t a command from a stern teacher; it was a gentle, insistent melody I couldn’t shake. I found myself asking a simple, desperate question: Can’t I just have one day? One day where the news headlines don’t demand my outrage, where the to-do list doesn’t loom, where the anxieties about upcoming doctor’s visits and deadlines are put on mute?
We live in a culture that valorizes relentless productivity. We’ve read the scientific journals—the ones filled with long, serious articles on the vital necessity of sleep, of stillness, of unplugging. We know all of this, yet we routinely ignore the data. It’s ironic, really. We trust science, but when it tells us to stop and rest, we treat it as an optional suggestion.
Perhaps the oldest wisdom knew this all along. God, in His profound understanding of the creatures He created, didn’t just suggest rest; He commanded it. The Sabbath isn’t a quaint tradition; it’s a non-negotiable part of the divine design, placed in the Ten Commandments right alongside “do not murder” and “do not steal.” It’s as essential to our well-being as our very moral code.
We each find rest in our own way—whether it’s hiking a trail, reading a book, or simply sitting in silence. But no matter how we do it, the core instruction remains the same: on this day, we are called to take a load off. To step away from the relentless churn and remember that our worth isn’t measured by our output. The Sabbath isn’t just about what we don’t do; it’s about creating space for what truly nourishes.
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