The below sermon was preached by CCA Director Sarah Ogletree on June 2nd at Warren Wilson Presbyterian Church in Swannanoa. The text for the day was Mark 2: 23-3:6.

I’m a new mom. Not that new. My daughter Margot is 15 months old as of today. But despite how much I’ve learned over this past year and some change, I still feel pretty new. I know how to change a diaper, Margot has learned how to drink from a sippy cup, and we’ve transitioned away from bottles. But every time we figure something out, something changes. 

We used to rock her to sleep. That doesn’t work anymore. Now she knows what the rocking chair does and she arches her back to avoid it at all costs. Baby dolls used to be her favorite toy, but now she is all about balls. So many balls. Every color and size… They are all over our house. We used to trust that she was safe in her “yes space,” the part of our living room that has been thoroughly baby-proofed complete with gates and outlet covers. But we can’t assume that anymore because now she can climb. Her favorite place to stand is on top of her dump truck, despite, or maybe because of, the fact that it rolls. 

More than any other life experience, parenting has made the constant presence of change clear to me. Despite all my efforts to plan for the next thing, the next stage, Margot throws me for a loop. I am in a constant state of learning and striving to adjust. Change is the only constant. And I am thoroughly exhausted. 

A particular challenge that I have found in this stage of parenting a young human is that everything is happening all at once. I’m no longer in that newborn bubble. So now, in addition to being Mom to my girl, managing teething, sleep patterns, and daycare schedules, I’m also working. I’m attending Zoom calls and coffee meetings and planning events. I’m a pet parent who needs to take the dogs to the vet. I’m a consumer with a running list of agencies to call about bills, student loans, and cell phone plans. I’m a spouse trying to find time to do the dishes and have meaningful conversations and date nights. I’m a concerned citizen worried about the state of our democracy, our climate, and all those who find themselves in war zones, victims of violence and state-sanctioned bombs. 

The days are a constant stream of to-dos muddled by worries. It’s hard. And my hunch is that you can relate. A lot is happening in our lives. If it’s not toddlers, it’s aging parents or friends. If it’s not work, it’s illness or a raise in the rent. So much, so often. It’s hard to juggle. It’s hard to process. And it’s hard to be present. All of this has had me thinking a lot about Sabbath.

What does it mean to keep the Sabbath? And how do we do it? Is Sabbath merely rest or something more? And how do we rest when so much is happening? When so much demands our attention–in our own families and in the world? 

Like many of us navigating our culture of capitalistic idolatry, where productivity is the golden calf held up above all other gods, the idea of rest for rest’s sake is challenging to me. I know that rest is not only necessary but a part of our divine inheritance. I know that we deserve rest regardless of whether or not we have “worked hard enough.” But friends, I struggle to practice this. I struggle to sit in stillness. I struggle to clear my mind. I struggle to simply be. And I think that that is why today’s passage is so intriguing to me. 

In our scripture this morning, Jesus offers us a balanced take. A look at Sabbath that isn’t black and white, but gray. And in my experience, the gray area is one of God’s favorite places to dwell. So, what does practicing Sabbath look like when everything is happening all at once? Let’s go to the text. 

Our scripture today recounts two instances where Jesus is questioned regarding the laws of the Sabbath. In the first story, Jesus is confronted by the Pharisees and questioned as to why his disciples are picking grain–an action that some, but not all, Jewish leaders at the time would have considered a violation of the commandment to refrain from labor on the Sabbath. In the second passage, Jesus reprimands the Pharisees who conspire against him after he heals a man who has a withered hand on the Sabbath–an injury that may seem insignificant today, but at the time, was likely a life or death issue as it would have prohibited many kinds of physical labor. 

Before saying anything else, I want to note that these kinds of passages have been used historically in ways that are antisemitic. They’ve pinned Jesus against Judaism, seeking to elevate Christianity by denouncing the Pharisees as overly rigid or ritualistic. But neither Jesus nor his disciples are Christians. They are Jewish. These confrontations are happening within the same religious context. This isn’t about Christianity versus Judaism. This is an inner-communal conversation between Jesus and religious authority figures regarding what constitutes Sabbath observance, and more broadly, how we sometimes let doctrine get in the way of our love. 

The crux of the argument is this–while the Pharisees assert that harvesting grain and healing should not happen on the Sabbath because it constitutes labor, Jesus maintains that the “principle of doing good is what should govern the Sabbath.” Instead of a strict adherence to doctrine, Jesus asks the Pharisees to honor the intention and context of the labor they are criticizing. The disciples are likely harvesting grain instead of eating what was prepared the day before because they are on their way to preach with Jesus. And being present with the masses, teaching them about God’s love, that is a good thing. These implications continue in the next story of Jesus’ healing the man with the withered hand when Jesus asks the crowd, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?” Here, Jesus takes us to the heart of sabbath observance, to why we do what we do–reminding us and the Pharisees not to become so preoccupied with the rules that we forget their purpose. We don’t observe the sabbath just to say that we did. We observe the sabbath to be reminded of whose we are, why we are, and what that means.

So, back to our original question. How do we keep the sabbath when everything is happening all at once? According to Jesus, Sabbath observance doesn’t require that we tune out the needs of our family or the world. It doesn’t require stillness or that we master the art of meditation. Instead, Sabbath observance is governed by the principle of doing good, and I would add, the spaciousness to respond to the moment we find ourselves in.  

In truth, spaciousness is what I see most in these passages. The disciples have the space in their day to respond to the needs of their bodies. Can you imagine if we had room to do that? Jesus has the space in his day to respond to the needs of the man in front of him who needs healing. Can you imagine if we had room to do that? To respond to the needs of our human and more than human neighbors? The couple whose car has broken down or the box turtle who needs help crossing the road? What if we had the room in our day to take the plastic we noticed weeks ago out of the creek? To fix the birdhouse? To call our senators and remind them of their obligations to create a more just and loving world? Jesus and his disciples had the space, the time, to respond to the moment before them with intention and presence. They made that time. They created that space. And we can as well. 

Of course, Sabbath doesn’t give us more hours in the day. We have to step outside the chaos of commerce and productivity worship and walk into the world with our eyes wide open. We have to look up from our phones. And yes, we have to rest. We have to rest in ways that fill our spirits and keep us open-hearted. We have to stop over-planning and start trusting that the day will come to us if we throw out our arms and accept what comes through God’s abundant love.

You may wonder why someone called to the intersection of faith and environment just preached about Sabbath. It’s true, sometimes my sermons are more pointedly ecological. But make no mistake. Sabbath is essential to the achievement of creation care and climate justice. We cannot respond to the needs of a world aching for our presence if we cannot be present to our own needs–our own tired bones and the needs of our loved ones. We have to practice presence, and we have to understand our interconnectedness. We too are a part of creation. Our burn-out and exhaustion will benefit no one and nothing. Without Sabbath, we will not only tire of the good work we are called to do, but we will have no energy to be who we are called to be in all our many roles. 

Sabbath may not happen on Sunday for you. It might happen in hourly increments. Or maybe on Thursdays. It might happen through time spent on your porch. It might show up in the form of belly laughter while catching up with old friends. It may happen as you cook the kind of dinner that includes chopping, and stirring, and simmering. It might be prayer, or a nap, or mediation. It might be dancing. The important thing to remember is that Sabbath is not a stepping out, but a stepping in. And thank goodness. Because this broken and bleeding world needs you in your fullness, entirely awake. 

Professor of theology and ecology, Norman Wirzba, says that Sabbath “is fundamentally about saying yes to the gift of this life, the gift of community, the gift of our friends, the gift of our places.” And friends, I want that for all of us. Instead of waking to the “shoulds” of our to-do list, I want us to wake with “yes” on our lips… Imagine if Sabbath was defined by the principle of God’s goodness–for our neighbor, for ourselves, and all of creation. Imagine what that would look like. What would it take to make that happen? May it be so.