Lenten Sabbath

Josephine Robertson
St Paul’s Episcopal Church, Waco
3/9/2014
Lent 1A
Matthew 4:1-11


Welcome to Lent. How many of you have given something up for Lent? How many of you have added some spiritual discipline? I know it isn’t very Episcopalian to ask you to raise your hands, but as you can see, our Lenten traditions are pretty set!


But this year your clergy would like to invite you to something different. Jesus spent 40 days and 40 nights in the wilderness, alone with his thoughts and his God. Lent is 40 days and 40 nights. (That’s not a coincidence.) And often we read the story of Jesus’ time in the wilderness and we see it as an invitation to suffering, or at least to scarcity. To “give something up” that we enjoy in a sort of “sharing in Jesus’ trials.” But I’d like to look a little closer at what’s going on here.


Jesus is baptized in the Jordan, and he is immediately driven out into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is a smart cookie. Let’s not forget, Jesus is human, like you and I. (We often forget about that.) And I’m going to guess that like most human’s Jesus’ instinct after his baptism is to get to work! Right? I mean you don’t graduate with a fancy new degree and not want to go start using it! You don’t get a new computer and not pull it out and start pounding away at the keys. You don’t get a new fountain pen (if you are like me) and not want to sit down and write a letter. We’re very good at being busy, very good. So you don’t get baptized by a fire and brimstone preacher, have the Holy Spirit descend on you and call you Beloved of God and not want to get right to declaring the Kingdom, and healing people, and teaching folks about God!


We humans are not so good at rest, replenishment, at stillness, or listening. (When was the last time there wasn’t music, or a TV show, or talk radio, or a conversation in your life? When was the last time there was no noise? I bet it was a long time ago.) So the Spirit gets out in front of all Jesus’ inclinations toward business, toward getting right down to it, and drives him out where there is nothing to do but be still, listen, rest. And we can imagine, to come face to face with his humanity, with his mortal nature. There’s a shock to the system. A glory moment, hearing words from heaven, being called God’s Son. And then off with you, time to get right up to the edge of death, go way beyond the bounds of normal fasting, just to remember: still human.


But Jesus says something really important in the midst of this last few hours of desert time. Some of the truest words ever spoken, and he probably needed all of those 40 days to get there. “Human beings do not live by bread alone.” Maybe that’s what the desert was really for. To really find out what it means to be human, to realize that while hunger is sharp, spiritual hunger is more dangerous. To realize that while thirst is horrible, spiritual thirst is deadly.


Lent can be two things. It can be a terrifying reminder that we are going to die; and so to be avoided at all costs. Or it can be the liberating freedom of knowing we are mortal creatures, with less permanence than a breath, the liberating truth spoken out loud: none of us get out of this life alive. I’m in that second camp. I love Ash Wednesday, I love Lent. I love the freedom it brings.


And I love Sabbath for the exact same reason. This might seem like a strange leap, but stay with me. This year, we have a challenge, to deny ourselves in a different way. To deny our need to be busy, our need to prove our worth, our need to be in charge. We are being challenged to make Sabbath our Lenten practice. Why? Because Sabbath says: you are not God, the world will go on without you, take one day to stop pretending to be God. It says much the same thing as Ash Wednesday and Lent, you are dust, mortal. Can you by worrying add a day to your life? No. Can you by managing every moment change the course of this world? No. Can you by working undo the march of time? No.
You are dust. Beautiful, holy, beloved mortal. God smears your forehead, smears ash across your worrying brow and whispers “you are mortal, let me be God.”


Put away all the Protestant fears you have about Sabbath. That this is about rules, or what you can and cannot do. I don’t care, and I suspect God cares less, because I actually like rules. God loves you. So sit still, for a blessed moment, breathing, and feeling how fragile a thing that breath is. And commit a day, or an afternoon, but a rhythm, the same reliable time each week (Saturday is traditional) to ceasing.


Ceasing to worry, to nag, to press. Let the dishes pile up, and the laundry heap the floor. Let the homework sit (yes, really), and the honey do list be blank. And trust that God, the God who made every cell in your body and star in the sky from the same stuff, loves you. Trust that God has this, for a few hours God will take care of this world while you cease to be super Mom, or CEO, or priest, or cook, or chauffeur, or cruise director.


Now. Think for me about what is delight, and joy, and refreshment in your life and that, that is the rule of your Sabbath. Snuggle with your husband and watch a movie. Pop popcorn with the kids and do the same. Go to the beach and all become sun burnt and sand covered and exhausted. Take the dog to the park without your cell phone and throw the ball until neither of you wants to do anything but nap in the sun. Read something that has no “value.” Unplug everything, open the windows, and listen to the birds sing. Make your favorite dinner as a family all helping (even if that isn’t really helping) and laugh when it burns, and don’t care that it isn’t perfect and just enjoy each other.


It will be messy. Sometimes it won’t work. Sometimes you will fail. Sometimes the voices in your head that urge you to stay busy, to keep the world spinning just won’t shut up. It isn’t about getting it right. It is about going back, again and again, to the goodness God has laid out for us, and sampling. Without shame. Every time, no matter how rough. This isn’t another activity, it isn’t another thing to fit into your week it is your week. Your anchor. This is life, and feasting, and joy.


The Church invites her members to the observance of a holy Lent. To prayer for this world that God loves, to self-denial of our need for power, for more, for worth, and to fasting from our appetites, from more when less will do, from all that draws us from God. The Church invites you to center your life on the One who made you, and loves you. The Church invites you to live differently, radically, and to let your life speak to all who see. Amen.