"Sabbath at Sea" | The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | June 23, 2024
Sermon Preached: June 23, 2024 at Trinity on the Green
Year B, Proper 7 (Track 2): Job 38:1-11 | Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32 | 2 Corinthians 6:1-13 | Mark 4:35-41
May I speak in the name of God, who is to us Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sometimes, I get jealous of Jesus for falling asleep on the boat.
These aren’t my words, not originally. But I feel the truth of them just as much as the musical artist Joy Oladokun, a former evangelical singer-songwriter whose words so often speak to my soul. In her song “Smoke,” she sings these words:
Sometimes, I get jealous of Jesus for falling asleep on the boat.
I was listening to her song this week, and as soon as I heard these words I thought - yes. Of course. Sometimes I get jealous of Jesus for falling asleep on the boat too. Because wouldn’t it be nice, in the midst of the storms of our lives, to be able to lay back on a cushion in the stern of the boat, and close our eyes, and rest? Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to find peace, in the middle of the storm.
In our story from today’s Gospel Jesus ultimately does wake up and tell the wind to stop. It’s an incredible moment of unimaginable power, and the disciples are, appropriately, impressed. “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” They say. The disciples have learned an important lesson: that Jesus is powerful. More powerful than his human flesh and bones might lead his disciples to believe, at first glance. But I think there is another message too, one that the disciples seem to miss. The second message is a message about sabbath; a message about rest. I believe that Jesus’ nap on the boat is a reminder to us that we ought to be resting too. No matter how busy we are, no matter how stormy the sea around us, rest is an essential need. Rest is a spiritual practice. As human beings, we are called to rest.
In Christianity we have a tradition of rest called the sabbath. This tradition is rooted in the Jewish origins of Christianity, and in scripture. In the first creation story in the Book of Genesis, God creates the heavens and the earth in six days - and on the seventh day, God rests. This story becomes the model for the sabbath, setting aside a day of rest once every seven days. This is not just a suggestion; it is a commandment. The Sabbath is prescribed as one of the 10 Commandments given to Israel by God (#4): “Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy” (Exodus 20:8).
For centuries Jews have been perfecting the art of the sabbath: deliberating what acts should or should not be done on this day of rest, and contemplating the purpose of the sabbath. One of the more contemporary and well known reflections is the book The Sabbath, written by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Herschel in 1951. Heschel’s reflection on the sabbath is particularly poignant because of his activism. Heschel was a leader in the Civil Rights Movement, and walked arm-in-arm with John Lewis, Dr. Martin Luther King, and others during the march from Selma to Montgomery. Heschel was very aware of how much work still needed to be done to bring justice and peace into the world– and still, he found time to observe the sabbath. And he also found time to write about it.
In his book, Heschel describes the sabbath as a gift from God to humanity. He writes, “The Sabbaths are our great cathedrals; and our Holy of Holies is a shrine that neither the Romans nor the Germans were able to burn” (Heschel, Sabbath, 8). Heschel writes about how human beings are obsessed with things– we are obsessed with technology, we are obsessed with land, we are obsessed with power, we are obsessed with attainment. The sabbath stands over and above all of these things precisely because it isn’t a physical entity– the sabbath is a realm in time. The sabbath exists in a different sphere, untainted by human selfishness and striving. The sabbath is the practice of calling time, itself, holy. Heschel describes it in this way:
“Time is like an eternal burning bush. Though each instant must vanish to open the way to the next one, time itself is not consumed. Time has independent ultimate significance; it is of more majesty and more provocative awe than even a sky studded with stars. Gliding gently in the most ancient of all splendors, it tells so much more than space can say in its broken language of things, playing symphonies upon the instruments of isolated beings, unlocking the earth and making it happen. Time is the process of creation” (Heschel, Sabbath, 100).
I love these words. I love how Heschel captures the spirit of the sabbath as more than a set of rules to abide by. For Heschel Sabbath is that; and it is also so much more. The sabbath is a way of thinking differently about time. The sabbath is a way of appreciating that each moment is holy.
While Christians have inherited this tradition of the Sabbath from Judaism, I don’t think we’re very good at it. Sure, we often come to church on Sundays to pray. But is it truly a day of rest? Is it a day free from our human projects of work, worry, and striving? Suddenly, I find that I’m not only jealous of Jesus for falling asleep on the boat. I’m also envious of those whose cultures and traditions have a robust practice of sabbath– a practice that is supported by a communal commitment to living differently, one day a week.
Our version of sabbath is indeed different from the Jewish practice of sabbath. And while we may not observe the sabbath in the same way, I hope that we still commit ourselves to a practice of rest. To a practice of recognizing that time itself is holy– that every moment we pass through is holy.
Jesus rested in the middle of a journey. Knowing he wasn’t yet at his destination, Jesus saw fit to rest anyways. When he wakes up the disciples assume that Jesus’ falling asleep is somehow related to a lack of care or concern. “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” The disciples say. And yet Jesus’ next actions show that he does care; they show that prioritizing rest does not mean that we don’t care deeply about the world around us. Once Jesus is awake he turns to the wind and sea, and says, “Peace! Be still!” These words are not only for the wind and the waves. They are also for the disciples. They are also for us.
Peace! Be Still! Peace, be still.
It is summer– we can feel it in the warm air of the church. Summer, in our western working culture, is often thought of as a time for rest. And sure: you might think you are finding time to rest this summer. You might be taking a few days off to clean out the basement, or you might be doing a week at the beach. But are those things truly rest? Are those things truly sabbath?
This summer, I invite you into a practice of sabbath - and that practice might look different for each one of you. Maybe it is a day: a time set aside for you as an individual, or with family. Or maybe it is a short period of time everyday. Maybe that sabbath involves doing certain actions or not doing certain actions. Maybe that sabbath involves sleep. Whatever practice you choose, I hope it calls you into a different relationship with time, and a different relationship with God. Maybe you can notice the storm around you– the storm of things happening in your life, in the wider life of our community, in our nation, and in the world– and still find peace in the midst of it. In that peace there is no judgment, either the positive or negative kind. Instead there is simply presence: an attentiveness to things as they are and people as they are, and a commitment to love and honor every moment to the best of our ability.
The Scripture says: When evening had come, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. In our Gospel reading for today, we don’t see Jesus ever arrive at the other side. But he will, in the next chapter, and when he arrives his ministry doesn’t stop. Almost immediately, Jesus is approached by a man with an unclean spirit– it’s a strange and somewhat scary story. The unclean spirit identifies itself as “Legion” and Jesus commands the spirit to leave the man and enter instead a herd of pigs, which then run off a bank and drown. I could definitely preach a whole other sermon or two about that story alone. But for now the point is this: the storm doesn’t end when Jesus calms the waves. The storm continues, in the people that Jesus meets and the healing that they so greatly long for. The storm continues, in the rumble of power-hungry Romans and politicians. The storm continues, and still we can find rest in the midst of it.
We can lay down our heads on a cushion at the back of the boat, and rest. We can trust that there will be time to do the work that needs to be done– and maybe we’ll return to that work with a clearer sense of its purpose, in the first place. We can trust that Jesus is there with us. We can remember that time itself is holy. And we can imagine these words of Jesus, not as a rebuke, but as an encouragement:
Peace, be still. Amen.
Works Cited:
Heschel, Abraham Joshua. The Sabbath. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1951.
Oladokun, Joy. “Smoke.” in defence of my own happiness (the beginnings). Track 1. Amigo Records, LLC: 2020. Spotify.