Keeping Sabbath, a Divine Honeymoon

This is a revised manuscript for the sermon preached at Green Lake Church, Sabbath, March 1, 2014.

This manuscript is much closer to the sermon as it was actually preached than the original manuscript published on this blog.

Text: Exodus 20: 8-11

Synopsis. Sabbath zealots—people who are hyper strict in their observance of the Sabbath—are indispensable to protecting the specialness of the Sabbath among us. Even if we are not strict observers of Sabbath, whatever measure of respite we experience in our Sabbath-keeping is a gift that flows from the vigor and carefulness of the zealots. Sabbath is like a honeymoon, too precious to be littered with the affairs of ordinary life. It calls for planning. It makes life-shaping memories.

Visual set up: I set a small glass bottle of whipping cream, a mixing bowl, a bottle of vanilla and a hand-crank egg beater on a small stool.

I own 20,000 acres of forest land east of Enumclaw. My favorite spot on the entire property is a rocky prominence at the top of massive cliffs overlooking the White River. You hike through the woods for several miles, then the trail winds through a dense thicket of small trees and you come out on this rocky point. It's a perfect lunch spot.

If you are hiking with me and we sit on the rocks there and eat our lunch, and if after you have eaten your apple you pull back your arm to throw your apple core out into the great void, I will leap from my and fly through the air and snatch that apple core from your hand before you can let it fly. I'll smile and say, “I'll carry that out for you.”

Usually when you come to this overlook at the top of the cliffs, there is no litter. One reason is because I'm a litter zealot. If you are hiking on my property with me, I won't let you toss out anything. Apple cores, orange peels, egg shells? I'll carry that out for you. Every time I climb to this spot I scour it for trash. A tiny corner of granola bar wrapper. A cigarette butt. Orange peels. Banana peels. I pick them all up. Once I spent ten minutes picking up egg shell that had been left by someone who had eaten a hardboiled egg. Not just the big pieces. I picked up the tiniest bit of crushed shell, so that when we left the point was pristine.

Oh, this 20,000 acres I own—it's national forest land. We all own it, but I prove my ownership by being a litter zealot. A litter fanatic. Maybe, a litter-Nazi.

I know that most of you think I'm crazy for being so nitpicking that I won't even toss an apple core—and won't allow you to do it either if we are hiking together. But I also know that you like the culture litter zealots like me have created. You can't help thinking people like me are fanatics, people who pick up every piece of litter they come across on the trail, people who urge you to “pack out” the chocolate square you dropped in the sand, people who leap up and grab the apple core from your hand when you go to toss it into the trees. People like me are crazy. We are extremists. But we are indispensable agents in shaping Northwest culture.

I was reminded of the value of that culture Tuesday afternoon. I was talking with Ken up at Zoka's. He and Susana have just returned from three months in Mexico. The countryside around their village is beautiful. The food was fantastic. The people are friendly and helpful. The air was warm. The sky was blue. It was paradise. Except for one striking, disturbing aspect of life in rural Mexico: litter. There was garbage everywhere.

Why? Are the people there defective? No. Are they blind? No. Why is there garbage? Because of the culture. There is no compelling social drive against littering. So there is garbage everywhere.

It is the same according to my friends who live there.

It is somewhat like that in north Georgia. My dad used to live there. When I'd go for a visit, we sometimes drove to national forests in the area. It's beautiful country, but I was astonished at the trash. Every trail head had piles of garbage. Even miles from the trail head, the trails were marred with beverage cans, food wrappers and other stuff. It was jarring. Why would people do such a thing? Do the people in Georgia have more evil characters than the people of Enumclaw? Why is it that the national forest trails between Enumclaw and Mt. Rainier are almost entirely trash free and the trails in the national forest in north Georgia were heavily littered?

The difference is culture.

Whenever I come back to the northwest after hiking in the South, I always have a renewed appreciation for a culture that resists littering, a culture that supports clean trails and the protection of and respect for the natural world.

I don't expect you to agree with me about the importance of carrying apple cores out of the back country. But my zealotry, and the zealotry of others like me, keeps the center of the bell curve of Northwest culture far away from the litter-tolerance of Mexico, India and north Georgia. And you enjoy the benefit of a litter-free back country because of the power of that culture.

* * * * *

(Recall the visual mentioned above: the cream, beaters, bowl, and vanilla.)

Yesterday I was at Cypress Adventist School. I told the kids I was going to buy something special at QFC (a grocery store) that afternoon for supper. This special something came in a small glass bottle. Then I was going to Tracy's Produce to buy strawberries. Could they guess what was in the small bottle? They guessed pickles and mayonnaise. So I drew a picture of the small bottle on board. Someone guessed milk. I said that was close. Then they guessed yogurt, ice cream, buttermilk, butter. I said, “Yes, you are getting close. It's a dairy product.” One of the second graders guessed orange juice. I agreed that orange juice is very tasty and sometimes comes in glass bottles and is often in the dairy section of the grocery store, but that wasn't it. I tried giving them another clue. “At your house this treat probably comes in a metal can with a nozzle on top.”

Still no one had any idea. Finally I said to the guy who had guessed ice cream, “Take the “ice” off “ice cream” and you'll have your answer.” He still didn't get it. A girl sitting next to him shyly whispered, “Cream?”

“Yes!”

We all laughed together, but I could tell the kids still had no idea what I was talking about. They had no mental connection between a viscous liquid in a glass bottle (or carton, for that matter) and the sweet, white fluffy stuff they could imagine squirting on strawberries.

Now, just for fun, allow me to take a poll: This past Thanksgiving did the white fluffy stuff you put on your pumpkin pie come from a can or did it come from bowl where it had been whipped and sweetened by one of the cooks in your house? (Note: To my astonishment, it appeared a majority of Green Lake Church members actually whip their cream rather than squirting it from cans. This has no theological significance; still it is amazing and wonderful!)

In March, whipped cream becomes part of the religion at our house. Whipped cream in the old sense of the word. Real cream, poured from a bottle into a bowl, whipped until it begins to have some body, sweetened with a little sugar, flavored with vanilla, then whipped again to perfection with soft peaks. And if the kids are home, you can't use an electric beater. The whipping has to be done by hand.

That's part of the magic.

Friday night feasts are a tradition at our house. And they are more than that. Friday night supper forms the very heart of our religious practice. As a clergy family, our Friday night feasts are more constitutive of our religion than is Sabbath morning worship. Right now, the three of us at home—my wife Karin and I and our daughter Bonnie—all have professional duties on Sabbath morning. Worship services are our job. But Friday night—that's different. Friday night we are not on stage. We are not performing. Friday night we feast, savoring the freedom and richness of Sabbath.

If we have the right combination of people, after dinner, there will be live music, people playing instruments, people singing. Other times the music comes from the CD player.

Most of the year, dinner is “haystacks.” (This is a traditional Adventist meal, basically a taco salad—rice, beans, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, olives, sour cream, salsa, chips. Did I leave out anything?) But in the spring, sometimes it's strawberry shortcake.

When our kids are home from wherever they have scattered around the globe, on Friday mornings, the first topic of conversation is supper. Who's cooking? What are we going to eat? What time are we going to eat? Who's doing the shopping? No one asks IF we are going to have supper together. No matter how chaotic the rest of our lives, we know that on Friday night, it's time to feast. Together. Leisurely. It's our tradition.

It is also our religion.

We learned it from our parents, yes. But if it were only a family tradition, I doubt that we would have maintained it. It is the demand of our religion to keep the Sabbath holy that creates this sweet open space in our lives. Time for feasting, for worship, for visiting with friends, for hiking, for enjoying sunsets. The experience of Sabbath is wonderfully rich. And this richness is the fruit of our religion.

The Sabbath is a central element of religion in the Bible—something that has pretty much disappeared from Christianity. Among most Christians, Sabbath-keeping has been transformed into going to church. That is, Sabbath-keeping means attending a religious performance.

Imagining Sabbath-keeping as going to church is like imagining whipped cream as something you squirt out of a can. Whipped cream from a can is convenient, but it is hardly the full experience.

Worship together is a rich part of Sabbath-keeping. But it is only a part of authentic Sabbath-keeping. According to the Bible and Adventist practice (which we learned from the Jews), Sabbath is an entire day that begins at sundown on Friday.

The ancient tradition of keeping Sabbath is one of the great treasures of the Adventist Church. For us Sabbath is a commandment, an obligation, a tradition, a habit that makes life sweeter, richer. Sabbath is a central element of our church culture. And culture matters.

* * * * *

The Bible begins with the story of the Sabbath. God spends a week creating the world, then . . . what? God keeps Sabbath. Here at the beginning of the Bible there is no command to keep the Sabbath. There is actually no explicit reference to human activity at all. There is the simple statement that God kept Sabbath and in doing so created the foundation for our weekly rhythm. Humans keep Sabbath because God keeps Sabbath.

This week I began reading a book on the Sabbath written by Joseph Lieberman, the senator for Connecticut who ran for vice-president in 2000. Lieberman, an observant Jew, makes exactly this point. Yes, Sabbath-keeping is a special treasure of the Jewish people. But even in the Hebrew Scriptures Sabbath is declared to be the treasure of all humanity, not only the treasure of the Jews.

Sabbath is not created by Sabbath-keepers. Neither the Jews nor Adventists nor the Seventh-day Baptists originated the Sabbath. When we keep Sabbath we are participating in a transcendent reality. God spend six days working, then rested and made the seventh day holy. Sacred. The primary meaning of these words is “special.”

Sabbath is not more righteous than other days. It is not more moral or more ethical. It is special. Different. Extraordinary. Without the frame of regular time, there can be no special time. Without a customary routine, what would be the definition of different? Sabbath interrupts the flow of ordinary time. That's what makes it extraordinary. This interruption is an invitation from God for us to leave our ordinary lives and step into a special place. In the protected place of Sabbath, we can give special attention to God, to one another. It is time for us to explore the big questions of life and philosophy—or to leave such questions alone and simply savor the richness and sweetness of the gifts that are ours. It's time for us to be with one another in a unique way.

How to keep the Sabbath?

The first Sabbath, the one described in Genesis One, was a honey moon. If we use that as an analogy, it suggests great anticipation and planning. Good food and good times. Intimacy and leisure.

So our Sabbaths should feature good food and good times. Intimacy and leisure. This is what we aim to experience in our Friday night feasts. A friend of mine, Tony Romeo, posted a video of Friday night at the Romeo home. It is a boring video. It's three generations of Romeos sitting around the wood stove, talking, dozing, rocking, playing with toys. It is companionable time, genuine leisure, a perfect picture of Sabbath-keeping.

Which brings me back to my story about litter zealots. If a culture is going to successfully resist the creep of litter across the face of nature it must have zealots like me, people who take their commitment to a litter-free environment to the extreme. Without outliers on the extreme end of non-littering, the press of litter would eventually make Washington look like Georgia. That's not good.

The same applies to the Sabbath. As a church we enjoy the freedom Sabbath brings to our lives, freedom from the pressure to achieve, perform, accomplish. Freedom from the authority of the boss. Even freedom from the pressure of genuinely important stuff. Keeping Sabbath holy means enjoyment of holy leisure. Some of us are very strict Sabbath-keepers in the tradition of the Puritans. Some of us, are rather casual in our Sabbath-keeping.

Here is my point: wherever you are personally on the scale of carefulness or casualness in your Sabbath-keeping, all of us are dependent on the zeal of strict Sabbath-keepers to keep Sabbath alive in our community. It is the zealots that prevent the creep of ordinary life and work from slowly obliterating the special freedom and leisure of Sabbath.

Let's be clear, the sweet experience of the Sabbath is not generally available to people apart from religious authority. There is a growing literature from modern writers talking about Sabbath keeping. Many of these writers are not members of Sabbath-keeping communities. And if they are not, their sweetest passages are full of longing and nostalgia. When they write about their actual experience of Sabbath-keeping it is meager and impoverished. They are like losers writing about the glory of victory. They think they can imagine how sweet it would be if only . . . But they are not actually living the sweetness they imagine.

On the other hand when you read literature about Sabbath-keeping written by Jews or modern Adventists, you usually will find their sweetest passages to be descriptions of actual life in their homes.

I have never known any one personally nor have I read about someone who had a rich, sustained experience of Sabbath-keeping apart from a religious community. I do not mean that individuals cannot keep Sabbath by themselves. I'm not arguing that solitary Sabbath-keeping is illegitimate or unreal. I'm arguing that people who keep Sabbath alone—if they do it with any frequency—are sustained in their individual practice by their sense of social or spiritual connection with a larger community—church or synagogue—that practices Sabbath keeping and teaches the moral obligation of Sabbath-keeping.

Our own children demonstrate that fact. My guess is that the children who grew up here in Green Lake Church would describe their childhood memories of Sabbath as sweet times. They enjoyed the Friday night feasts and the Sabbath-afternoon walks. But no matter how rich and sweet and pleasant those childhood experiences were, if those now-grown children are not involved in an Adventist church or Jewish synagogue, they no longer keep Sabbath.

Sabbath is a fragile, delicate treasure. It takes an entire church to keep it alive. And an essential element of that “entire church” are the Sabbath zealots.

Without Sabbath zealots pushing against the creep of a 24/7 world, Sabbath-keeping will disappear before the convenience of uninterrupted busyness. Like cream in a bottle, the entire concept of Sabbath sacredness (specialness) can get lost in the “progress” of life. But this kind of progress impoverishes.

A few concrete suggestions:

If you have children, pay attention to them. I often hear adults talking about kids being buried in their phones, texting instead of talking. I suggest banning electronic communications from the dinner table on Friday night. But that is not enough. That's the negative. Positively, let's make sure we listen to the young people at our tables. Listening has astonishing power. Do not exhort, cajole, instruct. Listen.

One question that I get repeatedly is about eating out on Sabbath. Should we or shouldn't we?

The Sabbath zealots argue eating out is a violation of Sabbath. We are enjoying our rest at the expense of others. We are participating in commerce. Our actions are affirming a 24/7 kind of society.

Those who argue in favor of eating out, will argue that this is the way the entire family, including mom, can relax together. It gives a defined time and space of leisure that they are unable to achieve at home.

I won't try to settle those arguments. I will say this: If you go out to eat on Sabbath, recognize that your pleasure is at the expense of people earning minimum wage, probably working two or three jobs, often working seven days a week, with a sick kid at home. All of the Adventists I know who eat out on Sabbath earn far more than minimum wage. Their life is materially better—vastly so—than the people who are serving them. You are sitting there enjoying your Sabbath bliss. And the dish washer has seen a day off in three years.

If you really believe it is appropriate for you to provide for your personal rest or the rest and fellowship of your family by eating, make sure you pay appropriately. Tip 40 percent.

That way, at least you can't be accused of having cheap opinions. If you believe in Sabbath and you believe in the value of eating out, put your money where your mouth is. Tip at least double what would be expected in ordinary time. Make the Sabbath service of your servers special by paying for it—generously.

In this world it is not possible for literally everyone to enjoy the rich blessings of Sabbath leisure. Adventists have always been aware of this because of our involvement in health care. In our world, it's not just medical care that must continue on Sabbath, bus drivers and police, power plant and network operators. Given the pressure of a 24/7 society, our activism in support of the Sabbath is all the more crucial. Among us, some people will need to work on Sabbath. That's an unavoidable fact. And given that fact, it is all the more vital that we encourage and honor our Sabbath zealots.

We don't want our children to be as ignorant of Sabbath bliss as they are of cream that comes in a bottle. We don't want them to have memories of Sabbath blessings that are no longer available because there is no church community supporting Sabbath practice.

God calls us to a weekly honey moon. A weekly experience of holy leisure and intimacy. If you are a Sabbath zealot, good on you. We need you. Keep up your good work. If you are one of those people who will toss orange peels off a cliff and hide discarded egg shells in the bushes behind the overlook, don't mock the zealots. Remember, the only reason the overlook, the special place, is unlittered and uncluttered is because of the carefulness and service of the zealots.

Together we will keep alive this very special treasure—a weekly honeymoon with God.