Sabbath as a Sanctuary in Time

Coming on the last day or the first day of the week [depending on your religious upbringing], the Sabbath is a hinge that binds our days into a profane and holy history of many chapters. When I used to work for a living as a minister, I often referred to the “tyranny of the Sabbath” and meant by that the relentless march of time that demanded I be ready to lead worship and preach a sermon worthy of my hearers [often referred to as the preacher’s one hour a week job]. In these more laidback wonder years of retirement, I’ve had a change of heart and mind that has led me to a new way of seeing the Sabbath — as more of a sanctuary within time itself.

Observing the Sabbath is the exhortation, the explanation, and the excuse for getting together on Sunday to worship or whatever else. Something greater happens than just “come to Jesus” or “personal salvation”, or earning points with God by keeping this rather easy commandment. Simply being together is at the heart of it, along with the strange chemistry inherent in the mixture of sacred and secular. Where else in our culture do sound people come together to sing songs in harmony with an organ?  Or sit in pews and pray together? And you know what happens?  It dawns on us that we are drawn here by a hankering to belong.  We belong with each other in the “beloved community”.  We belong to a God who covenanted with us way back in Exodus 20. 

There are times in our lives when we find it hard to do Sundays.  When we’ve lost faith in ourselves or the church or even in God. The good news is that the covenant community is able to keep our faith going even when we seemed to have lost our faith to go on.  Even when we can’t make church on Sunday, our friends and neighbors — who “share our mutual woes, our mutual burdens bear and often for each other flows the sympathizing tear” — are there in our stead holding steady on theirs and all our promises to be Church. Our church family will keep the sabbath for us and remember us. Even when a pandemic forces us to close the doors for months of Sundays.

That famous bar in Boston called “Cheers” had a theme song that could double as a choral call to worship: Making your way in the world today/ Takes everything you’ve got/ Taking a break from all your worries/ Sure would help a lot/ Wouldn’t you like to get away?/  Sometimes you want to go/ Where everybody knows your name/ And they’re always glad you came/ You want to be where you can see/ Our troubles are all the same/ You want to be where everybody knows your name. On any day of the week, that is indeed a sanctuary in time that so many of us long for in order to feel right at home with each other.

“Out of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world” was Bogie’s way of describing another bar in Casablanca,  with an appropriate song for this Valentine’s Day.  It captures the same depth of intimacy that God’s covenant of love asks that we remember those fundamental things that apply, especially on Sunday mornings like this one: You must remember this/ a kiss is just a kiss/ a sigh is just a sigh/ the fundamental things apply/ as time goes by. We’ll always have the Sabbath. And each other.

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