The Lost Sabbaths: A time for stillness, a time for growth.

Between stimulus and response there is a space.  In that space is our power to choose our response.  In our response lies our growth and freedom.

Victor Frankl

In the Book of Chronicles from the Hebrew Bible we learn that Jerimiah spoke of the Babylonian exile as a time necessary for the land to recover its lost sabbaths.  That phase, “recovery of lost sabbaths”, rolled around in my head at the beginning of the pandemic.  With my venue for teaching high school science switched from classrooom to “Zoom from home”, access to stores and supplies limited, and churches shuttered, it felt as if in one sense we are all exiled from the “normalcy” of life.  I did not then, nor do now, see that as necessarily a bad thing.  Sometimes we need to have our lives disrupted to overcome the inertial forces that we have surrendered to in our day-to-day existence, often unwittingly but nonetheless willingly.  It was a time to stop, just stop and be, be in the quiet, in the stillness, and yes in the fear of getting sick ourselves or over the health of those dear to us.  I found that slowing down, that forced stillness, to be a blessing.  In the space created by the shutdown I found an invitation, an opportunity to pray more, listen more, become more mindful of the blessings I have, and the aspects of life now lost, at least temporarily, that I had taken for granted. This is not to minimize the suffering that people endured with job loss, housing insecurity, personal illness, or the loss of loved ones.  No one has come through this past year without being touched in some way by loss.  In every circumstance of life, especially those beyond my control, I still have a choice in how to respond.  That power is part of what makes us human, and it is a power I wish I used more that I do.  To the extent I have chosen compassion, whether towards students who were struggling to learn remotely and fulfill new familial obligations, or the material needs of neighbors, I have been given the grace to grow.  In the places of unnerved and raw fear in the face of my wife’s Lyme infection that sure looked Covid-like at the beginning I experienced that same compassion in the form of groceries and cooked meals left on the porch.  In both the giving and receiving, I was but a participant in the Greater Compassion that creates and maintains the entire cosmos, channels of grace and blessing flowing through the world. 

Now as it seems we are advancing toward an end to this pandemical interlude, I wonder in what ways have we changed, have we indeed recovered our best and deepest selves, our connection to the Love which has called us into being.  The cultural and political divides that seem to threaten to tear us apart give me pause to wonder what we really have gained from these difficult times.  Tragic and provocative news broadcasts, the apparent disregard for differing perspectives, and a lack of willingness to listen to learn rather than refute make me wonder what will come of it all.  This ocean of troubles churning with anger, fear, and deception is vast, and my wee currach is small and easily swamped, but I still have a choice: to fearfully pull up to shore and the safety of my own island, or to push off into the surf, asking for mercy and trusting in Divine assistance.  I am only one person, but as I choose to respond in love, in compassionate witness and service in the places of my life, and in so doing incarnate in some small way the Kingdom, then the ripples I make in this ocean may serve to offset the waves of discord and disconnection.  I live in the confident hope that those ripples of my positive actions and presence join with others, and in so doing, advance the building of the Blessed Community, where all have a safe place at the table, all have enough to live and share, where all can know and experience shelter in the storms of life, consolation in times of sorrow, and the sharing of joy in the giftedness of each and every life.

currach- a traditional Irish boat, historically made of a wooden frame over which animal skins were stretched.