Sabbath Keeping

Sabbath

“Sabbath-keeping is a resistance movement, and it’s very counter-cultural. Sabbath-keeping is a resistance to the clutter, the noise, the advertising, the busyness, and the ‘virtual living’ that sucks the life out of our lives. Sabbath-keeping is a resistance to constant production, work, and accumulation. It may be the most difficult of the Ten Commandments to keep, and it may also be the most important.”—Br. Curtis Almquist, SSJE, from “Brother, Give Us a Word,” a daily email sent to friends and followers of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist (SSJE.org).

backpack blessing

Keeping the Sabbath in our culture is more than problematic. I have one friend who rests entirely on the Sabbath. She does nothing work-related, trying to spend as much time as possible outdoors. I am reminded of my grandparents, who followed this rule. My grandmother would not even do a little sewing on Sunday. I often spent Sundays with them. We ate, rested, walked around my grandfather’s farm, and attended church. We watched the Ed Sullivan Show at night on television, after making Seven-Up floats. I would then spend the night in their guest double bed, which seemed unbelievably huge. I remember most of all the feeling of love and peace these days. I wonder how much was related to Sabbath-keeping.

They mentored me on how to keep the Sabbath, but I have forgotten. I am an important person. I will never make those deadlines unless I do a little work on Sunday. A little turns into several hours’ worth. Once I start, it is hard to stop. I will rest later.

I want to keep the Sabbath. It is not too late to start. Join me. Let us encourage one another. Maybe we need a Sabbath recovery group to share stories about what happens when we keep the Sabbath.

When I meet with people to offer spiritual direction, I ask them how they keep the Sabbath. I hope to learn from them and remind them of this spiritual gift, the third commandment. It may be the only spiritual gift that is a commandment.

The Ten Commandments honor God, but were also given for our health and safety. Sometimes, viewing them as rules and guides to a healthy life is helpful—more important than diet and exercise.

Sabbath-keeping was even more problematic during this pandemic. Our usual practice to honor God was through a live-streamed service from an empty church, where we no longer could see or feel our community that once surrounded and supported each other. We only saw the faces of our faith community at formation meetings through a computer or phone on Zoom. Our clergy are masked and stay distanced. Our Rally Day and animal blessings were drive-through.

My experience is that our Sabbath-keeping by necessity became more individual rather than community-based. As a result, we spent more time writing, reading, praying, meditating, listening, walking, or talking one-on-one to others. Suppose we can envisage this as a revival of old spiritual practices or starting new practices to spend time with our Creator. In that case, it can become a new adventure that may carry over into life if it ever becomes “normal” again.  

However, we must never forget what it was like to worship in person in community and kneel side by side as we receive the Eucharist, for this is where we will more often discern and taste the face of God.

acolytes

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Remembering "The Great War"

Remembering “The Great War”

“This is a war to end all wars.”—Woodrow Wilson.

I remember when we celebrated the 100th anniversary of the end of World War I, the Great War, the War to End All Wars. The war officially ended in 1918 on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. On 2018, at 11 a.m. on November 11th or Veterans Day in the morning, bells tolled in churches all over the globe. Special programs about the war were held worldwide, most notably in England and Paris, France, where the world’s diplomats met to commemorate the peace accord that ended the war.

Both of my grandfathers served in the war and came home. I never heard Grandfather Johnson speak of his experience. The other, Grandfather Whaley, rarely talked about the war itself, but he did have much to say about his experience in the army. He was born in what is now the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. Going into the armed service was his higher education.

When I was in college, my grandfather wrote to me weekly on his old typewriter, on which several keys often would stick. The lines of type were uneven. Every letter, however, was full of his army experiences and how he related them to my new life in college. He would remind me that book learning was not the most critical part of my new life. He believed the best lessons were found in the people I would meet and the places where I would travel. Almost every sentence ended with etc., etc., etc.

I kept every one of his letters. The girls on my floor in my dorm would gather each week to hear about his wisdom from his life experiences a half-century earlier in the army in World War I—and about his present life in small-town Virginia.

 My recently released book is about the messages in these letters, Letters from my Grandfather.

Did I forget to tell you that my grandfather always enclosed a dollar bill with each letter?

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Old and Tired

“Old and Tired”

Guest Writers: Ken Fellows

     I’ve never been a car-guy, ‘never had a genuine interest in contemporary vehicles other than for utilitarian uses. But antique autos, they’re in a special category for me …objects of style and beauty, nostalgia and craft.

     This fascination started one summer, when, as a teen, I helped my adolescent friend, Tommy McConnell, completely dismantle ..and then reassemble .. the engine of his Model T Coupe. It didn’t matter that 4 or 5 engine parts were left over. That old engine started immediately and ran perfectly. According to mechanics, a feature of Model T’s is that if 2 of them are completely dismantled, there are usually enough parts to reassemble 3 functional cars.

      That Ford Coupe was central to our neighborhood gangs’ summers on Big Whitefish Lake. Weekly, we would all pile in, 3 in the cab, a few on both running boards, several standing on the back bumper, and 2-3 in the rumble seat, to swerve down the gravel roads meandering around the local Michigan inland lakes. Fortunately, our parents never learned about a crash one night into a gravel pile that miraculously injured no one. It didn’t even dent that sturdy Ford machine.

    My cars were solely conventional, working and raising a family during my middle adult life. As I neared retirement age, I acquired a home in Maine, and an interest in old vehicles resurfaced there. Briefly, I became the owner of a 1940s dump truck. Why is a mystery, but it did establish me as a ‘character’ in our Kittery Point neighborhood. After a short period, I traded the dump-truck for a more reasonable 1938 Plymouth pick-up. It was much more stylish …. black in color with red striping, it sported huge, sculpturally rounded front and back fenders. It was distinctive enough to maintain my reputation as a bit eccentric.

     The highlight of that truck’s 15-year ownership was driving it in a parade commemorating the restoration of a local antique bridge –with my 7-year-old granddaughter, Ella, riding beside me and extending queenly ‘royal waves’ to an amused throng through the passenger-side window.

     With this background, imagine my delight some years hence at spying the Model A Ford in this painting, parked in a small Maine junkyard. As a subject for a painting’s composition, I’m always attracted to scenes where geometric shapes (as with houses, sheds, vehicles, docks) contrast with the adjacent randomness of nature. As in this picture, the defined lines and angles of the old car stand out against the background of rounded shrubs and overarching trees.

     Shadows play another vital part in my art. Without shadows in a painting, there’s no variability in ambient light, which leaves only color to create interest. Perhaps it’s my former life as a radiologist that’s responsible. One of my former medical colleagues, attending a gallery showing of my paintings, remarked: “Well, I see that in retirement, you are still dealing in shadows.”

     I also like this scene because it seems a metaphor for human aging –the Model A representing a bygone style preserved over time and still exhibiting signs of solidity and resilience.

     In the final analysis, of course, it’s just another watercolor painting in which viewers, I hope, may find some interest or pleasure.

Ken Fellows

Joanna  https://www.joannaseibert.com/