Lectio
“The voice of God is very gentle; we cannot hear it if we let other voices compete.”
— Evelyn Underhill, The Fruits of the Spirit
Meditatio
The purpose of Sabbath — not merely the day, but the practice — is, first, trust: trusting that God will provide even, and perhaps especially, when we cease striving. From that trust, we can listen. And from listening, we can abide in the living Word unfolding in our hearts, our lives, and the world around us.
It is to make quiet our minds and bodies — and, if possible, our surroundings — from the noise that normally fills our hours and draws us out of our center. And from this place of quiet and rest, to be renewed with life from a new source, from the infinite Source, rather than our finite energies and the narrow horizon of our own will.
Because God does not speak to us in noise — neither the noise we create nor the noise we pursue in avoidance of what the silence may reveal — but beneath the noise, beneath the clatter, and beneath distraction. To rest in this silence where the Lord abides is the ultimate act of faith because it means giving up everything — giving up ourselves — in faith, and trusting that that which is unseen, unfelt, and unheard will be there to greet us, to hold us, and to whisper to us from within the depths of darkness into which Sabbath invites us.
And yet — this is the great paradox of Sabbath, and of faith itself — the risk is exactly as great as it feels. We bring to this silence all our fear that nothing will be there to meet us, and that fear is not unfounded. Even Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” For although God never withdraws his presence — he is forever faithful — sometimes even in our faithfulness, we are incapable of experiencing infinity through our finitude.
But even in our inability to perfectly abide in him, God is always faithful. Every time we meet God’s faithfulness with faith, every time we release our grip on the noise, on the striving, on the narrow horizon of our own will — even when we feel nothing, even when the silence seems empty — we find, waiting for us on the other side, not absence but Presence. Not silence as void, but silence as the very voice of the One who has been speaking beneath our distraction all along. The rest of Sabbath is not a leap into the unknown so much as a return to what has always been most true: that we are held, that we are known, and that Love itself has never once stopped whispering our name, for we are the beloved in whom he is well pleased and with whom he longs to abide.
Oratio
the darkness
invites me
to trust
to walk alone
into the unknown
where I most fear to go
for I do not want to know
that you are not there
to greet me
but the darkness beckons
whispering my name
abide
Contemplatio
Where in your life are you most tempted to fill the silence — and what might you be afraid the silence will reveal?
Related Scripture
“Be still, and know that I am God! I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth.” — Psalm 46:10 (NRSVCE)
For Further Reading
If you enjoyed this post, you may also like Letting Go of Worry: Throwing Ourselves into the Ocean of God’s Goodness, which explores the movement from anxiety to trust — the act of releasing our grip on self-will and casting ourselves into the boundless goodness of God that was always waiting to receive us.
Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity.
Wrestling With God.
Returning To Love.
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