It feels like a commandment, a hassle, a major interruption.
God must have forgotten: I’m important. There’s a lot of stuff I need to get done, stuff only I can do well. I’ve got bills to pay, a wife to impress, a boss to wow, meals to prepare, floors to mop, bathrooms to clean, fleas to kill, grass to mow, a dryer to fix, songs to write, words to post, kids to shuttle, kids to bathe, kids to feed, kids to…and I’m supposed to waste a whole day on what?
A Hebrew, a few thousand years ago, spent decades of his life chained to other sweaty Hebrews, mixing mud and hay to make bricks. Then one day this guy Moses showed up, and it started raining frogs and pharaoh untied God’s people, set them “free”, then chased them across the Red Sea. On the other side they nearly starved to death and then spent years and years wandering uncharted territory, wilderness, desert. Every day they packed up their tents, walked for miles and set up camp again when the sun set.
Packing, moving, unpacking. Packing, moving, unpacking.
If I lived like a Hebrew the command would feel like a gift.
No protesting. No cheating my way around and out of it. No wondering “What am I going to do all day?”
But that is my life. Isn’t it?
Wandering in a wilderness of others’ expectations, deadlines, and to-do lists all week.
“Take the day off. Stay put. Rest.”
Holy. Different from all other days.
Rest. No striving. No connection backward or forward to other days and their demands. No tweaking last week. No preparation for next. No laptop. No cell phone. No.
God’s gift to nomads.