Rhythms of Rest: Finding the Spirit of Sabbath in a Busy World

by Shelly Miller

Most of us who practice Sabbath came to it slantwise and stumbling. It wasn’t some mountaintop epiphany that brought us to the place—it was hopelessness, raggedness, lostness. We were at our wit’s end. All our doing had turned into undoing. We had run out of strength and wisdom to manage the wild and yet drab perplexity and complexity of our lives. We had nothing left to give, nowhere else to go. And then somehow, by some miracle of grace, we heard a voice: Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

And we made a beginning, clumsy at first. We weren’t accustomed to receiving. We’d lost the art of childlikeness. But slowly, haltingly, we started to breathe again, to feel the hardness of earth and the coolness of water again, to stretch our limbs, to open our eyes, to unclench our fists, to laugh, to cry, to feel.

Eat, he says. There is bread to spare. Rest, he says. I’ll keep watch. Play, he says. Stop trying to run the universe.

Susanna’s letter to me continued: I have started taking time each day for that place of meaning and home and rest. I can’t explain it, but I feel happier, more at peace, more able to cope, and weirdly, I realized last night right before going on date night with my man, I like myself more. Over dinner, he said to me, “You’re energized, it’s great, I love being with you.” I feel like I am finding my way, and I don’t ever want to go back. Also, I have been having so many ideas; I know creativity thrives in me when I rest. This year has actually been different!

In the same way that beginning a New Year with a clean slate and fresh hope motivates us toward change, finding a rhythm of rest in a busy world makes life radically different.

He decided the results of his work had been good. Isn’t this how we long to approach the weekend, satisfied with our work and ready for relaxation? Unfortunately, contentment in work that lends permission to rest seems elusive. Our work is never fully finished. And that’s why we don’t allow time for rest.

Fear of an increased workload once we return, working longer hours in order to keep up with the fast pace, we’re worried that other people will assess our time off as being slack, lazy, or incompetent. And even when we do have time off work, we may silence the alarm clock and avoid an office commute, but we often use whitespace to get things done: paint a room of the house, clean the garden until our bones ache, polish the boat, or carpool kids to birthday parties and sporting events. Time off often means we rehearse what we will do next.

On the sixth day, God didn’t say, “I’m finished”—full stop—as a justification for a day of rest on the seventh. God is in the business of continually creating, and his work is never fully finished. The work you have to do while you are on this earth is never fully finished either. Sabbath isn’t an allowance for rest when the dishes are done, projects are complete, or when your volunteerism is on hiatus.

Genesis tells us that a day of rest was on God’s heart long before he made it a commandment. The seventh day is more than a day to sleep in, check out, and be a lump on the couch while binge-watching our favorite TV shows. The da...

But God created rest to be as natural as breathing. Sabbath is the exhale required after six days of inhaling our work.

Rhythms, on the other hand, are nuanced and unique to each individual. Rhythms describe the art of living a life embodied with meaning and intention in the same way God creates. The way you move out, adapt to, and integrate with the world around you is like a free-flowing dance of choices. Pay attention to your surroundings, adapt while remaining open to adjustments, and integrate with the world around you. Rhythms shift while remaining focused on what is most important.

He is waiting for us to be with him and to trust that his commandments are good, no matter what day or how much time we choose to give him. Jesus is Sabbath. When we make the day different on his behalf, holiness inhabits our intentions.

Whether a rhythm of silent pauses at your desk, a couple of hours to quiet thoughts midweek, or a whole day to play and ponder on the weekend—when we choose a rhythm of Sabbath, everything changes. You may even like yourself more. But first, you must choose to begin.

Guilt is one of the main roadblocks for making Sabbath a reality. Guilt about the things we leave undone, and guilt when we don’t rest perfectly. Lofty expectations about a day set apart for rest keep us immobilized, and Sabbath elusive. Guilt is usually a sign that you’ve made rest a routine with strict rules. If you struggle with guilt about taking time to rest, then perhaps you are trying to implement a Sabbath routine instead of a rhythm of rest.

It’s a curiosity we’ve kicked around for nearly ten years—why God moves us to places where the intimacy we long for in community remains absent.

“Belonging is being accepted for who you are, and fitting in is changing who you are to be accepted.” I am dumbfounded. My teenage boy, growing into manhood, nails it. Brené Brown describes it this way: “Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be in order to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn’t require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.”

Busyness bullies with a false message of fitting in, something my adolescent son already knows at a young age. Most of us have believed the fallacy the world advertises: achieve, produce, and earn success in order to gain acceptance, love, and ultimate happiness.

But the more we fill our lives with yeses, even noble and good ones, who we are slowly drifts into obscurity until all that remains is a shadow of our former self, void of purpose and definition. When we believe there is never enough time to do everything, we become aimless and forget why we are here on the earth.

Sabbath reminds us that we belong because we are already accepted. Rest requires that we be who we are and nothing else. A life built upon Sabbath is contented because in rhythms of rest we discover our time is full of the holiness of God.

Wonderstruck, written by my friend Margaret Feinberg. I savored a chapter every Sunday during my quiet time, but it was the fourth chapter, “A Sanctuary in Time: The Wonder of Rest,” that haunted me most. Margaret writes, With rest, I noticed God-moments I might have missed before. My prayers grew clearer. Studying the Scripture became more meaningful. When life was rushed, I felt like I was reading a cookbook backward—nothing connected or made sense. Now I felt more attuned to God’s voice in the Bible. Sometimes you have to slow to a stop and reset before you can experience divine presence. My hunger to know God increased as I learned to develop a healthy rhythm in life and rediscovered the wonder of rest.3

Busyness can be avoidance instead of preparation.

Ironically, busyness in the wrong things ultimately leaves us completely unprepared for what is most important. Choosing to leave practical things undone is a brave act of trust and relinquishment. And relinquishment often precedes the miracle. Advent is our example.

Advent prepares us for the birth of Jesus, but also instills mindfulness about the second coming. And Sabbath, like the season of Advent, allows us to wait with expectancy. Waiting can imply mindlessness, boredom, wasting time, passivity—even hopelessness. But in Hebrew to wait also means “to hope.”4 As we wait, God reveals his purpose in the preparation he is doing within us, and our hopeful outlook is the result. Sabbath invites Christ to come into our everyday life, to rethink priorities and celebrate his faithfulness. Sabbath is weekly preparation and anticipation for making space in our lives for Christ to come. Sabbath rhythms are generous gifts: they are not about guilt.

Exodus reminds us that when we obey the commandment of Sabbath rest and trust God with our time, he is faithful to provide what we need:

On Saturday, I run last-minute errands, prepare a meal that will provide leftovers for Sunday dinner, and tidy up the house. When the sun goes down, whatever I haven’t finished stays undone for twenty-four hours. If I am tempted to fold one more load of clothes, clean the bathroom sink, apply another coat of paint to that piece of furniture, or answer those last few emails, I become like the Israelites, compromising by making excuses that stink. A lack of faith in Sabbath reeks of self-sufficiency. And the fear of scarcity robs us of the miracle.

You must rely on yourself—this is the lie of scarcity that bullies us into thinking Sabbath is not realistic.

For most of my life, Sunday ended up being a weaker version of the rest of the week. I took a nap or read a book after attending church, but I usually pulled back to “producing” after I had those few hours of rest—cleaning up whatever was left undone from the week. But Sabbath isn’t about resting in order to be more productive.

This is how I’m preparing for a successful Sabbath this week: I went grocery shopping last night for easy meals from sundown on Saturday to sundown on Sunday. This may not sound like a big deal, but I rarely grocery shop at night. I know some of you may choose another day; it doesn’t matter. I’m making a Crock-Pot meal on Saturday for dinner that will (hopefully) provide leftovers on Sunday. Unless they gobble it all up, in which case we’ll order pizza. I’m pre-scheduling my weekend blog post and turning off all social networking sites beginning at sundown tomorrow. This is harder than just flipping a switch or clicking on tabs to close them, let me tell you. And I’m not doing anything that involves creating more work for me. No emails, no taking notes for a Bible study while I read, no writing blog posts, no grocery lists or organizing closets. So when I have a nudge to do something productive, I’m asking myself, “Is this necessary?” This takes some major restraint, and my husband is keeping me focused. I’m not trying to create legalism. This is a discipline for me that will hopefully become a habit.

Starting is the hardest part of any good intention toward creating new rhythms. We begin a little uncertain, doubting we’ll be able to rest because of the work stacking up. But the more we plan the path and organize the journey, the more we will begin to walk our days toward Sabbath instead of away from it. And just like the Israelites, as we practice taking our hands off creation, we begin to believe God is trustworthy while we put faith into action.

The basis for making our days meaningful and filled with purpose comes with considering this question first: What and who are your priorities? If Jesus is top on the list, then this is a helpful exercise for making rhythms of rest a reality. Take a long look at your calendar from Wednesday to Wednesday with Sunday as the centerpiece, or the day you choose to Sabbath if Sunday doesn’t work for you. Whatever day you choose to Sabbath, walk each of the four days beforehand toward a day of rest as the focal point so that preparing for Sabbath becomes the high priority among myriads of options. Instead of compartmentalizing rest, Sabbath becomes integrated as a lifestyle along with the people and circumstances that are most important.

Pausing for prayerful listening, even for a few minutes, brings everything that is important back into focus. We need whitespace for hearing the truth more clearly.

Beginning is always the hardest part. Whatever time you choose to Sabbath, wipe the minutes clean of work. No answering emails, starting new projects, or ordering groceries online; no reorganizing drawers or polishing shoes. What brings you joy and peace and closer to the heart of God?

I want the legacy of a well-lived life, don’t you? I’m learning to say what I want with greater clarity and definition, even when it feels uncomfortable and presumptuous, because I don’t want a mediocre life as a result of vague prayers and ill-defined faith.

But faith isn’t a static, one-time commitment or a magic intellectual decision erasing life’s problems. Faith is a brave surrender, an unwavering commitment to trust in a Savior who takes care of the details despite hurdles and hardships. He longs for us to trust him with rest as much as the other parts of life.

When the mind is focused entirely a problem, we lose sight of God’s place within it. We pit ourselves against all the details as if the problem is ours to conquer immediately. Anxious and tense, we can wrongly assume that unless we achieve total victory, we will lose the battle and defeat will be our legacy.

Sabbath provides space between you and your problems, enabling you to see from God’s perspective, often with surprising results, like a word breaking through your questions about life and awakening you to something more important. God is always near, but we often dismiss his powerful presence in the midst of pain and hardship.

What are you missing because you are too busy to notice? Stop. Right where you are. Close your eyes and listen. Can you hear the whir of the refrigerator, a siren in the distance, a bird chirping from a branch outside your window? I’ll wait. Go ahead. Now open your eyes and look up. What do you see? Billowy clouds floating across a blue sky, or cracks in the ceiling? If hurry and hustle have long defined your stance, it is possible that you have missed the awareness of God’s presence amidst your circumstances. Your inability to decipher what he is saying has caused his voice to become muffled, or worse, a deafening silence. But when we rest, even for a few moments, we can hear his voice with greater clarity.

Conversations with our Creator encompass meaning and purpose, the lifeblood that brings our stories to birth. Interchange with our Creator—it’s a choice, an elective he hopes you’ll pick first from the list that is keeping you busy. “He waits to be wanted,” writes A.W. Tozer.5 And because God is a gentleman—not pushy, showy, or fickle with his presence—he courts desire from beneath the layers we create for protection. Not to manipulate emotions but to cradle purpose with strength and power, when you are ready for surrender to the weight of it.

Those times in a relationship require attention and single-minded focus, showing love by listening attentively. Sabbath is a weekly dinner date with Jesus, a time set apart when we give him our undivided attention.

May I propose that our lives are a series of love letters to our Creator? A continual conversation that started the day we took our first breath. Sabbath is a special time he anticipates because he loves you. We prepare to be with people we love by choosing the right outfit, making reservations, considering preferences, and anticipating conversation. And we prepare for Sabbath in the same way. In order to rest in the presence of God, we think ahead and consider the ways we can make the time both meaningful and memorable.

Our soul remembers what the mind easily forgets. What we pour into our soul today may seem inconsequential, yet it will provide a stabilizing anchor for the future. But when our anchor is made of the false material of legalism, freedom is stuck on the bedrock of false teaching.

Looking back, I realize that as the child of an alcoholic who rehearsed brokenness during the week, a consistent rhythm with my grandparents on the weekends meant I experienced Sabbath as a weekly restoration—a reminder that I was accepted not for what I did but for who I was when shame attempted to convince me otherwise.

Legalism has crushed the spirit of love and freedom God intended when he wrote the word Remember just before the word Sabbath on those stone tablets.

People often ask me how to Sabbath before understanding why God made the Sabbath in the first place. This is like accepting a dinner invitation with friends based only on the menu. How hurt they would be if you chose not to accept because your options elsewhere seemed better suited to your palate. Jesus extends an invitation to resist working one day a week for deepening relationship and protection from influences that pull us away from him. He gave the Sabbath in great love, knowing the weekly union will satiate a deep hunger for belonging.

God is less interested in how we spend our Sabbath than that he has our undivided attention. More than our effort to separate a specific day of the week for rest, God longs for our presence with him. God wants our trust and relinquishment more than any other desired outcome. More than what we do for him, he longs for us to be with him, to trust he is working all things together for our good.

I found that as my family refueled on Sabbath, people commented that they enjoyed being around us. I like to think we were a breath of fresh air for them. When friends ask questions about how we are able to rest, it provides opportunity for good discussions. I have noticed that if people want to incorporate Sabbath into their lives, they assume rules are necessary. I always share our story of simply finding a way to rest that works for us, and sometimes that means taking a rest from rules too. Sabbath is a lifestyle change not a day of change.

If we are called to be separate from the world and different from the norms society dictates, Sabbath communicates that difference to the people around us.

When we choose to rest from work, it is an act of compassion toward ourselves. But if we are resentful, it is impossible to practice compassion. Resentment keeps us from resting. Do you often help others, but rarely, if ever, admit you need help? If your answer is yes, you may be deriving a false sense of self-worth. In order to feel a genuine sense of belonging, we must first believe we are worthy of love. We attempt to convince ourselves that our value is wrapped up in the measure of our busyness. “I’ll be worthy when . . . I finish that project . . . clean the house . . . volunteer at church . . . [fill in the blank].”

Sabbath reminds us that we are loved deeply and we belong to him. If we believe we are worthy just as we are—in yoga pants, three-day hair, and without makeup in a room that looks like a cyclone hit—rest comes easy. Those who Sabbath well usually exhibit self-acceptance.

Shame is the fear of being unlovable, and when we live as if we are unlovable, that mindset becomes a stumbling block to those around us. Choosing rest is the practice of loving yourself. You must become compassionate toward yourself first in order to become compassionate toward those around you. In the same way we cannot earn worthiness, we cannot earn a Sabbath heart. God gave us Sabb...