Contemplate

“For whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his.” – Hebrews 4:10

“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” – Exodus 20:8

Sabbath is not merely about getting away from work, but drawing nearer to God. At its heart, to Sabbath is to contemplate God. We are entering into God’s rest. We are treading upon God’s time. It is holy ground. We cannot exist within such time without looking for and upon God.

Thomas Merton writes, “Life is this simple: we are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and the divine is shining through it all the time. This is not just a nice story or a fable; it is true.” Sabbath is a time when we look a bit more for the divine shining through. We notice the gifts and graces that we are usually too preoccupied to see. We appreciate not only their existence, but what they show us about the nature and character of God. We reflect upon how God has been working in our lives. We receive words he may have for us through community. We look for his glory all around. We contemplate his love.

To contemplate is simply to give God our attention. We give so many things our attention, but just as we would with a beloved, we need at intervals to gaze without distraction upon the one whom we love and who loves us. This is that time. Wendell Berry writes in one of his Sabbath poems, “I know that I have life only insofar as I have love. I have no love except it come from Thee. Help me, please, to carry this candle against the wind.”

Sabbath Poem

By Wendell Berry:

What is the way to the woods, how do you go there?

By climbing up through the six days’ field,

kept in all the body’s years, the body’s

sorrow, weariness, and joy. By passing through

the narrow gate on the far side of that field

where the pasture grass of the body’s life gives way

to the high, original standing of the trees.

By coming into the shadow, the shadow

of the grace of the strait way’s ending,

the shadow of the mercy of light.

Why must the gate be narrow?

Because you cannot pass beyond it burdened.

To come in among these trees you must leave behind

the six days’ world, all of it, all of its plans and hopes.

You must come without weapon or tool, alone,

expecting nothing, remembering nothing,

into the ease of sight, the brotherhood [and sisterhood!] of eye and leaf.

A Hundred Shades Of Green

Excerpt from a Sabbath poem by Wendell Berry:

I leave work’s daily rule

And come here to this restful place

Where music stirs the pool

And from high stations of the air

Fall notes of wordless grace,

Strewn remnants of the primal Sabbath’s hymn.

And I remember here

A tale of evil twined

With good, serpent and vine

And innocence of evil’s stratagem.

I let that go a while,

For it is hopeless to correct

By generations’ toil,

And I let go my hopes and plans

That no toil can perfect.

There is no vision here but what is seen:

White bloom nothing explains.

But a mute blessedness

Exceeding all distress,

The fresh light stained a hundred shades of green.

Sleep

A Sabbath poem by Wendell Berry:

The body in the invisible

Familiar room accepts the gift

Of sleep, and for a while is still;

Instead of will, it lives by drfit

In the great night that gathers up

The earth and sky. Slackened, unbent,

Unwanting, without fear or hope,

The body rests beyond intent.

Sleep is the prayer the body prays,

Breathing in unthought faith the Breath

That through our worry-wearied days

Preserves our rest, and is our truth.

I Go Among Trees And Sit Still

In light of the Sabbath, Sundays will now feature guest posts from various authors or poets. Today’s is from a poem by Wendell Berry from Sabbaths:

I go among trees and sit still.

All my stirring becomes quiet

around me like circles on water.

My tasks lie in their places

where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes

and lives a while in my sight.

What it fears in me leaves me,

and the fear of me leaves it.

It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.

I live for a while in its sight.

What I fear in it leaves it,

and the fear of it leaves me.

It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor, 

mute in my consternations,

I hear my song at last,

and I sing it. As we sing,

the day turns, the trees move.