Paul is writing this letter to his friend and protégé, Timothy. Paul met Timothy and his family in a city called Lystra (Acts 16:1-3), this place right in the middle of what is now modern-day Turkey. Paul was going around starting new churches and raising up a large team of coworkers to accomplish this mission (hence the term, apostle). And Paul was impressed by Timothy’s devotion to Jesus, and so he mentored him and trained him to shepherd other churches. Timothy was, exactly as Paul describes him, “a true son in the faith.”

Now, later on, Paul hears about this group of leaders that had infiltrated the church Ephesus (a seaport town in the same region). They were spreading ideas about Jesus that were off the mark, and then leading people to follow him in some messed up ways. So Paul sends Timothy to confront these leaders and restore some order and refocus the church. The letter of 1 Timothy is a follow-up to see how things are going and to offer some wisdom on how to fulfill his mission, to lead the church, to train up new shepherds, and to always keep the main thing the main thing—that is, to be a church utterly and singularly conformed to the gospel.

Paul is writing this letter to his friend and protégé, Timothy. Paul met Timothy and his family in a city called Lystra (Acts 16:1-3), this place right in the middle of what is now modern-day Turkey. Paul was going around starting new churches and raising up a large team of coworkers to accomplish this mission (hence the term, apostle). And Paul was impressed by Timothy’s devotion to Jesus, and so he mentored him and trained him to shepherd other churches. Timothy was, exactly as Paul describes him, “a true son in the faith.”

Now, later on, Paul hears about this group of leaders that had infiltrated the church Ephesus (a seaport town in the same region). They were spreading ideas about Jesus that were off the mark, and then leading people to follow him in some messed up ways. So Paul sends Timothy to confront these leaders and restore some order and refocus the church. The letter of 1 Timothy is a follow-up to see how things are going and to offer some wisdom on how to fulfill his mission, to lead the church, to train up new shepherds, and to always keep the main thing the main thing—that is, to be a church utterly and singularly conformed to the gospel.

There’s a word in the Old Testament for something we really, truly need, something that God models for us, instills in us, offers us freely as a gift. It’s the word shabat, an action word (mind you) meaning to cease, to stop, to be absent, to come to an end, to perish, die, rest, and to celebrate. It’s a pretty diverse word in the Hebrew language, but essentially it is an active elimination of the human hustle. You can see  that the word gets harsh sometimes (perish, die, eliminate), and that’s usually defined that way when YHWH is the active agent, particularly in the prophets. It’s often when Israel is so distracted by other human pursuits, other definitions of success, or what Abraham Heschel refers to as “the conquest of space at the expense of time,” that God himself has to put an end to their plans, to destroy their hurriedness, to eliminate the distractions, and so restore a season rest, even if he must do so drastically. God’s intent to shabat is very important to him.

This action, this verb of ceasing and celebrating and resting, came to be known as a particular day, set aside just for human renewal and revitalization. It came to be known as Sabbath. And while we come to church on Sunday and many of us take off a day or two of working every week, but actually, conscientiously practicing the sacred art of Sabbath? Do we have a built-in pattern and practice of resting in the very presence of God the healer and redeemer? Or are we merely taking a break every so often because we are simply, utterly exhausted from all of our work? Is Sabbath an active resistance to the bondage of hurry and busyness, or a passive vegetative state we fall into when we have literally run ourselves empty?

What if the church—what if our church—practiced Sabbath, the sacred art of stopping, the way God always meant for us to? Would that change anything? Would that communicate anything to the rest of society? Would that profoundly, eternally, change the nature of our spiritual life and community?

One more question for you: would it hurt to try?

There’s a word in the Old Testament for something we really, truly need, something that God models for us, instills in us, offers us freely as a gift. It’s the word shabat, an action word (mind you) meaning to cease, to stop, to be absent, to come to an end, to perish, die, rest, and to celebrate. It’s a pretty diverse word in the Hebrew language, but essentially it is an active elimination of the human hustle. You can see  that the word gets harsh sometimes (perish, die, eliminate), and that’s usually defined that way when YHWH is the active agent, particularly in the prophets. It’s often when Israel is so distracted by other human pursuits, other definitions of success, or what Abraham Heschel refers to as “the conquest of space at the expense of time,” that God himself has to put an end to their plans, to destroy their hurriedness, to eliminate the distractions, and so restore a season rest, even if he must do so drastically. God’s intent to shabat is very important to him.

This action, this verb of ceasing and celebrating and resting, came to be known as a particular day, set aside just for human renewal and revitalization. It came to be known as Sabbath. And while we come to church on Sunday and many of us take off a day or two of working every week, but actually, conscientiously practicing the sacred art of Sabbath? Do we have a built-in pattern and practice of resting in the very presence of God the healer and redeemer? Or are we merely taking a break every so often because we are simply, utterly exhausted from all of our work? Is Sabbath an active resistance to the bondage of hurry and busyness, or a passive vegetative state we fall into when we have literally run ourselves empty?

What if the church—what if our church—practiced Sabbath, the sacred art of stopping, the way God always meant for us to? Would that change anything? Would that communicate anything to the rest of society? Would that profoundly, eternally, change the nature of our spiritual life and community?

One more question for you: would it hurt to try?

There’s a word in the Old Testament for something we really, truly need, something that God models for us, instills in us, offers us freely as a gift. It’s the word shabat, an action word (mind you) meaning to cease, to stop, to be absent, to come to an end, to perish, die, rest, and to celebrate. It’s a pretty diverse word in the Hebrew language, but essentially it is an active elimination of the human hustle. You can see  that the word gets harsh sometimes (perish, die, eliminate), and that’s usually defined that way when YHWH is the active agent, particularly in the prophets. It’s often when Israel is so distracted by other human pursuits, other definitions of success, or what Abraham Heschel refers to as “the conquest of space at the expense of time,” that God himself has to put an end to their plans, to destroy their hurriedness, to eliminate the distractions, and so restore a season rest, even if he must do so drastically. God’s intent to shabat is very important to him.

This action, this verb of ceasing and celebrating and resting, came to be known as a particular day, set aside just for human renewal and revitalization. It came to be known as Sabbath. And while we come to church on Sunday and many of us take off a day or two of working every week, but actually, conscientiously practicing the sacred art of Sabbath? Do we have a built-in pattern and practice of resting in the very presence of God the healer and redeemer? Or are we merely taking a break every so often because we are simply, utterly exhausted from all of our work? Is Sabbath an active resistance to the bondage of hurry and busyness, or a passive vegetative state we fall into when we have literally run ourselves empty?

What if the church—what if our church—practiced Sabbath, the sacred art of stopping, the way God always meant for us to? Would that change anything? Would that communicate anything to the rest of society? Would that profoundly, eternally, change the nature of our spiritual life and community?

One more question for you: would it hurt to try?

There’s a word in the Old Testament for something we really, truly need, something that God models for us, instills in us, offers us freely as a gift. It’s the word shabat, an action word (mind you) meaning to cease, to stop, to be absent, to come to an end, to perish, die, rest, and to celebrate. It’s a pretty diverse word in the Hebrew language, but essentially it is an active elimination of the human hustle. You can see  that the word gets harsh sometimes (perish, die, eliminate), and that’s usually defined that way when YHWH is the active agent, particularly in the prophets. It’s often when Israel is so distracted by other human pursuits, other definitions of success, or what Abraham Heschel refers to as “the conquest of space at the expense of time,” that God himself has to put an end to their plans, to destroy their hurriedness, to eliminate the distractions, and so restore a season rest, even if he must do so drastically. God’s intent to shabat is very important to him.

This action, this verb of ceasing and celebrating and resting, came to be known as a particular day, set aside just for human renewal and revitalization. It came to be known as Sabbath. And while we come to church on Sunday and many of us take off a day or two of working every week, but actually, conscientiously practicing the sacred art of Sabbath? Do we have a built-in pattern and practice of resting in the very presence of God the healer and redeemer? Or are we merely taking a break every so often because we are simply, utterly exhausted from all of our work? Is Sabbath an active resistance to the bondage of hurry and busyness, or a passive vegetative state we fall into when we have literally run ourselves empty?

What if the church—what if our church—practiced Sabbath, the sacred art of stopping, the way God always meant for us to? Would that change anything? Would that communicate anything to the rest of society? Would that profoundly, eternally, change the nature of our spiritual life and community?

One more question for you: would it hurt to try?

There’s a word in the Old Testament for something we really, truly need, something that God models for us, instills in us, offers us freely as a gift. It’s the word shabat, an action word (mind you) meaning to cease, to stop, to be absent, to come to an end, to perish, die, rest, and to celebrate. It’s a pretty diverse word in the Hebrew language, but essentially it is an active elimination of the human hustle. You can see  that the word gets harsh sometimes (perish, die, eliminate), and that’s usually defined that way when YHWH is the active agent, particularly in the prophets. It’s often when Israel is so distracted by other human pursuits, other definitions of success, or what Abraham Heschel refers to as “the conquest of space at the expense of time,” that God himself has to put an end to their plans, to destroy their hurriedness, to eliminate the distractions, and so restore a season rest, even if he must do so drastically. God’s intent to shabat is very important to him.

This action, this verb of ceasing and celebrating and resting, came to be known as a particular day, set aside just for human renewal and revitalization. It came to be known as Sabbath. And while we come to church on Sunday and many of us take off a day or two of working every week, but actually, conscientiously practicing the sacred art of Sabbath? Do we have a built-in pattern and practice of resting in the very presence of God the healer and redeemer? Or are we merely taking a break every so often because we are simply, utterly exhausted from all of our work? Is Sabbath an active resistance to the bondage of hurry and busyness, or a passive vegetative state we fall into when we have literally run ourselves empty?

What if the church—what if our church—practiced Sabbath, the sacred art of stopping, the way God always meant for us to? Would that change anything? Would that communicate anything to the rest of society? Would that profoundly, eternally, change the nature of our spiritual life and community?

One more question for you: would it hurt to try?

There’s a word in the Old Testament for something we really, truly need, something that God models for us, instills in us, offers us freely as a gift. It’s the word shabat, an action word (mind you) meaning to cease, to stop, to be absent, to come to an end, to perish, die, rest, and to celebrate. It’s a pretty diverse word in the Hebrew language, but essentially it is an active elimination of the human hustle. You can see  that the word gets harsh sometimes (perish, die, eliminate), and that’s usually defined that way when YHWH is the active agent, particularly in the prophets. It’s often when Israel is so distracted by other human pursuits, other definitions of success, or what Abraham Heschel refers to as “the conquest of space at the expense of time,” that God himself has to put an end to their plans, to destroy their hurriedness, to eliminate the distractions, and so restore a season rest, even if he must do so drastically. God’s intent to shabat is very important to him.

This action, this verb of ceasing and celebrating and resting, came to be known as a particular day, set aside just for human renewal and revitalization. It came to be known as Sabbath. And while we come to church on Sunday and many of us take off a day or two of working every week, but actually, conscientiously practicing the sacred art of Sabbath? Do we have a built-in pattern and practice of resting in the very presence of God the healer and redeemer? Or are we merely taking a break every so often because we are simply, utterly exhausted from all of our work? Is Sabbath an active resistance to the bondage of hurry and busyness, or a passive vegetative state we fall into when we have literally run ourselves empty?

What if the church—what if our church—practiced Sabbath, the sacred art of stopping, the way God always meant for us to? Would that change anything? Would that communicate anything to the rest of society? Would that profoundly, eternally, change the nature of our spiritual life and community?

One more question for you: would it hurt to try?

There’s a word in the Old Testament for something we really, truly need, something that God models for us, instills in us, offers us freely as a gift. It’s the word shabat, an action word (mind you) meaning to cease, to stop, to be absent, to come to an end, to perish, die, rest, and to celebrate. It’s a pretty diverse word in the Hebrew language, but essentially it is an active elimination of the human hustle. You can see  that the word gets harsh sometimes (perish, die, eliminate), and that’s usually defined that way when YHWH is the active agent, particularly in the prophets. It’s often when Israel is so distracted by other human pursuits, other definitions of success, or what Abraham Heschel refers to as “the conquest of space at the expense of time,” that God himself has to put an end to their plans, to destroy their hurriedness, to eliminate the distractions, and so restore a season rest, even if he must do so drastically. God’s intent to shabat is very important to him.

This action, this verb of ceasing and celebrating and resting, came to be known as a particular day, set aside just for human renewal and revitalization. It came to be known as Sabbath. And while we come to church on Sunday and many of us take off a day or two of working every week, but actually, conscientiously practicing the sacred art of Sabbath? Do we have a built-in pattern and practice of resting in the very presence of God the healer and redeemer? Or are we merely taking a break every so often because we are simply, utterly exhausted from all of our work? Is Sabbath an active resistance to the bondage of hurry and busyness, or a passive vegetative state we fall into when we have literally run ourselves empty?

What if the church—what if our church—practiced Sabbath, the sacred art of stopping, the way God always meant for us to? Would that change anything? Would that communicate anything to the rest of society? Would that profoundly, eternally, change the nature of our spiritual life and community?

One more question for you: would it hurt to try?

The book of Ecclesiastes is, as some have described, the feeling of utter darkness so as to better realize the power of the light. The idea here is that we grow accustomed to grace and the goodness of God. We like the idea that church is never sad or uncomfortable. We want a life and a community that says bad things never happen to good people, where the right thing is always said and done, where Jesus is just a kind hippie, and where the wrath and punishment of God isn’t a thing. Our eternal sight grows accustomed to the light, and we lose the gravity of who we are in Christ, how we have been changed and transformed, how truly earth-shattering an act of grace the death of Jesus is, when all we practice and hear is sunshine and rainbows. Because all we need to do is look up and see that there are many in the world who walk around in the dark, feeling their way through in the absence of light, doing everything they can just to survive, hoping, endless, for the spark of light to guide their way. We need to remember our story is their story, and so the story Ecclesiastes is a momentary quenching of the light, a walk through the dark forest, and as our eyes adjust to hopelessness, and despair, and frustration, we can not only appreciate, but desire, the light of the world that John says the darkness cannot even comprehend.

This is a journey in search of the ultimate goal of meaning for all of humanity, using the dark story of Ecclesiastes as the roadmap and legend. I encourage you to surrender to the experience, and to be honest with yourself and with your community—prayerfully, we will come to the same conclusion of what everything is all about.