Let’s hope this doesn’t last four years, but it took Robinson Crusoe that long to get over himself and stop believing everything he wanted.
I learned to look more upon the bright side of my condition, and less upon the dark side, and to consider what I enjoyed rather than what I wanted; and this gave me sometimes such secret comforts, that I cannot express them; and which I take notice of here, to put those discontented people in mind of it, who cannot enjoy comfortably what God has given them, because they see and covet something that He has not given them.
Robinson Crusoe
Ministry leaders need that word. The global lockdown took essential pastoral staples from us. The things that invigorate the heart of our ministry are either forbidden or delivered in artificial and awkward, albeit convenient, media. Since urban ministry is all about cultural relevance, our elders have been calling it “teleshepherding,” which makes digital pastoring feel more, well, essential. But in-person care cannot be transported via video, no matter what we call it. The Incarnation is all the proof-of-concept we need to understand the importance of meeting people face to face. It’s not in our Creed, history, or temperaments to be forbidden from making hospital visits. Sundays are tough, too. We make the most of our one-hour-a-week online gathering, deeming it essential to livestream worship — but there is no Lord’s Supper. Even when the technology works well, “teleliturgy” is a disheartening facsimile. Even the cranky saints have started to miss that disruptive four-year-old sitting two pews up. The list of losses goes on and on, but our stranded forefather begs a question: Can we find contentment in our stay-at-home exile? And if we do, how can we take that contentment with us when we get back to the promised land (no caps, on purpose, btw)?
The answer begins with remembering that God uses extreme measures to enforce rest. The Chronicler told us that Judah was sent to Babylon “until the land had enjoyed its Sabbaths. All the days that it lay desolate it kept Sabbath, to fulfil seventy years” (2 Chron 36.21). That analogy is a little dramatic, of course. Our situation is a paltry and pale version of that hard discipline; this is more like a semi-sabbath than the real thing. But the lesson stands even if the analogy strains. God took a lot of our work from us, so what are we supposed to do? Let’s take our cue from Robinson Crusoe and look for light in the relentless sameness of endless days.
Here are a few glimpses of light…
Being stuck at home allows for divine interruptions from God himself or, more often, from his legates — our children, our spouse, our roommate. Imagine what God might do if you make it your practice to receive all those apparent invasions as if they were divine visitations? Indeed, it would then be God himself who doesn’t care that you are working! Virtues like patience, listening, and repentance thrive in the light of humanity’s inefficiencies. These are the reasons offices were invested! Perhaps God set this time of staying at home with the same thing in mind. Whatever you think of your governor’s plan, it is a good bet that God was planning to change you through weeks of inescapable proximity to the people you say you love most.
Paradoxically, the opposite to that bright side is also in play. Retreating into our personal space and slowing our pace can re-introduce pastoral rhythms that contemporary culture and ministry cadences tend to leave in the dust. Semi-sabbath gives time by giving us space. The Desert Fathers put those two together long before Einstein. By blocking access to other places, God has invited us to live in real time right where we are. Time and place are forcing us to be present. Living in real time lets us steward the moments we inhabit. Keep Spotify silent and Netflix off. Notice the silence, and if you can endure the quiet, apply a little focus to your daydreaming. Eventually, you may find noticing which is thinking’s front porch. Even if the noticed thing is not particularly important, your mind will get the message that it is needed for more than entertainment and tasking. Keep doing this for some weeks and you will soon be thinking deeply of things that are important, at least to you. Your mind will be stronger and happier. So will your heart.
But beware when this happens, because you may not think of abstractions or objects for long. You might end up thinking about yourself, which, when done well, is yet another blessing of this semi-sabbath. A little frank self-reflection might teach us that one of the reasons we like to go to the next place is to avoid being so bored that we have to notice ourselves. If you do notice yourself, you may feel awkward or fascinated. Neither of those responses are advised. The first closes a door and the second opens an abyss. Instead, say a prayer and ask God for a tour. Consider him in you and explore how you experience yourself in your place with your work or your people. There is an “inner us” (Ephesians 3.16) in all of us that either runs the show altogether or archives it according it its own fears and lust. This inner self is for the “outer us” to search when it needs to interpret itself or its world. You should know that you. In fact, you should be its master.
Finally, being stuck at home might even renew your interest in people. On a recent prayer-walk (that kept social distance to satisfy even the most zealous COVID-Pharisee), a colleague and friend who shares my love for being left alone said with surprise, “I’ve always loved the contemplative, alone part of this job, but now I can’t believe how much I want to connect with everyone — staff, members, neighbors.” Pastors use the study and prayer part of their work as much for safety as for spiritual sustenance. No one critiques our sermon when we are alone writing it. Perhaps this semi-sabbath is teaching us that isolation feels safe but is ultimately unsatisfying? What could the newfound urge to reach out to parishioners look like, post-COVID? Are you just doing that because God paused your awesome plan? Or are all those sheep God’s awesome plan for you? To return to earlier observations, it would be good to think about the answers to these types of questions before the sun sets on the semi-sabbath.
We will end with what we might well have begun with. This semi-sabbath has sent God’s shepherds back in time to a slower, more deliberate, potentially more spiritual, pastoral era when his servants had to do their jobs by showing up with only Word and prayer. Everything else at our disposal, save a few of the sturdiest books on our shelf, is unnecessary. It may be helpful, or fascinating, or cool, but none of it is needful as the Spirit measures need.
So, what is a servant to do without places to go and people to see? Perhaps we ought to pray like it is a job we love. Our fellow castaway helps us again:
Thus I lived mighty comfortably, my mind being entirely composed by resigning myself to the will of God, and throwing myself wholly upon the disposal of His providence. This made my life better than sociable, for when I began to regret the want of conversation I would ask myself, whether thus conversing mutually with my own thoughts, and (as I hope I may say) with even God Himself … was not better than the utmost enjoyment of human society in the world?
Robinson Crusoe
The COVID semi-sabbath will end eventually, but if we learn this last lesson, its rest will endure when the world opens again.
