The mind that comes to rest is tended
In ways that it cannot intend:
Is borne, preserved, and comprehended
By what it cannot comprehend.
Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by
Your will, not ours. And it is fit
Our only choice should be to die
Into that rest, or out of it.
Wendell Berry (1934-)
I have been thinking subversive thoughts of late: why do Christians put so much emphasis on a “daily quiet time”, and yet neglect the weekly practice of setting a day aside to rest, remember, reflect and be re-created?
This morning Wendell Berry’s poem reminded me of the gift of rest that is given to us. Just as the changing seasons allow us to appreciate each one (what would the joy of spring be without winter?), so too the gift of rest allows us to appreciate work, and work allows us to appreciate rest. So today I’m breathing in, and breathing out (a mini-sabbatical). And tomorrow, I will rest. For hurry is the destroyer of time.