Six days shall you labor. The seventh is the Sabbath, the day on which, the Exodus version of the commandment tells us, God rested, and human beings--in God's image-- are to rest. The version from Deuteronomy commands doing no work on the Sabbath, in remembrance of being led out from slavery. Slavery, after all, is ceaseless labor. To this command to keep the Sabbath holy, some of us will immediately object: my work is important. I can't give up an entire day in the week!

In our fast-paced society we receive plenty of signals to speed up and keep going, rather than to slow down. We drive fast cars, we eat fast food. We feel compelled to get on the fast track, to take the maximum course load, not only to succeed but to succeed ahead of the pack. The first part of Spring Term we accelerate to full speed and then screech to a halt at Spring Break. We keep to do lists in daytimers and day planners, which only leads us to do more and to expect more, leaving us with less time. Show me a person who can't get their work done in six days, and I'll show you a person who can't get it done in seven. Somehow, the pace of our lives, and the ceaseless activity around us, turns out not to be freedom, but captivity. Cessation of activity alone is not enough to still our restlessness, to free us from our captivity to consumerism and our attempts to manage our lives and others' lives.

What I have experienced of Jewish practices of Sabbath and holy days, however, has taught me something about resting in God's promises. I recall swaying to Hebrew hymns in Mount Airy, and tea and cakes after Friday service (and I thought Lutherans had invented the coffee hour!) I remember Mr. Peretsky dignified, in white garb, chanting his family and mine out of Egypt through the Red Sea and four cups of wine to the promised land, a journey which I recall took almost till midnight. Even at my friend Fern's house, where weekend meant party, we still had to have candlelighting, kiddush prayers, and a nip of wine before we could go to the dance. For all their variety, these practices embodied a different view of time from that of the surrounding culture, time refocused and centered anew on God's promises. Whether it was for a few moments or for hours, families paused on command to remember to sanctify the holy day.

My childhood Christian friends paused too, each Sunday. We lived along old route nine, in what I later dubbed the South Jersey bible belt. The television was off between morning and evening service. Meals had a simple, picnic feel. Aunts and uncles visited, boyfriends and aspiring boyfriends had to show interest in church in order to get invited home to eat. At those times there was fun and laughter. But not all of my memories of Christian Sabbath are about peace or rest. The preaching was all too often about avoiding Hell. And there were strict lines to be towed by everyone at home. We'd spend Saturdays scrubbing the house, especially the bathroom as many times as it took to pass Mommy's inspection, and there were no end of chores. Sunday brought an end to work, but play was also restrained. Practicing the piano was not allowed--or perhaps not endurable--but in order to maintain the proper mood, we could play contemporary religious melodies. The long empty hours of Sunday afternoon were marked by shadow of "thou shalt nots." It was times like these, in which I tried so hard to be good, not to upset the carefully orchestrated religious atmosphere of people I cared about but could not help, that made it hard for me to understand what it meant to keep ourselves or the Sabbath "holy."

If you are restless, captive to our fast-paced culture, or disillusioned by the fruitlessness of human attempts to sanctify the Holy Day, listen to what Luther says in his Large Catechism about keeping Sabbath: "the Word of God is the true holy thing above all holy things At whatever time God's word is taught, preached, heard, read or pondered, there the person, the day and the work are sanctified by it, not on account of the external work, but on account of the Word, which makes us all saints." On the Sabbath we recover our baptismal identity as saints of God, offering our whole lives -- our working, playing, resting -- in praise of God, as we were created to do.

Despite this emphasis on the spiritual meaning of Sabbath, Luther's explanation also retains the importance of Sabbath rest. Christians should worship every day, but because we do not have leisure, one day is set aside. At the most basic level, Luther says, Christians keep this commandment for the sake of our bodies. As finite creatures, we need a rhythm of work and rest. We are to do it most of all for the sake of the common people. He writes, "man-servants and maid-servants who have attended to their work and trades the whole week long should retire for a day to rest and be refreshed." In fact, Luther begins his explanation with the Christian practice of rest which first of all recognizes our limits and thereby opens up a space in which our highest calling, to worship God with our lives, can regain its rightful place.

I encourage you to think, this Lent, about Christian practices of rest, and worship. Unlike the folks Luther was concerned about, we may not see ourselves as man-servants or maid-servants, we may not have servants. We are our own masters. But are we the kind of masters Luther would encourage us to be, or have we become our own slave-drivers? And how, as Christians, do we respond to the many workers who process our forms, serve us lunch, answer the phones, make our floors sparkle? Are we jealous for their rhythm of work and rest? Do our actions toward them say that life is more than work?

Our coming together for corporate worship makes time for resting in God's promises. Ultimately we are called not merely to celebrate a day but to recognize and celebrate a presence, called to the one whose work for us is finished. In the words of the old Methodist communion service, echoing the Book of Common Prayer, he invites you at Spring Break and all Sabbath times to gather around his table: "Hear what comfortable words our Savior Christ says to all who truly turn to him, Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.'"