A quiet moment
We live in a world that—to my senses, is increasingly speeding up. I can't say that it is definitively, at least not from a researched analytical perspective.
But in terms of how my body feels?
Things are moving faster than ever. In my work, in the field of technology where I've spent the last two decades, there's an ever increasing demand for more productivity, a need to 10x results, often without regard for understanding the impact that will have in ways not tied directly to numbers moving up and to the right.
And it's exhausting.
Part of me loves it, feels drawn to it—a crazy life ever demanding attention to solve problems. I love to take on new challenges, grow and learn in existing areas. The desire to help people, the joy of solving a particularly gnarly puzzle—these are incredibly fun.
But this life of ever moving, ever shifting, ever looking to the next thing? It goes against the calm existence amidst the chaos that our Savior lived. He had so much to deal with, and yet he found time to step apart and pray, to be in nature, to listen to the still small voice, to spend with those closest to him in communion and care.
I've been a huge fan of Cal Newport for the last decade, and his books constantly push for a life built around deep focus, finding time to do the things we're meant to do—and setting aside distractions.
This last year has been one of the most busy of my life.
Sometimes that's good, sometimes I appreciate it. I've been learning a lot, pushing myself; growing even. But through it all there comes a point where the mind, the body, the soul, has to stop.
And that's where I'm thankful for the gift that we've been given from our Creator.
For the last few months of Sabbaths I've been appreciating, more than ever, the temporary and eternal rest that we're offered. It's a gift, it's a command, it's a request, it's a plea. And it's a beautiful thing.
Though I've disconnected from work for most of my career during the hours of Friday night to Saturday night, I've found an especially deep desire for these times of rest—like a plant turning to the sunlight, begging for energy from above. Where before I might have done it out of a sense of obligation, hoping to win some brownie points in the courts above—or at the very least not upset an ever hovering figure waiting to point out my errors.
Now? I long for it. I find that as I seek Jesus, as I look to our Savior, that I become more aligned with his desire for connection. Am I doing it perfectly? Not in the least. Have I figured out what it means to truly rest in Chris? Not at all.
But does my Lord love me, and call to me? Yes, I can sense it, I can feel it, I know it to be true even amidst the constant doubt that plagues me.
So I've been turning my phone off, doing my best to disconnect from most of my electronics on Sabbath. I still have a watch, so I can see if texts or phone messages come in from family or friends. But I'm looking for an intentional circuit break in my constantly connected life.
Now, I feel myself racing toward the Sabbath in eagerness. I look forward to the gift it offers, instead of dreading the disconnect from my work.
This past Sunday I was able to meet with a bunch of our church, and talk about how AI can be used as a tool in our lives. Since then I've been thinking about this tool, and its uses for so many of us.
It is just that, a powerful tool, and in many cases a good one.
But it can too easily be a replacement for thinking, for slowing down and measuring how we should approach life.
It encourages a haste, a speed of moving forward, a brushing over of details to move toward answers.
And that's got me wishing for moments of quiet, times to think, times to consider. And this is where I appreciate the foresight our God had in setting up the Sabbath, of giving us a space to come apart and commune, to worship.
And no, in case you're wondering, not a word of this was written by an AI. It's just me, mistakes and all. Why the em dashes? It's, for better or worse, how I learned to write.
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11, from The Message.
Those verses were written for me today, written for you. If you feel worn out, afraid, unsure of the future, now more than ever we have a Savior beckoning to us, drawing us to himself, and desiring to commune with us. We don't have to answer, we're not compelled to listen, but we have the chance to take him up on that offer—and what a beautiful offer it is.