Sermon: Time Out

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Time Out

By Kathryn A. Palen

June 23, 2002

Two photographs sit in a frame in my study. The photographs are of a couple dancing. That couple? Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter.

It was a few years ago on the final night of the Carter Work Project—a building blitz for Habitat for Humanity. In a span of five days, volunteers from around the world worked together to build fifty-two houses in eastern Kentucky and just over the border in Tennessee.

Celebrities came and went during the week—politicians, recording artists, authors. But during those five days, the spotlight remained on the Carters. Reporters wanted one more photograph, one more quotation.

And then there were the volunteers. Everyone understood that the Carters were there to work. But how often would many of those folks have another chance to be that close to a former president? So there was a handshake here, and a quick word there. The demands for the Carters' attention began as soon as they arrived at the work site each morning and continued until they retired to their dormitory room at night.

I'm sure the Carters have grown accustomed to such public attention. During that week, I heard that President Carter receives two hundred requests a day to speak or appear at events. But even the most experienced public figures must grow weary under the weight of such attention.

Well, back to the final night of that week. The volunteers in Pikeville, Kentucky, gathered for a closing ceremony on Friday evening. It was a moving experience. Millard and Linda Fuller, the founders of Habitat for Humanity, were there. The four individuals who were the driving forces that made the dream of a Carter Project in Kentucky a reality shared their impressions from the week. The families who'd be moving into the new homes were recognized. A symbolic hammer was presented to representatives from the following year's Carter Project in Houston.

And then President Carter spoke. The auditorium was silent as he shared in a quiet, but passionate voice about the need for Christians to live out their faith. He spoke of a vision for the world—a vision in which each person is respected and valued. A vision in which, by people working together, the world is transformed.

When the closing ceremony was over, it was time to eat. Dinner was an outdoor celebration of food and fellowship in the city park. A country band played in the park's small pavilion as the Habitat volunteers devoured plates of barbecue and shared experiences from the week.

Then it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a couple move to the space just in front of the pavilion and begin to dance. It was the Carters. Without any warning or fanfare, they left their picnic table and created their own dance floor.

It didn't take long for word to spread through the crowd. “Look! It's President and Mrs. Carter. They're dancing.” Heads turned, and people shifted in their seats to get a better view.

But all of the attention seemed lost on the Carters. Perhaps for the first time that week, they'd found a way to take some time out. As I watched them that evening, it struck me that—at least for those few moments—the needs and the demands of the crowd melted away. For those few moments, they were simply Jimmy and Rosalynn, holding each other and dancing. There was a grace and balance to their movements that seemed to reveal a deeper grace and balance they were experiencing within themselves.

When was the last time you left your picnic table to dance? Not literally. (Even though a quick spin around an outdoor pavilion might do us all a world of good.) But when was the last time you left the demands that you carry day in and day out and rested? When was the last time that you really rested?

Studies show that today we in the United States spend more time on work than ever before. We put in more hours at our places of employment. Spend more time keeping up our homes and cars. Serve on more committees related to our communities and congregations. Researchers also report that many of us in this country don't get enough sleep and often struggle through our days under the burden of “sleep deficit.”

When we hear information like this, we usually chalk it up as a symptom of modern-day life. Sometimes such news even sparks in us a longing for the good old days—when life was slower and people had more time.

But this morning's reading from Mark's gospel reminds us that things may not have changed that much throughout the history of creation. In this passage, we find the apostles gathered around Jesus. They're reporting in—telling him about all the work they've done. The story doesn't suggest that the apostles were complaining about their work load, but it does hint that they were a bit frazzled—maybe even a lot frazzled. For we learn that “many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.”

Have you ever had a day like that? When between making this meeting and returning that phone call or between finishing this homework and making that after-school practice or between waiting for this repair call and dropping off that child for a piano lesson—when between all you had to do, there wasn't even time to eat?

Jesus could have responded to the apostles in a variety of ways. He could have said, “Great job! Keep up the good work.” Or, he could have said, “You all seem to be a bit overwhelmed. Why don't we bring in a time-management consultant and see if we can't learn to be more efficient with our time?” He even could have said, “Sorry about the work load right now, guys. But remember, there'll be a great bonus for each of you when we're finished.”

But instead, Jesus said, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Rest a while. Take a break. Time out.

Jesus understood the need for rest. He lived out that understanding in his own life. Each of the gospels includes stories about Jesus spending time alone or with a small group of intimates. Time during which he could catch his breath, center his thoughts, and connect his energies with those of God. Today we might call it “wasted” time. After all, there was nothing functional or productive about it.

But Jesus knew that such time was crucial to his being and his becoming. He knew that there was a difference between doing and being. Doing meant teaching and healing, feeding and preaching. And Jesus knew that as important as doing was—ultimately, being was more important. For if his being lost its connection with the divine rhythm, then his doing would be out of step.

Jesus called his disciples to stop and rest. And I believe that he calls us to do the same. What will we discover if we answer that call? Let me suggest several possibilities.

First, I think we'll discover a new sense of balance. Taking time to rest doesn't mean abandoning our responsibilities. But it does mean recognizing that the world won't screech to a halt if we're not constantly producing or achieving.

I have a friend who grew up in a household where chores were valued above all else. There was no play on Saturdays until the last corner was swept and the last surface dusted. After school, the children had a list of chores they had to complete before they could even think about taking time for anything else.

Whenever my friend shares those childhood memories, I secretly celebrate that I grew up in a very different home. We all helped around the house, but chores never held an ultimate place at the top of my mom's agenda. It was probably no accident that the kids in our neighborhood congregated in our front yard. My mom was the parent on the block who took the time to admire the latest bug we'd found, to umpire our softball games, and even to run races with us—once it was dark enough that people driving by wouldn't stare. My mom was an expert at finding a sense of balance.

There's also a balance between what we need to be responsible for and what we need to rely on God for. Finding this balance is an act of faith and trust. If we believe that everything depends upon our effort, then we can't afford to stop and rest. Or if we believe that all of life is a competition and there's a limited amount of whatever it is we're seeking, then stopping to rest means getting behind and losing our share. But if we believe that it's God who holds together all possibilities and desires to take care of our deepest needs, that trust will allow us simply to be in God's presence and to rely on the grace and love and energy that we'll experience there.

Rest and work. Being and doing. Responsibility and reliance. Holding them in a creative balance empowers us to live healthy and whole lives.

When we respond to Jesus' call to rest, I think we'll also discover a new sense of joy.

Not too long ago, I heard a story about Thomas Merton. Although Merton made his home at Gethsemane, a Trappist monastery in central Kentucky, his gifts as a writer and speaker brought invitations for him to travel around the world. And when he wasn't traveling, religious and political leaders from across the globe came to visit with him at Gethsemane.

Although he tried to be gracious and generous, Merton grew weary of all the demands for his attention. Sometimes his graciousness gave way to crankiness and his generosity dissolved into resentment. He needed to rest.

He finally convinced the abbot to let him live—at least some of the time—in a hermitage located on a hill behind the monastery. The hermitage was a simple frame house, but for Merton it represented a place where he could simply be.

Do you know what the first thing Merton often would do when he was allowed to go to the hermitage? Pray? Chant? Read scripture? No, the first thing he would do was to sing and dance around the inside of that house. In responding to the call to rest, he discovered a renewed sense of joy. A joy so real and so deep that his voice and his feet couldn't conceal it.

That same sense of joy is available to us. Maybe, like Merton, we'll find that joy during times that we spend alone, reflecting on our own thoughts and experiences, getting in touch with our feelings, meditating about what it means to be a child of God. Or maybe we'll discover that joy as we make the time to be with our family or friends. What on the surface may appear to be “wasted” time may result in a joy that sings and dances in our hearts.

A new sense of balance. A new sense of joy. When we follow the call to rest, I think we'll also discover a new sense of wonder.

Spend some time outdoors with a four-year old and you'll understand what I mean by “wonder.” In that child's eyes, every flower and rock and worm is a wonder. And every discovery opens up a world of questions. “Why did God make the sky blue?” “Do you think birds can talk to each other?” “How do trees know when it's time to get their leaves?”

But we don't have to be four years old to have a sense of wonder. All it takes is a willingness to be open and alert. To slow down enough so that we don't miss all the wonders that surround us, all the gifts that God offers.

The poet Mary Oliver often writes about such awareness. Listen to the words from her poem The Summer Day.

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean—

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and flies away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

“Come and rest a while.” It's the call we hear from Jesus. And when we're tempted to respond, “Not right now. I don't have time,” listen carefully. For in those moments, I think we can hear Jesus whisper through the words of the poet, “What else should you do? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Amen.