Holy Rest

Two inviolable rules govern the discipline of online writing:

1.  You are only as good as your last post.

2.  You must post every single day without fail, saving perhaps weekends when people are busy with family instead of wasting time at work surfing the internet.

If you're not prepared to live by these two rules you might as well give up writing online.  You're done before you start.

Astute readers will notice that I broke Inviolable Rule #2 here yesterday.  I didn't post.  Why?  I was tired.  It was one of those days full of Pastor This and Pastor That plus Careen and the kids got home from Boise after a five-day trip plus I had extra work to do on the Blazers blog which kept me going until all hours of the night.  By the time I got ready to write here I was pretty much exhausted.  I'm not sure what kind of post I would have come up with, but it probably wouldn't have been very good.

Times like this require one to remember another rule, not of online writing but of life:  rest is a holy endeavor.  As we've said before when talking about the Sabbath, rest is your way of admitting that the world can get along without you for a little while.  If you can't come to terms with that not only are you the center of your universe, you believe you control everything and everyone around you.  Last time I checked, both of those claims belong to God and God alone.  In that way rest is a safety check against idolatry.

The rules of keeping people engaged in a blog and my personal work ethic said I should have posted something yesterday.  My body, mind, and spirit said I probably shouldn't.  In this case the correct theological approach was listening to my body, mind, and spirit.  Fear says, "If you miss a post people will never come back!"  Arrogance says, "You have to do this in order to seem (and be) good."  God says, "You know, you can stop for a second to recharge.  I can take care of things for a minute or two probably.  I mean, I've only been doing this since...I don't know...the beginning of time."

The more passion you have for your work, the more closely you pursue your true calling, the more clearly you see the benefits of your labor for yourself and for others, the more likely you are to fall into the trap of no-rest idolatry.  How long has it been since you've given yourself permission to let go for a little bit?  How long has it been since you've proven to yourself and the world that life doesn't hinge on you?

--Pastor Dave (pastordave@geneseelutheranparish.org)