Power in Sanctuary

I’m writing this off the beaten path, staying with friends near Asheville, NC. And if you watch the news, you know that it is a minor miracle that I am able to send this Sabbath Moment at all, as power and phone service (and even water) is out for much of this part of the state.
For all Sabbath Moment friends in Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee and the Carolinas, you are very aware that many areas (because of unprecedented flooding) have been declared an Active Natural Disaster. In places, devastation. The alerts we receive are unequivocal: Seek higher ground and shelter. Please stay home, don’t try to drive. And call and let someone know that you are okay.
If you know someone in one of the affected areas, please reach out. It makes a difference. And in these past two days, that is what I’ve witnessed. Neighbors matter, neighbors care, and in any storm of life, we are gratefully reminded that we are on this journey together.
Without power or technology or phones, life’s pace gets a reprieve, and there is a mind shift, and if we are lucky, an opportunity to embrace the restorative gift of sabbath time. So, I’m hunkered down, savoring time, with walks and cleanup and writing and reading.

Every day after school, the son of a well-known Rabbi would enter his house, place his backpack on the dining room table, leave the house through the back door and head into the woods behind the house.
At first, the Rabbi gave little thought to his son’s ritual. Until it continued, for days, and then for weeks. Every day, out into the woods for almost a half hour. The Rabbi grew concerned.
“My son,” he asked one day. “I notice that every day you leave our home to spend time in the woods. What is it you are doing there?”
“Oh papa,” the son replied. “There is no need to worry. I go into the woods to pray. It is in the woods that I can talk to God.”
“Oh,” the Rabbi said, clearly relieved. “But you should know, as the son of a Rabbi, that God is the same everywhere.”
“Yes, papa. I know that God is the same everywhere. But, I am not.”
This little boy knew, instinctively, that there are two spaces in our lives. And both are important. In the first space, we generate activity, productivity, accomplishment and achievement (and yes, busyness, worry and a wee bit of stress). In this space we carry our calendars, our smart phones, and our to-do lists. (And how unnerving it can be when life’s storms remind us that there is more to life than the emphasis on busyness and preoccupation.)
And yes, there is a second space. In this space we find sanctuary, quiet, reflection, contemplation, and meditation. In this space is born prayer, music, poetry, friendship, amazement, awe, wonder, renewal, and if we are lucky, unrepentant napping.
“God is the same everywhere. But, I am not.” Today, I am grateful for the wisdom of a Rabbi’s young son. Because there are times when I lose my way. When I am untethered and not at home in my own skin. I am easily riled, disconnected and wearied. And when that happens, I crave affirmation that I assume will be found solely from that first space. In other words, I measure my identity in output and proficiency. It’s just that affirmation is not likely in a “we-want-it-now,” “are-you-keeping-busy,” “what-have-you-done-for-me-lately,” “are-you-somebody,” “super-size-that-please” world.
It’s not just about being drained. It’s almost like a paralysis. I am not present. I can’t absorb beauty. I go through the motions, as if I have lost touch with all the good stuff: gladness, wonder, grace, compassion, hope and passion.
The boy’s wisdom reminds us that sanctuary or Sabbath space is an invitation to recover what gets lost in the bustle and commotion from life’s uncertainties.
An invitation to hit the reset button.
An invitation to come home.

Here’s the deal: I believe that every one of us has such a space. We just didn’t know what to call it. So, it’s easy to disregard, or pay little attention to it. Your sanctuary space doesn’t have to be the woods, like the Rabbi’s son.
And, gratefully, you don’t need a storm to create sanctuary space.
So. Sanctuary can be in your garden, your car (while commuting), coffee on a porch swing, walking your dog, lounging in an Adirondack on your back deck, listening to music, strolling a park, parked in your favorite chair at Starbucks, counting clouds, weeding your garden, savoring poetry…
No matter, there is power in sanctuary space.

In storm areas, it is no surprise that some people are on edge. And in different parts of the country, people are worried because they have been unable to contact their loved ones due to electrical and phone outages.
This is just a reminder that I might not be able to answer email or phone calls. But please reach out. Send emails and photos. I’ll get to them out one of these days. And if you were in the storm’s path, let me know you are okay.
I’m smiling big because I’m learning how hurricanes play havoc with our need for (and attraction to) control. Let’s just say, we may have to let that go. I want you to know that I am well and will be grateful for your prayers. And I will settle in and help with cleanup, knowing that travel anywhere may be a bit delayed.
For daily Sabbath Moment readers, I was hoping to get them out this week. But without access to power, I will be taking a week’s reprieve. In the meantime, let’s call it an invitation to Pause. And I will look forward to seeing the SM Daily readers on October 8.

For those in the Virginia area, I am looking forward to Fall Camp Shrine Mont, in Orkney Springs. October 21 – 24. I’ll be with my friends Ed Kilbourne and Martin Townsend. I’d love to see you there.

Quote for our week… May this new day go easy on your heart, be gentle on your soul, comfort your worries and grow your hope. Mary Davis