One two three four five six rest.
One two three four five six rest.
One two three four five six rest.

When God called Israel out of Egypt, they had been slaves for generations. Their whole lives had been tuned to the rhythm of servitude, which was a melody designed to remind them of one thing:

You may never ever stop.
You may never ever stop.
You may never ever stop.

Over and over and over again, for centuries, until they died. That rhythm was entrenched in their nervous systems, hard-coded into their subconscious—a rhythm designed to break them and wear them down to something subhuman. A husk. A disposable tool.

God had a different melody to teach them. It was one He’d embedded into the flow of time itself, starting with the Creation Week.

Six days work, but then you rest.
Six days work, but then you rest.
Six days work, but then you rest.

It didn’t come naturally to a nation of redeemed slaves. It took practice to unlearn the steps they’d memorized under the careful tutelage of the taskmaster’s whip. But for forty years, God gave them an ever-present reminder of the new dance they had been called to learn:

Manna.

Food, rained down from heaven, once a day for forty years. Each day, it was every family’s job to gather what they needed for that day and that day only. Anything more would spoil and become worm-infested.

Except for the Sabbath.

On the Sabbath, there was no manna. Nothing to gather. The Sabbath had to be prepared for. On day six, every family gathered a double portion of manna—a special provision God enabled to last beyond the normal one-day limit. It was a special note in the melody, a reminder that the big finale was coming up, and that it required something different from them.

One two three four five six rest.
One two three four five six rest.
One two three four five six rest.

It was a note not punctuated by the whip of the taskmaster, but the special blessing of God Almighty:

This day is not for work.
This day is not for work.
This day is not for work.

The Sabbath is a day when we are not encouraged to slow down, but commanded to stop—to shift our focus onto something with greater depth and grander beauty than any to-dos we’re setting aside.

That rest becomes possible as we fully embrace the rhythm God has taught us. Day six often requires an extra effort to make that stopping and resting a reason for joy and not frustration. (Any Israelite who only gathered a single portion of manna on day six would go through the Sabbath with an empty stomach.) But when we put in that effort, we reap the blessing of a day sanctified throughout time as holy.

We are not slaves in Egypt. But the world is increasingly embracing the rhythm of the taskmaster:

You may never ever stop.
You may never ever stop.
You may never ever stop.

If you stop, you’ll fall behind. If you stop, you’ll miss out. If you stop, you’ll be at a disadvantage. You can’t afford to take a break. How else will you meet your needs and your family’s needs? The world will continue on without you, and then what?

That’s exactly the right question. And then what?

Is there an advantage to being lockstep with the world? Does it make sense to march to the taskmaster’s rhythm even when no one is forcing you to do it?

The rhythm of holiness takes work before it becomes natural. Letting go of one day a week, surrendering it to the God who gives us all our days, trusting that the manna will last an extra day, is an act of faith.

But the rhythm changes us. It changes our spiritual heartbeat and puts us in regular fellowship with our God and our brethren. It reorients our focus onto God’s things—His word, His people, His plan, His faithfulness, His promises, His unfailing love.

One two three four five six rest.
One two three four five six rest.
One two three four five six rest.

The day is a blessing, but so is the rhythm. We can get so engrossed in our physical goals that we lose sight of what really matters. The rhythm isn’t meant to awkwardly intrude into those goals and hamper our progress, but to realign those goals with what really matters.

It’s a melody that has repeated over and over again, for millennia, reminding us of the true rest on the horizon and rekindling our desire to reach it.

Shabbat shalom to you and yours.