Labor and Rest

St Moluag's Episcopal Church (Teampall Mholuaidh), Europaidh 

Astronauts and deep sea divers and I have something in common.  We all have to be careful when we return to the point from which we started.  Otherwise we risk burning up in the atmosphere or at the very least, getting the bends.  I'm finding it difficult to re-acclimate to life at home, partly because of lingering jet-lag, partly because of this crazy allergy, and partly because, well, it's hard to think about getting back to work after having enjoyed an extended break from my usual ministry and everything that entails.

As you see, I'm writing this on my first Sunday back at First Prez.  It also happens to be Labor Day weekend, which turns out to be a very good time to return ever so slowly to the usual routine. Because it's a holiday weekend, there weren't many people at church, and I was able to re-enter the atmosphere, so to speak, without too much notice or noise. It was thankfully less overwhelming than I had feared.

This time last week, I was still in Stornoway, the Isle of Lewis, in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland.  It was Sunday, and that means something very specific there.   Many (if not most) people go to church, but even those who don't attend worship have to live into a particular rhythm of things in which pretty much everything stops for the Sabbath.   On the home front, you don't wash clothes that day, but if you do, there is an expectation that they NOT be hung outside to dry.  There is one gas station on the entire island that opens, all the stores are closed, the only open restaurant in Stornoway is attached to a hotel, and if there is any other food outlet doing business, it may be the Chinese takeaway place.  There is also only one ferry the entire day, and that has been operating on Sundays for less than 10 years.  

The stern Calvinists whose varied expressions of Presbyterianism have held sway over this area for a very long time are adamant that this be a day of rest, and if that used to be defined as a grim denial of pleasure and play, it is refreshing to hear a different perspective from one young woman.  She served us tea and coffee late Saturday afternoon, telling us that she was so glad the next day was Sunday.  "It's nice, you know, for everybody to have a rest.  You don't have to be anywhere or do anything in particular."

So, on Sunday, after I preached at St Peter's, Scott and I walked around the nearly deserted streets, watching the tide slowly come in, admiring the colorful flowers adorning the walkway along the harbor, and we took a drive up to Ness, the northern part of the island, to a tiny place called Europaidh.  There is a most unusual church there which dates back to the 13th century.  Dedicated to St. Moluag, a contemporary of St. Columba, it is associated with healing of various ills, including leprosy and mental disorders.  There is even a leper's squint built into the side where the afflicted could view the priest during Holy Eucharist and then partake after everyone else.  To reach it, you have to walk a 300 yard path between two sheep folds to this tiny stone church which has been buffeted by relentless wind and rain for centuries.  It has no electricity, no bathrooms, no running water, only the peaceful interior lit by oil lamps, a sanctuary where regular Christian worship still takes place at least twice monthly.

We walked slowly in and around the tiny church, marveling at the quiet within.  Even as the wind rose and fell outside, blasting into cracks in the stone, there was a sense of peace, of serenity, of rest from one's labor.  Thinking of the many who have bent the knee in prayer, been sprinkled with the waters of baptism, received the body and blood of Christ in holy communion, joined in holy matrimony, and been dispatched to their final resting place from here gave me a feeling of continuity, of belonging, of a kinship that lies beyond blood or adoption or location.  It was a reminder of that love which binds us together as children of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer of all that is, and I felt a sense of thankfulness for this chance to rest, not only on this particular Sunday, but for the entire sabbatical that has refreshed my spirit, refueled my intellect, and re-energized my ministry. The rhythm of rest and labor, of labor and rest.  On this Labor Day, may we all have a renewed sense of how to hold those two things together in a way that is life-giving and holy.  Come to me, and I will give you rest, says Jesus.  And he surely will, if we but choose to respond.