Jesus Makes an Exception to Religious Tradition

 I wrote this early on Monday morning, and this morning after allowing time for it to mellow and for me to see if it still made sense in the light of day, I sent it to our ministers.  I made only minor changes this morning.

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Yesterday’s Sunday School lesson from Mark 2 concluded with these words of Jesus: “The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.”  Pondering those words gave me insight into how we might profitably view religious traditions, even if those traditions did not originate in the Ten Commandments as Sabbath keeping did for the Jews in Jesus’ audience.

In the context in which Jesus said those words, his disciples had been criticized for plucking heads of grain to thresh in their hands and to eat as they walked along on the Sabbath.  Although permitted in the Old Testament law (as long as no sickle was used), layers of Jewish law established since the law was given originally had forbidden the practice.  

In the beginning, rest was mandated as part of keeping the Sabbath holy.  The practice was rooted in God’s creative activity, when he “worked” at creation for six days and rested on the seventh.  Since working and resting were understood to be mutually exclusive, and since gathering and threshing grain was work, complete abstinence from it was called for as far as the Jews were concerned.

I see Jesus’ words in Mark 2 as effectively reining in the excessive rigidity that had become the norm in Jewish Sabbath keeping practice, while he preserved the essential elements of the law’s  original intent.  Jesus’ words could perhaps be paraphrased like this: “God intended Sabbath observance to be a gift to man–not a burden to him.”  Perhaps his words could also be understood to mean that the principle of Sabbath keeping is too important to man’s well-being to set aside completely, but wisdom calls for making occasional exceptions to the traditional application of that principle.

What if we viewed our religious traditions in a similar way?  While it might feel like a stretch to see all of our traditions as gifts, I think it’s reasonable to see most of them as having come into being as good provisions for meeting legitimate and recognizable needs.  What if we could find a way to do as Jesus did–not reject the traditions that were instituted for people’s benefit, but make occasional exceptions to the traditional application of the principle behind the traditions?  In other words, what if, instead of rewriting our principle-recognizing codes, we could identify circumstances (either in advance or in-the-moment as relevant circumstances arise) that would allow occasional exceptions to the specific application of the principles that we still wish to honor?  I would idealize group involvement in making exceptions, although it would almost certainly not always be practical.  

I’m guessing that our German-influenced love for efficiency and its penchant for having a policy for everything would result in some stiff headwinds if this approach were implemented in our religious communities. I don’t deny that it could be challenging.  My impression is that, even so, it might be the best way forward in cases where different factions within a group want to resolve differences peacefully.  

Simply starting over seems ill-advised to me–akin to the chaos that would surely have resulted if Jesus had said about Sabbath keeping that “we’re starting over from scratch at this point, because the traditional applications are no longer relevant.” Instead, he refocused on the principle behind the current Sabbath keeping practice and proceeded to show his audience how it could be reasonably applied to the situation at hand.  If it’s good enough for a perfect God-man, it should probably be good enough for you and me and all of us together.

Mental/Emotional Well-Being

Some time ago I  heard about the struggle that a young man I know is having with depression.  A deep well of empathy fills right up for me whenever I hear such news.  I don't claim to know what others should do about situations like this, and I know that likely the most helpful thing I can do is to pray.  I'd like also to share some of the things that anyone can do without spending money or taking medication that might be helpful--in case others would also benefit.  To  some extent, I've tried these things.  I have also tried medication and found it helpful, but am happy that I can do without it now.

I will try to break up what I want to say into several blog posts.   In this post, I will focus on awareness of the natural world.  I thought of this first when I remembered that the young man I know had an unusual interest in and knowledge of the natural world as a child.  I suspect that in his depressed condition, he takes far less notice of the natural world than he used to.  Perhaps it would make a good starting place though for recovering his health.  

Nature provides an awe-inspiring mix of constancy and variation.  Understanding these two realities can fill deep emotional needs..  Who of us is not reassured by knowing that some things never change?  On the other hand, who of us does not long for things to be different someday? I'll focus first on how love for sameness and variety is met in observing sky phenomena.  

Note:  Please excuse my woefully improper terminology when I describe some sky phenomena by speaking only of how things appear from my perspective.  I know that I seem to be repeating many of the same erroneous assumptions that people made in Galileo's time.  This is one of the times when I would surely stall out and not say anything at all if I held myself to a standard of scientific perfection., even if it extended only to the limits of my knowledge.  My sense is that my mental health can benefit when I observe intentionally, imperfect communication notwithstanding.  

Sunrise 

At our latitude (approximately 38 degrees north), the time of sunrise varies throughout the year, with its earliest rising happening on the summer solstice around June 22, and its latest rising on the winter solstice around December 21.  It always rises in the east, of course, but does so very far to the northeast on the summer solstice and very far to the southeast on the winter solstice.  At both the spring and autumnal equinox (the first day of spring and fall), the sun rises squarely in the middle of these north and south extremes.   

If a person always watches the sunrise from the same spot, this north-south march (the variation) will become evident if the place of its rising can be compared with markers on the horizon.  The timing of sunrise also varies.  From the June to the December solstice, it rises a bit later each morning. From the December solstice till the June solstice, the sun rises a bit earlier each day.  Still, the variations are never ever random.  They always progress according to a predictable sequence at a predictable pace.  That's the unchangeable part, and it's incredibly grounding.

I find myself typically breaking into a wide grin at the first sighting of the sun's eye-stabbing brightness as it peeks over the horizon.  I often say something to myself as well. "There it is!"  or "Beautiful!" or "Thank you, God."  I'm usually by myself, so there's no need to explain or restrain myself.  This moment coincides with a jolt of anticipation for what the day offers.  I can't wait to get started enjoying it. 

Unless the sky is completely overcast in the east, the brightest color spread over the widest area happens quite a while before sunrise.  If I can manage it, I usually start checking around 30 minutes before sunrise.  Even when the widespread color is lacking, however, intense color is always present in the sun itself.   

Sunset

Much of what happens at sunrise has a parallel at sunset--the sameness, the variety, the incredible saturated brightness when the sun is perched on the "cliff" of the horizon.  The widespread sky color may intensify considerably for up to a half hour after the sun has sunk out of sight.  

What is very different, however, is the calmness that viewing a sunset evokes, rather than a sense of invigoration and eagerness to accomplish something.  Somehow, at sunset it feels safe to stow undone tasks in a safely-out-of-sight place, knowing that at sunrise tomorrow, those still-undone tasks can be viewed with anticipation and vigor.  

Whatever weather harshness the day brought often seems subdued in the evening.  The heat has relented and the wind has subsided.  Nocturnal animals are venturing out, and early-rising animals are finding resting places.  

Moonrise

I usually look for the moon at sunset and wait to go inside until I've spotted it.  I greet it with the same joy that I greet the morning sun.  I note that whenever I see a moon in the western "half" of my inside-of-a-bowl vantage point, it's a slice of the moon.  The slice gets bigger as it moves east a bit farther each night.  Full moon appears in the evening on the eastern horizon.  

The moon too varies in its rising spot, with the path moving between north and south.  I'm not prepared to explain it at all, but I love the beauty of this image, which is a composite of many images recorded in the same spot over a span of 28 days.  

I feel secure at moonrise.  I'll soon be going to sleep, but Someone with an all-seeing eye will keep vigil all night.

Stars

I've learned to recognize a number of constellations in the night sky.  Whenever I spot a familiar one, I feel like I'm meeting an old friend.  "There you are!" I might say.  Constellations too march across the sky from east to west during the night, or rather, they pivot in a counter-clockwise direction around the north star.  Some of them are not visible at all during part of the year.  Seeing the stars helps provide me with a perspective of my place in the universe.  I'm an incredibly small part of the vast creation, but I'm here, I'm conscious, I can show up in life, and I'm precious to God.  I came from somewhere and I'm going somewhere.  I have a relationship with the Creator God. Observing the stars makes me feel both settled and confident.  

I seriously doubt that any depressed person would have the fortitude to wade through this writing, but maybe someone close to such a person will find a way to walk with them in pursuing good mental health by observing the sky.  

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Recap:  Observing the sky reveals the blessing of both predictability and variableness in life.  Embracing these two realities is a good mental health practice.  Besides these understandings, other healthy habits and responses arise from mindful observation of sky phenomena.  

1.  Sunrise: This moment coincides with a jolt of anticipation for what the day offers.  I can't wait to get started enjoying it. 

2.  Sunset:  Viewing a sunset evokes calmness and peace, rather than a sense of invigoration and eagerness to accomplish something.  Somehow, at sunset it feels safe to stow undone tasks in a safely-out-of-sight place, knowing that at sunrise tomorrow, those still-undone tasks can be viewed with anticipation and vigor. 

3.  Moonrise:   I feel secure at moonrise.  I'll soon be going to sleep, but Someone with an all-seeing eye will keep vigil all night.

4.  Stars:  Seeing the stars helps provide me with a perspective of my place in the universe.