My wife and I have been working from home since March 13th – the first “lock down” of this global pandemic. We are fortunate. Both of us have jobs that were able to transition, allowing us to work from the safety of our little condo. Even as the virus continues its surge across the country, finally encompassing those states and regions whose residents incomprehensibly thought they would somehow be spared, we recognize that our “struggles” are nothing more than inconveniences.
As the national, collective indifference and selfishness adds fuel to the pandemic, shattering national and global records in its wake, understandably mitigation efforts are underway again in our city. Gathering for Thanksgiving apart from the nuclear family is being discouraged on account of the virility of the virus. Though as I watch the news, I’m stunned by how many are traveling anyway, ignoring the severity of the pandemic and the role they are playing in its spread. Would we like to be with my parents on Thanksgiving? Of course. But when talking with my mother about it she acknowledged that, although this pandemic has caused a “numbing monotony” she also acknowledges that, not being together for this Thanksgiving is a disappointment and inconvenience. Nothing more.
Numbing monotony, when one day fuses into the next and skews the concept of time.
We live along the lakefront in Chicago, so you’d think we’d be able to find some “outside time.” However, to put it in perspective, we live in a high-rise condo with over 1,000 residents, in a neighborhood that is only 1.5 square miles, and home to another 57,000 people. So, it is impossible to go for a walk and maintain safe, social distancing (even though everyone is pretty good about wearing a mask).
My wife and I have noticed this phenomenon in our own experience; this “numbing monotony.” Even as I compose this post, we are both sitting in our bed, laptops open and the news in the background – working. My wife’s workstation is in our bedroom and mine is in our living room. A typical day begins like this. Then we get up and, after enjoying a light breakfast together, we head off to work in our respective work areas. It is not uncommon for us see each other briefly around 11:45am when she has her lunch break (she’s an elementary educator teaching remotely). Then not again until around 7:00pm when one of us realizes we haven’t left our screens since 8:00am.
Numbing monotony, when one day fuses into the next and skews the concept of time.
“So, the creation of the heavens and the earth and everything in them was completed. On the seventh day God had finished his work of creation, so he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because it was the day when he rested from all his work of creation.” (Genesis 2:1-3, NLT)
Gadosh is the word that we translate as “holy.”
This is the first time Scripture uses this word, and it is not insignificant.
Think about it for a moment.
The first time that Scripture mentions holiness is at the end of the creation story – after the “work” is done – and uses it to designate a measure of time.
This seventh day is holy; set apart.
Time is the first thing that God consecrates. Not a place, but a measure of time. He introduces us to the Sabbath as being holy.
The first time that an object is called holy is after the temptation of worshiping a thing, the golden calf. Only then is holiness ascribed to a space and an object – the Tabernacle in which the Ark of the Covenant resides.
But it was time that was first declared holy. The holiness of time came first; then the sanctity of humans and finally the sanctity of an object; of space. In other words, the birthplace of Christianity, Judaism, is “…a religion of time aiming at the sanctification of time.”[1]
What does this mean?
I believe that spiritual maturity is the ability to hold the paradoxes of faith in tandem and still function in our contemporary context. Only then can the goal of spiritual maturity be engaged – namely to increasingly identify, face and embrace sacred moments versus simply amass a great repository of information, facts and data (though my innate wiring is pretty big on the analysis of data).
Hold the paradoxes of faith in tandem so that we can increasingly identify, face and embrace sacred moments. This is the pursuit of spiritual maturity; the cultivation of our soul, cradled in the understanding that time is holy.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel captures this in the introduction to his book The Sabbath when he states that we “…must not forget that it is not a thing that lends significance to a moment; it is the moment that lends significance to things” (italics mine).[2]
It was the cul-de-sac of a Kansas City neighborhood. There was a water element in the front yard of the Air BnB we had rented for the week. The leaves were just starting to change as fall approached, so I could hear them rustling in the breeze with specific clarity. There was a grey and white neighborhood cat sitting in the middle of the cul-de-sac as we greeted one another, and a neighbor waved at us. She was wearing red shorts, a baby blue t-shirt, gardening gloves (yellow) and a dark blue headband to hold her dirty-blond hair back – probably mid-40s.
Why do I remember all those details? Because of the moment in time that those details accompanied. It was here that my daughter first handed my granddaughter, Adelynn to me and I gazed into her face; and something holy occurred. A part of my heart that I never knew existed unlocked. More importantly, I was able to identify, face and embrace the moment as the tears welled up and I said hello to her for the first time. That moment in time, gave significance to two “things;” me and Adelynn.
Numbing monotony, when one day fuses into the next and skews the concept of time itself, held in tension with the cultivation of our soul that is tied to increasingly identifying, facing and embracing sacred moments of time.
I’m just as weary as the next person of this pandemic; this isolating fog and I definitely don’t enjoy the feeling; the dissonance of growing (no one does).
Yet here we are in our 1,325 square foot condo with all the time we need to understand time and mature.
[1] Heschel, Abraham Joshua, The Sabbath, Shambhala Publication, Boston, pg. xv.
[2] Ibid, pg. xiii.