Sacred Rhythms: Discovering God’s Gift of Sabbath

Organs used to make us think of God. With their towering pipes reflecting flickering candles, they filled our cathedrals with both light and sound. The great composers of the 1700s used the organ like a pulpit, weaving harmony and dissonance into musical sermons both frightening and uplifting. No one did this better, perhaps in all of history, than Johann Sebastian Bach, whose command of the instrument drove his contemporaries mad. So deft was his imagination, and so skillful his inventiveness, that he was on more than one occasion chastised for improvising too long during regular church services. His complex and brooding melodies and motifs were the subject of confusion to his Lutheran leadership, and fellow composer Johann Adolphe Scheibe once stated that Bach’s works were, “darkened by an excess of art” and marred by an “unending mass of metaphors and figures.” and If you listen to Bach’s music today, you kind of understand where he was coming from. It’s huge, and complex, and moving in a way that we can’t quite describe. Why does Bach’s music, like the piece you are listening to right now, titled Fantasia and Fugue in G minor, elicit such an emotional response? Why does it move us from one feeling to the next? Well, one answer may be found in a quote from his son, composer Carl Philipp Emanuel, about his father’s understanding of how Organs work:

“He understood the whole building of organs in the highest degree. Organists were terrified when he sat down to play on their organs and drew the stops in his own manner, for they thought that the effect could not be good as he was planning it; but then they heard an effect that astounded them. The first thing he would do in trying an organ was this: he would say, in fun, “Above all, I must know whether the organ has good lungs,” and, to find out, he would draw out every speaking stop, and play in the fullest and richest possible texture. At this, the organ builders would often grow quite pale with fright.”

In short, Johann Sebastian Bach pulled out all the stops. He flooded every pipe of the organ with a never-ending stream of air, assaulting the listener with a wall of sound so simultaneously harmonic and dissonant that his audience wanted it to stop;  they needed it to stop. They needed to hear the organ take a breath. 

The thing about organs is that they don’t need to breathe; they’re mechanical. They don’t need to stop, inhale, or prepare for what comes next. But you and I, those of us created in the image of God. We were designed with a different rhythm in mind. Sabbath rest starts with stopping? Why?

Well, take a deep breath. Inhale through your nose, hold it for a few seconds, and then exhale all the way out. Therapists call this box breathing, and it’s a crucial tool in combating sudden bouts of anxiety, slowing down one's heart rate, and reducing stress. That little pause in between your inhale and exhale, that little stop? It stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system, countering your "fight-or-flight" response and replacing it with a rhythm of rest.

Unlike an organ, we were designed for rest, built to stop and reset. This is the kindness of God’s creation, the detail of his design. As we continue our journey, take the next minute to stop, maybe even concentrate on your breathing, and focus your heart and mind on where you are, acknowledging God’s presence and peace. 

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
    will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
    my God, in whom I trust.”
Paslm 91:1-2

Another name for a musical stop is a rest. In today's world, how often are we intentionally carving out time to stop and rest? While we don’t know who wrote Psalm 91 (some theologians believe it was Moses because of its relation to Psalm 90, while others think it was King David because of its similarities to Psalms 27 and 31), we can surmise that whoever was crying out to God was doing so from a place of great discomfort, potentially during a time of wandering, or a time of pestilence. Isn’t it true that we most often call out to God in our times of trouble? Today, as we continue our sabbath journey, we have an opportunity to stop and rest in the shadow of the Almighty, even if our circumstances are less than dire. Remember the exaltation later in the Psalms, that simply because this is a day that the Lord has made, we can rejoice and be glad. Sabbath rest starts with stopping, so let that be true of you today, too. May you take this chance to remember that God is your refuge and fortress, in times of great blessing, and times of great trial, and may you rest in the shadow of God himself. 

Let’s pray together.

Lord God, just as the psalmist did, help me remind myself that you are the most high. Everything I have to worry about, celebrate, or even accomplish today, you already know about. Good and Holy Father, help me take this time to stop the frantic orchestra of my mind and to sit in the silence and shadow of your presence.

Amen.