Sermon preached at the Sung Eucharist on the First Sunday after Trinity 2024

How good are you at keeping a balance between life and work? How good an example do you set to colleagues, family or friends? Do you surreptitiously keep an eye on your emails in a restaurant or at a garden party? Do you worry that if you aren’t seen to be constantly available you may be considered less committed to your work; and less likely to be entrusted with greater responsibility?

We are told that levels of economic inactivity are at record levels, following the pandemic, but I wonder how many of those are really enjoying life. Not all; probably not even most. Those in work, most of them, probably don’t enjoy much of what they do most of the time: they work because they have to, and are probably trying to get into a position where work might become a bit less arduous… which probably means more checking of emails, to look more eager and eligible for promotion.

Those of us who enjoy even a fraction of what we do are extremely fortunate, but probably still look forward to those precious days off. Yet, when they come, I wonder how many of us feel a bit listless, aimless, not really relaxed. Many of us are not good at rest, probably because we are too well-tuned to the demands of work.

When Jesus said that the sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the sabbath, he was digging into an idea we find at the beginning of Genesis; that the goal of creation is not to toil, but to share in the sabbath rest of God; that seventh day, when God rested. The writer of the letter to the Hebrews picks this up, and encourages us (in a gloriously paradoxical way) to ‘make every effort to enter that rest.’

However, lest we confuse rest with idleness, in the second creation narrative, in Genesis 2, the idea of ‘rest’ is qualified. Here, God creates a garden in Eden and places Adam within it, I quote, ‘to till it and keep it.’ To those who are not keen gardeners, this may seem more than a slight qualification of the theme of rest. Not exactly lying on a sun-lounger with a slim volume of exquisite poetry (I’m thinking of the Dean here).

Keeping the sabbath day wasn’t just meant to be a day of relief from the toil of life – it was richer than that. It was a reminder of God’s purpose for humankind and for all creation – to enter that rest; to share with God in God’s delight in all that God has made.

The Pharisees in today’s gospel are appalled at Jesus and his antics on the sabbath – it is presented as one of reasons they wanted to destroy him. They are wholly committed to sabbath rest, but in the manner of referees, who set and enforce the rules. Jesus reminds them that the sabbath is made for humankind – it is God’s gift to humankind; something to be received rather than policed. It is a gift that points beyond itself – not just a day in the week, but a taste of eternity; a reminder of our ultimate purpose and goal.

When the disciples plucked grain to eat, when David and his companions ate the bread of the Presence in the House of God, they were not contravening the sabbath, but anticipating the banquet of heaven; pointing to the bread of life that Jesus is, who is our eternal nourishment, and in whom we are promised rest.

It is, therefore, good and necessary for us to break our week, to begin our week, with the Eucharist; a time to rest together in a beautiful place, with angelic music, receiving the bread of heaven and the wine of the kingdom.

But we all know that Monday will come – for some, figuratively, it has already started. While we rest others are labouring, responding to need, keeping us safe, keeping the lights on.

We are made for rest, but most of us are compelled to work – and for most of us it is much more than light garden duties. We think of those 80 years ago, who had a fearful job to do on D-Day; duties that are terrifying even to imagine. We think of those who do daily battle with work that is dreary, undervalued, under-rewarded, and in workplaces that are abusive, bullying, or simply unsafe. Genesis ascribes all this to the Fall; as a curse that has fallen on humankind through our disobedience; our desire to be our own gods; to rely on ourselves and not on God’s grace.

In this dispensation, then, the pursuit of a better work-life balance for me, a seeking after my own rest, can very easily just end up heaping work onto others – I hardly dare look at my colleagues across the Sacrarium, just in case they are nodding.

In Deuteronomy, as we heard earlier, it is clear that sabbath rest must be for everyone – including slaves and animals. You cannot rest at someone else’s expense. The sabbath is a gift to all, not a privilege for some.

These things are difficult to negotiate, and for all the talk of work-life balance, it is not something that is easily achieved, certainly not without guilt or even retribution. Returning to the office to pages of emails can certainly feel like punishment for daring to take even a day’s rest.

We were made for rest, or at most for pottering around Eden’s herbaceous borders, but we find rest difficult to negotiate, perhaps difficult to enjoy, attuned as we are to work.

The letter to the Corinthians offers, perhaps not comfort, but at least a sense of purpose amidst these difficulties.

We are afflicted in every way – writes St Paul -, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;

Our work, for many of us, is what we have do to make a living, but Paul would encourage us to see it as more than that. To see it as our engagement with (our service to) this fallen and rest-less world.

In the gospel reading Jesus heals a man on the sabbath – a man with a withered hand. The man is restored by Jesus in a very specific way; a way that enables him to serve, to work (perhaps that’s what was so shocking to the Pharisees).

In this fallen world we are indeed called to serve, to work, but only so that we may enable ourselves and others to discover the rest and delight that God has for creation.

For many, for those who headed towards the beaches of Normandy, even those who daily trudge towards the frontlines of industry or commerce or care, our work, paid or voluntary, could well make us vulnerable to all kinds of affliction, perplexity, persecution even – even the best jobs have their share of difficulty; what is euphemistically referred to as ‘challenge.’

But perhaps there is strength to be found in the thought that, as we struggle our way through the tricky waters, the unreasonable demands, the frustrations, the failures of work, we are, in the words of St Paul, carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible.

We may well feel conscripted rather than called to our work, and it may be anything other than a delight, but Paul encourages us to see that there is always purpose and hope in it, because of Christ – because of the treasure we have in these clay jars; the light that has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God, who delights in creation, and calls us through and beyond this fallen world to share in God’s delight and rest.

I hope it’s clear that I am not advocating a masochistic attitude to work or life – and I don’t think St Paul is either. You don’t have to be over-burdened, miserable and exhausted to be serving Christ. You certainly don’t have to meekly accept bullying or exploitation in the work-place. But I think St Paul offers us a hopeful realism that might sustain and carry us whenever we are embattled, at work or anywhere else:

For in Christ, We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;

In the risen Christ, even being done to death, while always tragic, is not destruction.

And finally, to that question of being unable to really rest. To some extent, that too is about living in the world as it is, but that could sound defeatist. We need times in our lives when we try, even if we mostly fail, to live closer to that sabbath rest, and you might expect me to say that coming to Church, to the Eucharist is a tremendously good start.

Sadly, the wisdom of a weekly day of rest has been entirely lost in our culture – those who tried in the 80s and 90s to ‘keep Sunday special’ couldn’t compete against all the commercial opportunities.

So, like everything else in our culture, rest has become privatised - ‘my’ day off, rather than ‘ours.’ But this really doesn’t work, because we are social animals, and we can only begin to learn about rest if we do it together. It also doesn’t work because while we are trying to rest, someone else will be quietly filling our calendar and our inbox. God gave his people the Sabbath, and it needed to be guarded (those Pharisees weren’t completely wrong). God knows that if we don’t rest together, we don’t really rest.

The Sabbath was made for humankind – it is God’s gift; a promised share in his rest and delight. In this world, as it is, this creation ‘smeared, bleared with toil’ in Gerard Manley Hopkin’s words, Christ gives us hope that by engaging with it we are at least helping to make Christ visible – playing a part in bringing God’s delight and rest to light, even to fruition. By coming to church, celebrating the Eucharist together, we are reminded that God’s rest and delight are learned and received corporately, not individually; in the bread that we break, and the cup that is shared. May it be a constant reminder to us of God’s ultimate purpose for creation, which has nothing, but nothing to do with checking emails.