About the time I started planning my sabbatical break, John Ortberg began his. John and I have known each other for a few years and I serve on the Emerging Ministries board with his wife Nancy. Their daughter and son-in-law, who traveled to Belize with me last August, suggested I contact John and ask for advice about how to “do” a sabbatical. It was a good suggestion because it was a good fit: neither John nor I had taken a sabbatical before and I’m about the same age as John (though he has more hair … but hey, he’s a preacher raised as a Baptist).
His advice to me was sound — get away, do nothing, spend time with friends, be active, no achieving. Hard to argue with that and I’m thankful for his input.
Just recently I was given John’s article in Leadership Journal. John describes one of his most unforgettable sabbatical moments: a morning he spent with Dallas and Jane Willard (and there has to be something laughable in that; John and Nancy visit Dallas Willard on their sabbatical, D’Aun and I work in the dirt on mine). Words of wisdom that Dallas shared with John that morning include, “You must arrange to live with deep contentment, joy, and confidence in your everyday experience of life with God.”
My first impression was, “Wow, that’s beautiful … so simple yet so thoughtful. What a wonderful way to live.” I still feel that way.
But as I reflected on it, I found myself chuckling. Not chuckling at the words or the meaning, but at the idealism that John outlines in his article and that Dallas represents in his statement.
Here’s the thing: life intrudes even in the midst of sabbaticals. Somebody gets sick, sprinkler lines break, the dog has to go to the vet, Amazon messes up an order, dry cleaning is lost, a rock hits the windshield of the car, a bank account doesn’t balance, and your spouse gets mad because you forgot to do something (not that this last one EVER happens to me).
The advice to “do nothing” on sabbatical is really advice to “do less”. Sabbaticals are breaks in life the way that going to the movie theater is a break … a few moments to separate from reality and find a new pace in life, but moments that are still filled with gum on the floor, people talking at the end of the row, and often a plot line that makes no sense. A sabbatical is but a shadow of what we can hope for, a hint of what might be.
Here’s a story to share that I had almost forgotten. Last month I stopped at a gas station to refuel. I was in a hurry — mid-September was a chaotic time. I went inside to use the restroom, and on my way I noticed an old man (who I will call Grandpa) being helped to the restroom by a younger woman that I took to be his daughter. Grandpa was struggling; it looked like he was a stroke victim and perhaps had a touch of Alzheimer’s. I walked on by and didn’t think too much of it.
I was already inside the restroom washing my hands, when I heard the woman say, “Okay, Dad, go on inside. I can’t help you from here.” Grandpa shuffled in half way and leaned against the wall. He seemed confused. Lost. I realized he needed help, so I spoke a few words to him. He didn’t seem to understand and didn’t respond. His eyes had that glossy look of medication, disorientation, or lostness that the very old get in their last days. But he took my arm when I offered it, and I escorted him to the right place. I waited by the door, then walked him to the sink, and then helped him out the door. His daughter was surprised to see me helping and quickly came over to take her father from me.
Then an amazing thing happened. I was handing Grandpa off to his daughter, but he held my arm tight. I looked at him, and for the first time real clarity came to his eyes. He focused on me intently and I on him. In his grip I felt the faded strength of a man once young. I sensed his life, when he had dreams and hopes, when he would laugh with joy. I felt his frustration that his body was failing him. I saw my father, and I saw the future me. And then he said in a garbled way that is so common with stroke victims, “Thank you.” He squeezed my arm as he said this.
Then his eyes faded … his grip relaxed … and he shifted his arm to his daughter.
For the rest of the day I held a sense of joy close to my heart. I was thankful that I could serve this man this way. It was nothing, really. But it brought peace into my busy life. And hopefully I brought a touch of dignity into his.
Remembering that moment taught me something. You know what a sabbatical really is? It’s time to create enough margin in your life to remember what brings you joy. All the challenges and stresses of life remain; they are just pushed to the back for a little while. Dallas Willard and John Ortberg might present an idealized way to do a sabbatical, but they are exactly right about the goal. Arranging my life to live with deep contentment, joy, and confidence in my everyday experience with God means finding time to help a Grandpa. And then remembering that moment, not letting it get lost in the shuffle. That, my friends, is the real meaning of a sabbath break. It’s the real meaning of a sabbatical.
See that ye be at peace among yourselves, my children,
and love one another.
Follow the example of good men of old
and God will comfort you and help you,
both in this world
and in the world which is to come.
Celtic Blessing, St Columba of Iona