“Gone to the fields to be lovely. Be back when I’m through blooming.”
From the poem Camas Lilies by Lynn Unger
As a general rule, I believe in attempting to live out of a mentality of abundance over scarcity. However, there are two things that seem to highlight areas of lack in my time on sabbatical — time and space.
Ruth Haley Barton — author, spiritual formation guru and founder of the Transforming Center in Wheaton, Ill. — says sabbatical is an extension of sabbath practice. Thus, if we’re already observing sabbath — whatever that looks like — a time of sabbatical should flow naturally out of that. But if we’re not, there may be a bit of struggle in the transition.
Eli Withers
For most ministers I know, this seems to be the case. (Honestly, for most humans, this seems to be a challenge.) But as many as 50% of ministers have or are considering leaving ministry (for a variety of reasons I won’t go into here because they have been well documented in many other places). For those of us who are not so mathematically inclined, that’s half of all ministers entertaining the idea of doing anything but ministry. We need a sabbath. Literally, we need to stop.
While I do plan to give a detailed report of my time, as far as I know, I won’t receive a grade for this sabbatical when I return to church. I’m not entirely sure what kind of grade I would get.
Rhythm
First, it took me awhile to get into the rhythm of things — which I hear is not all that unusual. Haley Barton says if you really do sabbatical well, it takes a while to get into it. It takes some time to disconnect and to allow yourself to be more open and receptive than we often are in real life — time for the noise in our heads and hearts to cease.
Also, there’s this nearly constant gnawing concern in the back of my mind as to whether I’m doing this whole thing correctly at all. When I return, will the church find the evidence they need to believe this was worth it? Will I be refreshed, renewed and rejuvenated as I desperately longed to be at the beginning of all this?
Honestly, those first few weeks at home were quite lonely and isolating. No one else is on sabbatical. Everyone else has to work and continue to go about their daily lives. Sometimes, there was just no one else to come out and play. Some of the plans I had made for time away with dear friends looked like they might not turn out exactly as I’d hoped. The loneliness was growing. Every now and then, some unsettled but long covered over commotion was making its way to the surface asking to be dealt with. And on top of the personal stuff, I really was missing my church family.
Blooming
At some point, I eventually began to find myself more at ease in the sabbatical groove. But it did take some work. I made “to-do” checklists of what I hoped to accomplish. And I gave myself leniency if those lists needed to be adjusted from time to time. I spent time considering what I really wanted/needed to accomplish on sabbatical that was for no one besides me.
“I eventually began to find myself more at ease in the sabbatical groove.”
Deep in my heart, I sought to find what God was trying to say to me during this time. Slowly, I began finding a rhythm and rule to follow in this unusual day-to-day living.
I find it rather peculiar that we sometimes have to work at rest but then there are a lot of wonderful, life-giving practices we have to work, at aren’t there? Why should rest be any different? In an episode of Haley Barton’s podcast on sabbatical sabbath, sabbatical time is described as finding “the place of peace and rest that God had unfolded for me.” What a beautiful challenge.
And so, considering all this and with the exceptional gift of both time and space, I ventured out into the road too rarely traveled of a sabbatical journey.
Street scene from Colonial Williamsburg.
Looking
Looking back over the first half of that time I can report I’ve been to the mountains. I’ve walked the colonial streets of Williamsburg and Yorktown in Eastern Virginia. Several times I’ve driven those country roads that take me home to family and friends in my home state of West Virginia. Still ahead of me is time at the beaches of Eastern North Carolina and the Northern Neck area of Virginia. I am not traveling especially far, but I have seen some beautiful places. I feel a bit like the amazing Rich Mullins must have felt when he wrote the song Here in America:
And if I were a painter I do not know which I’d paint
The calling of the ancient stars or assembling of the saints
And there’s so much beauty around us for just two eyes to see
But everywhere I go I’m looking …
And I can promise you I have been looking. Even in my own backyard, I have seen stunning sunsets (Harrisonburg has the most amazing sunsets on a regular basis FYI.) Colors I wouldn’t have had the nerve to put together in a coloring book have filled the skies. I have enjoyed many a road trip with a good audio book, podcast or my own personal concert performance. When the temperature is just right, the windows come down and the volume comes up.
Along the way, I’ve marveled at sacred and sometimes dilapidated old churches along the side of the road — kind of like discovering wildflowers along the path. Occasionally, I stop to take a picture and wonder about the stories those sometimes long-abandoned churches tell. Every now and then I’ve been able to worship at churches where I don’t normally attend. It has been a gift to sit back and simply participate in the communal worship experience. And on really good days, the deepest worship takes place nowhere near a sanctuary.
I have spent time with people I love. We have laughed (even to that point of a sore belly kinda laughter that we just don’t ever seem to get enough of); at times there have been a few tears; I’ve read books that have been on my reading list for quite some time; I’ve tried to slowly read through Scripture and savor every word in a way that a rushed reading doesn’t allow; every so often I’ve taken a nap; I’ve exercised; I’ve checked in with those who counsel me and work to hold me accountable; I have tinkered with art more than I’ve been able to in a long time — including a few art classes; and I’ve tried to allow plenty of room along the way for many, many deep breaths (another thing for which our rushed lives don’t leave much space).
(Shutterstock)
Blessing
In planning and preparing for my sabbatical, I applied for a rather generous grant pastors are sometimes rewarded to make use of on their time. As I worked through writing a detailed proposal, I considered what I wanted to do with the money had it been awarded to me. I let my dreams run a bit wild. I made grand plans. I would spend my three months traveling the world. I would take some special folks with me but I would go to new and bold places where I had never been.
Several months after applying for the grant I received notice that I was not one of the recipients this time around. I was crushed. I had worked so hard on that proposal. But in the reality of my sabbatical, I started to see how all of what I had planned might not have been the best use of my time away.
I learned a new word recently that was used by early Celtic Christians — peregrinatio. It’s a kind of pilgrimage. It’s not really a pilgrimage where you have a specific end goal. It’s not even one where you have a specific route to follow. Dictionary.com defines it as “a journey, especially a long or meandering one.”
Meandering I can do. According to Karla Kincannon in Creativity and Divine Surprise, peregrinatio is a wandering into the unknown … abandoning ourselves to God’s mercy. … It does not matter if we do it perfectly; what matters is that we try. God will meet us where we are and carry us a little farther.” And in the process, God will “show us to the place of our resurrection.” My own place of resurrection. Wow.
As it turns out, maybe I never needed some big, grand sabbatical journey in the first place. Maybe God is trying to help me learn how to better follow where he is leading me day by day.
Anyone can spend time with God in the great cathedrals of the world or in the presence of great religious leaders or so-called sacred places. But I am coming to see God has called me to spend this time finding the spaces in everyday life where the holy is right smack in the midst of everything ordinary — if only we will open our eyes to see.
fork on road
Living
I can promise you (and I can promise Harrisonburg Baptist Church) that when I return, I will still not have everything in my life figured out. All my ducks will not be in a row. The struggles I face regularly will not have mysteriously faded away.
A few months ago, one of our church members received a devastating health prognosis. I visited with him and his wife for a bit simply trying to be present — be a sounding board for their concerns and questions and fears. After a bit, I offered to pray with them. It quickly became obvious from the look on my face that I really didn’t have what you might consider appropriate and meaningful words to share.
“Don’t you think what we’ve been doing here for the last hour is really prayer?”
The church member looked at me earnestly and said, “Eli, don’t you think what we’ve been doing here for the last hour is really prayer?” His sincerity stopped me in my tracks. But I’ve held onto that sentiment tightly since that day.
I may not have all my questions figured out yet or all my longings fulfilled. I may not all-of-a-sudden be the best minister (or human) the world has ever seen. But maybe I will have had a bit more practice in kneeling by wildflowers — those surprising little pops of color that shows up in the unlikeliest of places.
Perhaps, I will learn from those glorious, ordinary unpredictable wonders that no one planted and no one comes by to water daily, that the God of the universe is ever reaching out to me and longs to provide me with the time and the space and whatever else I need to strengthen my relationship with my Creator — even when I’m not on sabbatical. Maybe especially when I’m not on sabbatical. And if I can really grab hold of that and not let go, then yes, I will come back blooming but I won’t be through blooming for sure.
“Please don’t squander one bit of this marvelous life God has given us. … I can’t tell you how much I long for you to enter this wide-open spacious life. We didn’t fence you in. The smallness you feel comes from within you. Your lives aren’t small, but you’re living them in a small way. … Open up your lives. Live openly and expansively!” — from 2 Corinthians 6 (The Message).
Eli Withers serves as associate pastor of Harrisonburg Baptist Church in the Shenandoah Valley region of Virginia. She enjoys watching movies, reading books, playing with art and being outside – especially wherever there are wildflowers.
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