In a few weeks, I plan to run past a beach. After the race, I’ll go back and stand on the beach, breathing in the Atlantic air. It will be cold in Maine in November. The air will bite a bit. It will have a salty edge. It will be distinctive.
There is an immense purity to that ocean air. Not emptiness, or sterileness, but air full of something we call “fresh.”
I thought about that ocean air as I was thinking about a question I got last week.
The question was about the commandment in Exodus 20 “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy”. What does it mean “to keep it holy”? What do I have to do to “keep it holy”? Someone visiting church service last Sunday said ‘visiting church service is the way to keep it holy’. But I’m actually not sure this may be the whole thing, but only one possible way. So if you have a little spare time and some ideas, I would be thankful if you share both with me.
Being holy is one of those words that contains its own definition. I never exactly know how to explain it simply. But maybe it’s like that pure ocean air, that gets more powerful as you move from the land closer to the beach, that invites you, sometimes compels you, to stop, overwhelmed. Air that’s not confined to a building.
So how do we keep a day holy?
1. Acknowledge the day. If we treat all days the same, if we drive past all the beaches, if we never get out at the rest area, we aren’t aware at all of the wind. If we let a day be clear, there is space to stop and breath. And every time I stop that way, I am blown away.
(I’ll have more tomorrow.)