|I stopped to watch this western sky today.|
by Gideon Burton
The sabbath: day of wrest. I twist away
from all the rest. I shear and cut. I break.
This will not pass and press as other days
whose worried layers mud my mind. I make
a pause of purpose, better if I shake
up rhythms, sabotage, dislodge and blunt
efficiencies. If slow enough, I make
my week lie weakened, muted, stunned.
With time untied to let what's running run
itself away, I can be still -- am stilled,
and bold enough to hold, to wait, the sun
in slow progression warming -- if I'm still
enough, apart enough, and emptied, calm
enough to let Him salve me with His balm.
I drafted this three years ago in February 2013 and just discovered it in a notebook and revised a sagging stanza. This poem fits with what my church leaders have encouraged of late: more reverence for the Sabbath, more pondering, more spirit of worship. Taking time to be holy.