This week, I’ve been thinking about rest.
Not the kind that collapses at the end of a long day, but the kind that’s commanded. Sacred. The kind that God Himself modelled.
“By the seventh day God completed His work that He had done, and He abstained on the seventh day from all His work that He had done.”
— Genesis 2:2, ESV
Creation paused. Heaven exhaled. And the rhythm of divine rest was born.
Before Sinai: Manna and Trust
Exodus 16 describes the Israelites gathering a double portion of manna on the sixth day and resting on the seventh. It’s the first detailed mention of Shabbat observance after leaving Egypt.
“See! The Lord has given you the Sabbath; therefore He gives you on the sixth day bread for two days.”
— Exodus 16:29, ESV
Here, Sabbath is about trust: God provides, even when we stop gathering.
At Sinai: The Fourth Commandment
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy…”
— Exodus 20:8–11, ESV
The Sabbath becomes law, an act of sanctification tied directly to creation.
Exodus 35: The Fire You Don’t Kindle
“You are not to kindle a fire in any of your homes on Shabbat.”
— Exodus 35:3, ESV
This command isn’t only about physical fire, it’s about ceasing the fire of productivity and urgency.
Isaiah’s Promise: Delight in the Lord
“If you turn back your foot from the Sabbath… and call the Sabbath a delight… then you shall take delight in the Lord.”
— Isaiah 58:13–14, ESV
Isaiah reframes Sabbath as joy, not restriction, a holy day that feeds us with heritage.
In Jewish tradition, Shabbat begins at sundown on Friday with the lighting of candles and prayers that usher in peace. It’s not just a pause from the Monday–Friday grind, it’s a full stop.
The day is shaped by the 39 melachot1, categories of creative work forbidden on Shabbat, drawn from the labours used to build the Tabernacle. These include kindling fire, writing, cooking, and carrying, among others. They form a sacred boundary around rest.
No mobile phones. No electrical appliances. No lifting. No turning on switches. No driving. No shopping. No spending money.
It’s a relinquishing of control. A return to stillness. A sanctification of time.
Shabbat Shalom
Yesterday, I embarked on a sabbath of sorts. I spent the day reading the Bible, avoiding my phone and housework in an attempt to rest.
But Saturday is usually my day for housework, so the undone tasks stared back at me, and I found myself distracted and thinking about what I needed to get done.
Thinking about my research into the Sabbath, I now understand the tradition of lighting candles, sharing a meal, and inviting sacred time into effect. It’s not just about stopping work, it’s about welcoming God into the pause.
On reflection, although I spent the day reading, I think I should have included God more. I missed the sanctification part, the setting apart of time as holy. Next week I’ll attempt again, I’ll probably try and get the housework done before the weekend and maybe even light candles. Preparing my spirit so to speak.
God rested. The Israelites rested. The prophets promised joy in rest. So what keeps us from it?
Maybe the question isn’t whether we should observe the Sabbath, but whether we dare to.
To stop.
To trust.
To delight.
To believe that rest is not weakness, but worship. To let time become sacred, not just scheduled.
Even our imperfect pauses can become sacred when offered to God. What keeps you from stopping, and what might happen if you did?
Dear Abba,
For those reading this post, I pray You stir reflection and awaken longing, to consider the beauty and grace of a day dedicated to You. Teach us to pause, not out of duty, but delight. To set apart time not just for rest, but for sanctification. May our attempts, however imperfect, become invitations to trust Your provision, to welcome Your presence, and to remember that holy time begins when we let go. Amen.
The Eleven One 
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