Sabbath 21: Sensuality and Delight

Sabbath 21: Tripp's post, Megan's post.

Muller waxes rhapsodic this week about our sensual connection to re-creation. He starts by asking a great question: let's assume, for just a minute, that you're ready for Sabbath. You've actually turned off all the electronic gadgets, cleared your calendar, etc. What do you do to enjoy the day?

He then points out that the Jewish Sabbath ritual is wonderfully sensual--the sight and scent of candles, the taste of familiar favorite foods, soft cushions to rest on. Muller then goes into some detail about the sensual delights of physical affection, points out that the Talmud decrees that a husband's (ahem) obligations to his wife should be performed on the Sabbath, and quotes the Song of Solomon.... And then, his suggested exercise is......

Go for a walk. Barefoot. Indulge your senses.

Ha! A suggested Sabbath exercise of "now go enjoy the sensuality of taking a cold shower" might have been funnier. But I guess you just can't be a pastor and write a book that suggests that people go have sex. At least not one that suggests that you enjoy it.

(if you're getting mad at me right now, you go take a cold shower.)

First, to the exercise: I'm not much of an outdoorsy type, to start with. And my spouse has said several times that her idea of roughing it on vacation is a hotel that doesn't offer room service. It's not that I dislike nature, or that I don't spend time outside. But I'm usually indoors, or I'm outside with running shoes on, or I'm walking my dog, who seems to prefer sidewalks to grass. It's been a long time since I took off my shoes and stepped onto the earth (or the grass), as if I was stepping onto holy ground.

So I did. Fearing only briefly for stickers and chiggers and random dog poo and other suburban terrors, I went out for a walk, imagining that I was Moses, being told to take off my shoes and step into the presence of God... and I was surprised by the hair-raising holiness of those few minutes. No, it wasn't the feel of the grass and the dirt, or that there was a bush in my backyard that was on fire (but not consumed).

Muller touches on something true--we are sensual people. In my worship tradition, the engagement of the senses is an essential part of the sacraments of the church. We feel the splash of cold water, the touch of another hand, catch the scent of healing oil, taste the wine of the thanksgiving feast. These things provide moments, specific times and places, when we can be opened to the presence of God. And without the engagement of the senses, worship becomes an intellectual exercise, easily untethered from its original purpose and left to roam.