Come Away to a Deserted Place

an invitation to rest and restore this summer

Hello, Blue Roomies!

I came back from Lakeside Chautauqua and jumped right into VBC at the church (kids’ day camp), and in between those things, I preached at Trinity on Sunday. So this week, I’m sharing that sermon with you. Audio is above; manuscript is below—though I improvised a couple of additional bits, based on a sweet baptism earlier in the service, which you’ll only hear in the audio version.

One of the Gen Z member of the church said I was “spitting bars” with this sermon. LOL.

My only other public writing of note this week was a short piece yesterday on Substack Notes, connecting some work on the book with the issues of the day:

And now, here’s the sermon.

MaryAnn McKibben Dana
July 21, 2024
Trinity Presbyterian Church
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

A Deserted Place

The apostles gathered around Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, "Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while." For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd, and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed.

~

“How you been? Busy. How’s work? Busy. How was your week? Good. Busy. You name the question, ‘Busy’ is the answer,” said the late writer Amy Krause Rosenthal.

“Yes, yes, I know we are all terribly busy doing terribly important things,” she continued. “But I think more often than not, “Busy” is simply the most acceptable knee-jerk response. Certainly there are more interesting, more original, and more accurate ways to answer the question how are you? How about: I’m hungry for a waffle; I’m envious of my best friend; I’m annoyed by everything that’s broken in my house; I’m itchy. Yet busy stands as the easiest way of summarizing all that you do and all that you are. I am busy is the short way of saying — suggesting — my time is filled, my phone does not stop ringing, and you (therefore) should think well of me. Have people always been this busy? Did cavemen think they were busy, too? This week is crazy — I’ve got about ten caves to draw on. Can I meet you by the fire next week?...”

Have people always been this busy?

The disciples are busy in today’s passage—too busy to even eat. But Jesus says “go to a deserted place.” Go to get away…  

There are many kinds of deserted places. Next summer, members of Trinity will join pilgrims from Burke Presbyterian in a pilgrimage to Scotland, including several days on the island of Iona. Iona is the place where Christianity first came to Scotland in the sixth century, and it is described as a thin place—a place where heaven draws very close to earth.

The landscape and landmarks on the island contribute to this perception of Iona as a thin place. But really it is the silence that is always most significant for me, having always lived in urban and suburban areas. There are almost no man-made sounds on the island. An occasional car. A distant lawn mower, though these are infrequent because the wandering sheep do most of the grass-cutting work. But no planes, no hum of air conditioning. Just silence.

The external silence of the island leads to an inner silence and peace. Our footsteps slow. Our thoughts become more grounded, less frenetic. When we get away to the deserted places, we realize how many of us live our lives here in Northern Virginia at 80 miles an hour. We are efficient, we are productive, we are busy.

Even though many of our pursuits are noble and necessary, our bodies and souls need rest. Rest in tiny bursts will only get us so far. A regular rhythm of rest is what we need, and what we are commanded to take. Jesus is talking here about the importance of self-care, but that’s a new-fangled term. Back then it was called Sabbath—time with God, time for rest. It’s a gift God gives us, but many of us leave the gift unopened.

“Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.” It’s one of the ten commandments, but probably the one we pay the least heed. Sabbath-keeping seems very naïve to us. I think many of us have secretly decided that Sabbath is one of those cultural trappings that doesn’t apply to us any more, like polygamy and washing a guest’s feet when they come to our house. Yet it’s etched just as deeply in the stone tablets as “Thou shalt not kill” and “Thou shalt not commit adultery”.

I think many people respond to the idea of Sabbath with a kind of wistful “not now… Once we get ourselves in order, then we can do this.” Perhaps we hear echoes of that here—look at all this work to do! the disciples say. They might as well be saying, “as soon the world makes it easier for us, we’ll get away for rest.” That’s not going to happen. What are we waiting for?

Jesus did not wait. He didn’t postpone Sabbath until everyone had been tended to. He did not cross everything off the Messianic to-do list, nod and say, Now. Off to the deserted place. He just went. And people didn’t always understand it or make it easy on him. Notice that the crowds follow him to the deserted place! And yet, the invitation is still there.

Jesus took Sabbath rest in certain ways. He went up to a mountain. He went to a desert place. He went by himself. He prayed. And he did ministry on the Sabbath day, which suggests to me that he chose other times to take his Sabbath rest.

But that’s how Jesus did it. And here’s a heretical statement: You don’t have to do it the way Jesus did it. You will do it a different way. You will experience Sabbath by digging your hands into a spongy batch of bread dough. Or by feeling the sting of a baseball snapping into glove as you have a catch with your kids. Or by taking the grandkids for ice cream.

What gives your heart real joy and peace? That’s the content of your Sabbath time, period. Like Mary Oliver, you may not know what a prayer is. But through Sabbath time, time away in a deserted place, you will learn “how to pay attention, how to stroll through fields, how to be idle and blessed.”

Our church is getting ready for VBC this week, which is a hectic time. But what an opportunity for all of us to re-learn the importance of play, of joy, of being present in the moment. That’s what children teach us.

There is something to be said for shutting down the noise. Sometimes those things can insulate us from hearing the still small voice we so need to tune in to:

Carl Jung tells the story of a patient, a minister, who was addicted to his work, laboring 80-90 hours per week. He was suffering from disabling ennui. Jung asked him to stop working for two nights. He asked him to spend the nights alone by himself.

The first night the minister listened to Beethoven and read poetry. The next night he listened to Mozart and read a novel. The following morning he went back to Dr. Jung, who asked him how we spent his time. The minister told him, and Jung cried, “No! That’s not what I asked you to do. I asked you to spend the night not with Mozart but with yourself!” The man said, “But I can’t stand to be with myself like that!” Jung said, “That self that you cannot stand is the self that you are inflicting on the people around you 80-90 hours a week.” (from Communitas, published by Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Volume 4, 2007)

Amy Krause Rosenthal continues:

“As kids, our stock answer to most every question was nothing. What did you do at school today? Nothing. What’s new? Nothing. Then, somewhere on the way to adulthood, we each took a 180-degree turn. We cashed in our nothing for busy. I’m starting to think that, like youth, the word nothing is wasted on the young. Maybe we should try reintroducing it into our grown-up vernacular. Nothing. I say it a few times and I can feel myself becoming more quiet, decaffeinated. Nothing. Now I’m picturing emptiness, a white blanket, a couple ducks gliding on a still pond. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. How did we get so far from it?”     (Amy Krause Rosenthal, 1965 – 2017)

How indeed?

Let us find our way to the deserted places, so we can experience again our belovedness. May it be so. Amen.

~

Your Turn

• Where is your “thin place”?

• What does your Sabbath time look like?

~

What I’m Up To

Writing writing writing…

But, I took a break from book talks with supporting subscribers to have a chat about adrienne maree brown’s Emergent Strategy. Details and recording here. You can become a supporting subscriber for as little as about 50 cents per post. Members and friends of Trinity Presbyterian, Herndon are eligible for complimentary gift subscriptions; just ask.