Sabbath Gospel: A New Narrative of Time, Rest, and the Work of the Church
Rest: A Theological Account
The Sabbath Way: Making Room in Your Life for Rest, Connection, and Delight
Editor’s Note: The following is the final part of Amy Davis Abdallah’s review essay of G. P. Wagenfuhr and Amy Erickson’s Sabbath Gospel: A New Narrative of Time, Rest, and the Work of the Church; Euntaek David Shin’s Rest: A Theological Account; and Travis West’s The Sabbath Way: Making Room in Your Life for Rest, Connection, and Delight.
Strengths and Critique
Overall, Wagenfuhr and Erickson’s Sabbath Gospel is interesting and cohesive. Their purpose is clear and connected throughout the book and the reader walks away with a new understanding of the gospel centered on Sabbath. Not only do they nuance sovereignty and providence as noted above, but they also have nuanced perspectives on sin and atonement. Rather than only understanding sin as an act, they bring out the animality of sin: “It ‘lurks’; it even ‘desires.’ Whatever ‘it’ is remains opaque . . . it appears to possess a will of its own” (75). They associate it with principalities and powers and understand its foundation as discontentment with God’s gifts and its expression in self-justification. The force of sin animates household rivals to God’s household.
Wagenfuhr and Erickson also are clear that Jesus’ sacrificial death was kipper (cleansing), not a substitutionary sacrifice to assuage the wrath of God, nor a ransom paid to free humans from their captor. Jesus does not drink the cup of God’s wrath, but drinks “the cup of human wrath poured out on God” (159). His kipper sacrifice and his blood are a detergent that cleanses our sin; the blood is the life of Christ shared with us as we share with one another. They write that when we consider “Christ laid to rest on the Sabbath Day, we see in an acute way how Jesus gathers up—recapitulates—all time in himself, particularly the history and purpose of the Old Testament people of God. And the crux of that history is on an inconspicuous day when nothing eventful seems to occur” (157). They conclude that humans cleansed by Jesus’s blood share in the life of Christ by maturing according to God’s discipline, giving rest, and acting as members of God’s divine council rather than building a dream home.
For all the interesting nuances and cohesive Sabbath Gospel offered by Wagenfuhr and Erickson, the reader may find some aspects of the book challenging. While they offer multiple citations for the theology of work with which they disagree, supporting citations for most other chapters of the book are very light. The book, like all three considered here, is rather revolutionary, and needs to show greater connection to other literature.
Wagenfuhr and Erickson’s tone can, at times, be a bit confrontational and risk alienating the reader. The opening paragraph states all the ways Christians are tired, and the extensive list of sources for the fatigue makes the initial tone more frustrated than inviting. It seems to be a broad critique of all Christianity. They also do not mince words when describing ideas with which they disagree. Perhaps the hyperbolic language is intentional, but using “concentration camps” to describe how we care for animals we eat (123), calling God “bloodthirsty” when referring to penal substitutionary atonement (125), emphasizing the feasting in our eternal rest by stating, “God did not create people to be court musicians who do nothing but assuage the fragile self-image of a ruler” (173), stating that much current theology of work “is an opium that inures people to their exploitation and misery with promises of divine blessings unrealized in this life” (218), and asserting that pursuing human flourishing “is not the task of theology but of humanistic speculation couched in theological terms” (63), seems less than charitable. The reader may not disagree with what they say but may become uncomfortable with how they say it.
Finally, Wagenfuhr and Erickson have several bothersome references to gender. First, they choose to use masculine language for God, referring to Amy Peeler’s Women and the Gender of God which they understand as encouraging masculine language for God in order to not diminish Mary’s motherly role (43, footnote 1). However, when they discuss Jesus’ origins, they make Mary’s role no more than biological (145). When referring to the relational distortion between humans that is caused by sin in Genesis 3, they have several good ideas. And yet, the idea that childbearing means the mother decreases to allow for others to increase, and the statement “in marriage and motherhood, a woman loses sovereignty over her own flesh” (71) are puzzling, especially given that sovereignty is a key word in their book. Further, their explanation that the sign of circumcision is not only for males because all seed that joins with an egg to become a human pass through the sign of circumcision, is not only graphic but also unnecessary and unlikely how a prescientific culture would have understood circumcision (104). In the end, they agree with cultural masculine and feminine stereotypes when they characterize the works commended by Ecclesiastes as maternal “works not of domination and expansion but of raising new generations, works not of systems or processes, but of relationships . . .” (219).
Shin’s Rest: a Theological Account is impressive in its breadth and depth of interaction with both philosophical and theological literature. He need not explain human restlessness because it is clear in each of our lives, even as he connects the concept to St. Augustine. The strongest and most memorable part of his book is the third chapter, “Eat, Drink, Enjoy,” in which he exhorts the reader to receive their God-given portions in order that they might be satisfied each day and therefore able to rest. He states, “Quotidian affairs like eating, drinking, working, and sleeping are received as portions, limited gifts of God granted to us each day. Receiving them and not transgressing such limits leads to a life of contentment and joy” (84). Shin’s desire, like West’s movement toward delight, is to offer us a joyful life of rest.
Often, however, Shin’s work leaves the reader with even more questions, much of them related to a practical outplay of his paradigm. With regard to portions, he states they are unequally distributed and meant to be shared. But what happens when they are not shared? He also celebrates the possibility of sleep yet as someone who suffers from insomnia, should I receive my very few hours of sleep as my portion? Also, as stated above, readers may have questions about justice due to his lack of clarity.
Shin’s work is intentionally theological but also touches on psychological themes and would benefit from psychological sourcing. He states that Augustine gives meaning to memories through rearrangement (135) but neglects to connect this to the psychological concept of reframing. He mentions embodiment several times but does not connect his chapter on healing memories to how some memories, especially those of trauma, are stored in the body. He knows embodiment is important but does not explore its implications. Further, he mentions anxiety multiple times but does not seem to have a deep psychological understanding of it and tends toward popular Christian conceptions that connect it with sin. He cites Bonhoeffer as showing “how resting-in-oneself causes anxiety, that is, restlessness” (18). He also associates insomnia with anxiety and suggests that the Psalms and resting in God may calm it (127). Two distinctions are necessary here: not all insomnia is anxiety-related and working through anxiety is often not only a matter of focusing on God. It is also unclear whether Shin supports or opposes counseling as a means of finding rest for Christians (115, footnote 9). Overall, his work is theologically and philosophically heavy and would benefit from additional psychological heft.
As stated above, Shin brings together all concepts of his book under Kierkegaard’s purity of heart. While his intention is to simplify, in reality, he complicates the reader’s understanding by this move. Yes, moving away from restlessness and toward restfulness is a lifelong journey, and his book offers complex ideas with far-reaching implications. And yet, allowing the complexity to constitute steps along the restful journey would have been a better choice than adding purity of heart.
While Shin’s work and Wagenfuhr and Erickson’s work shy away from practicality, West’s The Sabbath Way is a delightful combination of theological and exegetical depth and practical application. From the very beginning, West draws the reader into his personal story like a fun, wise brother who recognizes and has experienced deep pain and challenge with regard to Sabbath, practices the Sabbath way, and still skips and giggles alongside us in our journey. He writes early in the book that a Sabbath posture
is like having a mini-Sabbath sitting on your shoulder throughout the week reminding you of Sabbath truths: that you are not what you do; that your life is bigger than the challenge you are facing; that you are the beloved of God; that this moment, whatever it holds, does not define you—for better or for worse. It’s the voice inviting you to move slower between meetings and feedings, to look—really look—at the people around you, to see them in their full humanity and complexity, and to love them for who they are, not who they could be. (23)
For West, Sabbath and rest are more about what we happily say yes to than what we say no to.
West recognizes embodiment like Shin but is able to consider its implications in a more complete manner. The book is intended to be read one chapter a week if its impact is to be truly felt, and many of the practices are embodied. West shows facility not only in his discipline (Old Testament), but also in current cultural understanding (each orienting chapter), as well as psychology, going as far as to adapt one of Kristin Neff’s self-compassion practices (143–144). West’s work is grounded in Hebrew words and Jewish practices. His reflection questions probe more deeply than Wagenfuhr and Erickson’s, inviting wholistic transformation should the reader choose to engage. West’s book is masterful—intelligent, interesting, practical, and fun. The reader smiles and laughs throughout the book as it enacts the final word of its subtitle, “Making Room in Your Life for Rest, Connection, and Delight.” Upon completion, readers feel like they have a new friend in the author.
All in all, these books have much to offer the reader and complement one another in multiple ways. Their diverse purposes and audiences offer variation on a common theme that deserves our attention. To receive the full benefit of the revolutionary ideas, the reader must walk slowly through the text with others and actively respond. For all the authors, Sabbath and rest are not simply another entry to check off on our to-do list. On the contrary, they offer radical life reorientation theologically and practically. The books are not meant to be read, pondered, and placed on a shelf, but enacted in community, step by step, over the long journey of life.
