SAUCIER — Frozen in time

We call the Sabbath the Lord’s Day, a day of rest.

Most of us don’t work on Sundays, but that’s where the rest ends. We fill them with a flurry of activities, as if busyness is key to keeping it holy.

But this Sunday was different. Layers of ice, sleet and snow made Sabbath of our world, freezing time, ceasing the ordinary and inviting all to a day of rest.

It was gray and cold, but rather than losing myself in a book or a game, I bundled up for a walk.

Stepping outside, I could hear the crystal trees crackling as a rustling wind shook their icy coats.

A squirrel sat staring at these glistening sculptures, maybe sharing in the wonder and delight I felt in all this stark beauty.

I plodded along, the snow just deep enough to slow my step, causing both effort and caution.

I found no footprints to follow and realized I was the first in the neighborhood to explore this transformed world.

I was no Neil Armstrong on the lunar sand, but there was some child-like exuberance in being the first to break a path in this white wilderness.

Later, I came upon a man chipping away at his frozen front walk. Seeing me, he straightened and leaned on his shovel. As we talked, I wondered if he was always this friendly or if he saw in me a kindred winter spirit.

As I went on, my mind wandered through a mental buffet, tasting this memory and then trying that thought. Some were fleeting, others tarried, as if waiting for some response.

Over a rise, the woodsmoke air was now filled with the odor of burning rubber. A truck was vainly trying to take to the street but sliding back into the curb.

He tried again with me pushing. We struggled forward as I, too, tried to find traction. My strained body reminded me that a man loses 50% of his muscle mass by his 70s. 

We finally got it out. I was proud to have been able to help, but humbled by the thought that I can’t do the things I once did.

It was just a winter walk, but it came with an awakening and attentiveness that keep holy the Lord’s Day.

As the poet/farmer Wendell Berry learned on his Sabbath walks: “The mind that come to rest is tended in a way it cannot intend ... Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by Your will, not ours.”