Seeking Sabbath
For those opportunities of an absence of something to nurture a fullness of being
Have you considered recently on what motivates you? What makes you tick? During the pandemic-related restrictions, I found myself beginning to ask these questions and now have had more reason to unpack this further.
From the 1st January 2023 I will be taking a three month sabbatical – an opportunity I am grateful for and intimidated by in equal measure. When preparing for this time away from my work as advocate for LGBT+ affirmation within the Christian faith, I have come face to face with many of my insecurities, doubts, and the metaphorical crutches I lean on to support me day to day.
As I have begun to share of my plans to take this time of deliberate rest, it has struck me just how much of my identity is wrapped up in my work – it is that which for so long has made me tick. Of course, I am son, a sibling, a husband, a friend, but if you cut me down the middle like a stick of Brighton rock, you’ll find WORK in bold letters all the way through. In many conversations recently I have asked the question of others: “what do people do when they’re not working?”.
That is not to say that I don’t take time away from work, I do – but my pattern over the years has been one without scheduled or intentional rest. For so long my ministry and advocacy work needed to be supported by other employment to pay the bills, and then even in recent years as Executive Director of OneBodyOneFaith, this part-time role has needed to be subsidised. I am fortunate that I can do this, but it has taken a toll. As I begin to wind down other projects and commitments as the end of year approaches, I have noticed just how much of my income relies on my ability and desire to hustle another project, to always find something else new to work on. This portfolio life of various commitments has meant that, until only earlier this year, not a single day went by without me fulfilling one work obligation or another – something which I would have once, not that long ago, been secretly very proud of.
I suppose this is a confession of sorts, as I approach this new chapter – a chance to start afresh, acknowledging what has been before, apologising to both myself and to others with the model I have set as the “way to be”. I have had to challenge my judgements of what I consider to be hard-working, my internal critique of taking time to rest, which in turn impacts how I view and interact with others too.
Whilst I love being on the go, engaging with a variety of activities, I have begun to scrutinise where that desire comes from – and whether that innate energy always ought to be channelled into employed labour, and indeed whether it is infinitely sourced (it almost certainly isn’t).
As my plans developed, I also noticed a hesitancy in myself to share with others that I was being given this time to take. I continue to feel the need to justify the time, explaining that even though I’m anxious about it, I know that it is privilege and that I am of course grateful. I’ve found myself ready to defend the need, should anyone question or challenge it. My own personality, the sector in which I work, indeed broader British ideals that prioritise “hard work” and “success” over health and wellbeing, all mingle together in a less than tranquil pool.
As I also wrestle with concern for those I work with whilst I’m absent, and the fear of what will change when I am not around - knowing how much will move on in that time, there is also the unknown of not only how I will respond to my time away, but also who will emerge the other side. Will I embrace old habits, or will I be shifting into someone new, therefore having to make hard decisions about the work I do and the lifestyle in entails. I have always said my advocacy for LGBT+ people of faith has a use-by date, a time in which I won’t have anything more to give and indeed ensuring space is made for fresh voices, yet I do not know what I’ll do if and when the proverbial yoghurt expires. Perhaps it feels a little like I’m preparing for a death, a cycle, a season, that is coming to an end.
All this to say: I approach this time of sabbatical with trepidation, as perhaps you may be able to tell. However, I’d like to share what my plans are, to own this time, to encourage you to seek your own sabbath wherever possible (a day, a week, a month, a year…), and to continue the work of shifting my own perspective.
I will begin the year in the home of my heart with some those dearest to me, bringing in 2023 in Albania. Later in January I will be travelling to India to participate in a 200-hour yoga course – the continuation of a journey with the practice I began way back in the first lockdown. In February I will be taking time with family, including my new niece, celebrating Birthdays, and enjoying time that is not bookended or eaten into by calls and meetings; I also hope to go on an Ignatian retreat. March will include a half marathon in Rome, and I hope a little over 100km of the Camino de Santiago – a pilgrim trail I have wanted to walk for many years now.
The extroverted planner in me is compelled to fill my time, to let no week pass without something scheduled; yet I know that this desire is counterintuitive to the time I have been given. The plans I’ve made I hope will serve as chapter headings, not prescriptive assignments; bookmarking time without restricting it. For whilst I want to ensure I do things in the three months that I normally would not have the opportunity to, I also want to leave space for things to just simply be – for those opportunities of an absence of something to nurture a fullness of being.
I am uncertain how to end this now; perhaps that is as it should be: an uncertainty of the words to write next, the chapters that have yet to be written.