It is Friday night.
I am sitting at the kitchen table writing this by longhand, that act (writing) being a violation of strict Sabbath observances. I lit candles after sunset, another violation, then turned on the oven (and another) and baked brownies (and another).
I am not an observant Jew.
Despite my lack of observation, I am deeply appreciative of the Sabbath and its spiritual importance. For Jews, it is 24 hours (sunset to sunset) in which we are to step out of the secular world and into a world of prayers, family, contemplation, study, community, and reflection.
It is our break from the everyday.
I am rarely removed from the secular world on the Sabbath, but I try hard to lace in bits and pieces of it when I am able.
Tonight, as the sun was setting and the Sabbath was arriving, I took a walk downtown to post some letters and enjoy the early evening. I had just enough time, I figured, to get home and light the candles before the sun set. (Note: I rarely light Sabbath candles, yet another indication of my persistent failure to remove myself from the secular world.)
As I walked home, I walked past Linda and Mark's house. Linda, a longtime dear friend, was on her porch. I hailed her and crossed the street.
Linda and I sat on her front step and talked. Talked of family, talked of aging, talked of community, talked of life. While we talked, the sun went down and the shadows grew deeper. The Sabbath was well upon me before I stood up and said I had to leave so I did not trip in the dark.
As I walked home, I thought of my long friendship with Linda. We have been through some life adventures together in the almost twenty years I have known her. I reflected on the pleasure of just sitting and talking and being in the moment of that long friendship. Indeed, for that fifteen or twenty minutes, I stepped out of the secular world into the world of community and friendship.
I may not have observed this Sabbath by the book, but I think I observed it in my heart.