Dear reader, it happened again this week. I had carved out a day with a to-do list as long as my arm — laundry, phone calls, perhaps even the noble attempt to conquer the dust bunnies that seem to breed in dark corners when I’m away. Instead, sometime after lunch, I sat down in my chair for “just a minute” of rest. You already know what happened. When I opened my eyes, an hour had disappeared, and the to-do list was still leering at me.

Now, in a world obsessed with productivity, I could have berated myself for laziness. But instead, I thought of Walter Brueggemann’s reminder that the Sabbath itself is an act of resistance. When ancient Israel kept Sabbath, they were proclaiming to Pharaoh, “We are not slaves anymore.” They were saying, “Our worth is not in endless bricks or bottomless quotas. Our worth is in the God who rested on the seventh day.” To nap in the middle of a busy day is not only self-care — it is a tiny rebellion against the idol of busyness.

Above all, I am a firm believer in the Sunday post-liturgical nap. Many of you know that I am a strong introvert. There are few things that introverts find more exhausting than being in very public settings — much less being the one leading those public settings. As much as I love parish ministry, and as a liturgist, I dearly love the liturgy, Sundays are exhausting. After the last hymn fades and the final parishioner has left the building, my soul begins to long for that quiet recliner or couch that awaits me at home. The post-liturgical nap is not laziness. It is spiritual survival. It is the space where I can breathe deeply, reset, and remember that God is God — and I am not.

Jesus himself modelled this. He napped in the boat while the disciples panicked at the storm. (I’m not sure my snoring is as holy as his was, but the principle still stands.) And he reminded us that “the Sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the Sabbath” — in other words, God’s gift of rest was never meant to be another burden, but a delight.

We often imagine holiness as tireless labour: praying without ceasing, working without faltering, serving without resting. But sometimes, holiness looks suspiciously like a Sunday afternoon nap. It is the reminder that we are creatures, not machines; that God runs the universe just fine without our constant supervision; that our value does not depend on what we accomplish.

Of course, not every nap feels holy. Some of mine look suspiciously like the escape tactics of a procrastinator. (Stephen Leacock once said, “I am a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work, the more I have of it.” I, on the other hand, find the more I nap, the more the chores pile up — but that’s another sermon.) Still, when our rest is claimed as God’s gift, it becomes more than avoidance — it becomes worship.

So, dear reader, the next time you feel guilty for closing your eyes when the world clamours for productivity, remember this: to nap in faith is to say, “I am not Pharaoh’s slave. I am God’s beloved.” The holiest thing you may do this week might just be to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and trust that God holds the world — even while you nap.

Prayer for Rest and Renewal

Gracious God,
you created us for work and for rest,
for service and for stillness.
Teach us to receive Sabbath as your gift,
and to trust that the world rests safely in your hands.
Bless our naps, our pauses, and our moments of quiet,
that in them we may be restored to love you more deeply
and to serve others with joy.
Through Jesus Christ, who slept in the boat
and rose to calm the storm.
Amen.