I am writing this on Sunday, which—as I am a protestant—is allegedly my sabbath or day of rest. I’ve blogged before (but not for awhile) about the many ways I have attempted to conduct my life on the day of rest. I used to think that a good way to rest was engaging in lots of mindless time-suck activities such as video games, What Not to Wear marathons, or shopping. Unfortunately, as fun as these things are, they don’t seem to really do the job of refreshing my spirit and getting ready for the week. Then for awhile I was banishing myself from technology and electronics on Sundays, but I couldn’t come up with a real theological rationale for that other than it sounded kind of virtuous and Amish. And maybe Harrison Ford could somehow be involved.

Today I stumbled into what feels like the right kind of day of rest. After the morning activities required by churchgoing I went to the gym to clear my head. Really, it’s a little ironic that I need head-clearing time after all the supposed rest of worship. If you’re going to make the day of rest on Sunday, why have church services and choir rehearsal and nursery duty on that day? No wonder pastors need all of Monday to recover from all that resting. Maybe we should do church on Tuesday nights. Anyway, the gym. And then I got home and did what some religions explicitly forbid on sabbath: I watched a movie.

Le Fils (The Son), from the brothers Dardenne of Belgium, is the story of a man, Olivier, who is carrying a deep wound from the past. He encounters a teen boy who is also carrying a deep wound, and, well, wounds collide. The film is beautiful, succinct, not one note of music and very little dialogue.

It made me think about unmerited favor I have known.

A friend recently introduced me to the music of Peter Himmelman, and I’ve spent the rest of today (and the last month) listening to him. I do not understand how I missed this amazing artist in my musical education until now. I mean, I recognize this song - and you probably would, too, if you are near my age – but that is merely scratching the tiny surface of a deep and brilliant catalog that is packed full since that 1994 album. Yesterday I watched a short documentary that comes with his CD The Pigeons Couldn’t Sleep. I love hearing other creative people talk about their craft, and the struggle often involved, and the process, and how you keep going when you feel like you may have already summited. There’s some great footage of Himmelman on tour playing small venues and questioning his future in rock, but when you see him play and interact with audiences you know it’s what he has to do (in addition to bill-paying jobs like composing for TV shows). In one part of the doc, he says that when he goes on stage he feels empty, like he’s got nothing. And then this latent part of himself steps up and to the rescue – “and I don’t even know this guy,” but he saves the day. That sounds very much like the writing process. When I’m actually in the moment of creation I have no idea where it comes from, who that person is writing, and where it/she goes when I’m done.

His music makes me think about mystery.

[If you're a regular blog reader who has generally found yourself in harmony with my taste in music, just start by buying the Strength After Strengthalbum (iTunes has it). Trust me. I'm not gonna steer you wrong.]

The point is: sabbath.

Himmelman himself couldn’t actually play live for you on the real, non-WASP sabbath; I learned from the documentary that he’s an observant Jew who no longer does gigs on Friday nights. I’ve heard other artists (Lauren Winner, for instance) talk about choosing not to do anything actively creative when observing sabbath, since God explicitly rested from creating on the seventh day. The act of creating aside, engaging with art can be so life giving. Or should I say, engaging with beauty…I mean, I wouldn’t put watching Superbad or Saw III or listening to Ace of Base up there on a list of top Sunday activities for myself. Real beauty (the definition of which may be subjective but probably not as subjective as we think) gives rest and renewal.

Actually, come to think of it, that’s my own subjective criteria for “is it beauty?” How do I feel after engaging with it? Do I feel like time expanded and filled and made my life more rich and chewy? Or do I feel: “there’s three hours of my life I’ll never have back”? I am trying to fill not just my Sundays but all my days with a lot more of the former. Also, to complete the day-of-rest experience, I highly suggest not watching, reading, or listening to the news.

And now, G. is putting some classic Columbo in the DVD player. Columbo maybe walks the line a little in the beauty department, but…it is after sundown now, and practically Monday, if you think about it.