January dawns and I’ve been waiting for the Jubilee Year. Turning 49 in August but am using the calendar year for my project of exploration of how I could move from good intentions to real sabbath, in terms of giving a rest to many things that are me and not God, striving and not resting, sowing without reaping. Sometimes my life is a chasing after the wind, as Ecclesiastes says. And I am ready to lie fallow, to have the ultimate sabbath. But as the calendar page flips over, I don’t really know what my Jubilee will include.
I’d wanted to sort it out and I’d even made a little notebook with twelve tidy tabs for twelve different emphases of the Jubilee year. Only I don’t know what they should be. Or even where to start. But it seems like a good sign that I have a houseguest who plays the trumpet, the symbol of Jubilee. My only trumpet-playing friend shows up on January 1 of the Jubilee Year. I’m delirious.
Prayer… that’s it. More prayer. Prayer with greater expectation.