It’s not quite 4 a.m., and I’ve been in the Story Shack for a while. But then, I fell asleep before 8 last night, so I guess it evens out. For somebody like me, who lives by a tight schedule because that’s the only way I can squeeze everything in, to suddenly live without one takes an adjustment.
During the week, Southern Living has daily morning conference calls, which kick off my work day and give me a “your magazine time has begun” signal. But I only work 4 days a week now, and our church is temporarily closed, so Friday, Saturday, and Sunday are pretty fluid. I find myself consulting the calendar often because I can’t tell what day it is by the framework of my usual activities. And I’ve stopped paying much attention to time. Dave and I eat lunch and supper about the same time on the weekends, but beyond that, I go to bed when I’m sleepy, get up when I’m not, write when I’m inspired, stop when I’m not.
The truth is, I have long wished for more quiet time at home, less structure, less to do in general. Not that I wanted it at the cost of a global pandemic . . . In the dark, quiet wee hours this morning, I found myself thinking: What’s the lesson in all this? (Not an original thought on my part, but there you go.)
I was looking through a notebook I kept when I read the Bible front to back for the first time. (We won’t talk about how many years have passed since then or how woefully lax I have been lately on Bible study.) I ran across a passage from Mark that I had highlighted in my notes: “You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to the traditions of men.” Mark 7:8
I couldn’t remember the context of that passage, so I reread the verses surrounding it, and y’all—it’s about ceremonial handwashing. Hand. Washing. The Pharisees were criticizing Christ’s disciples for eating without first ceremonially washing their hands, which were, consequently, considered defiled according to Jewish tradition.
Jesus first quotes the prophet Isaiah:
‘These people honor me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me.
They worship me in vain;
their teachings are merely human rules.’
And then Christ tells the Pharisees, “You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to the traditions of men.”
How often do I do that? Short answer: A lot. Am I going to church because I want to worship or because that’s what we do at 11 a.m. on Sunday? Do I pray early in the morning because that’s when I feel the closest communion with God or because that’s where “quiet time” fits into my schedule?
Well . . . now there is no schedule. And our “traditions of men” have been upended. So let’s use that—to think about why we do the things we do and whether we need to keep doing them.
There’s a hard lesson every writer has to learn: If it doesn’t advance the narrative, take it out.
No matter how long you worked on that sentence, no matter how proud of it you are, if it doesn’t advance the narrative, take it out.
When we find ourselves going through the motions—doing without feeling, believing, or connecting just because that’s what we’ve always done—it’s time to stop, to upend the schedule.
If it doesn’t advance your narrative, if it doesn’t bring you closer to the person you feel led to be, take it out.
Love, grace, and peace to you this Sunday morning.