The Sabbath in an Age of Endless Work

"Observe my Sabbath and have reverence for my sanctuary. I am the Lord." — Leviticus 26:2

I've been thinking a lot about this verse recently. Not in an abstract way, but in a very personal way. My wife has told me that I am often distracted. My friends have also pointed that out. If I have a phone in my hand, I am constantly doing something - now I'm not even sure what - but replying to something, checking something, scrolling somewhere.. And I realised that I resist stopping, the pausing to reflect. I get so restless.

A couple of months ago, I found myself suddenly without any of my devices. I had to stay without them for sometime. And it was almost like God was saying something, trying to get my attention somehow and I wasn't listening. I was trying to run without really thinking about where I was going and overnight, I felt the LORD was saying, "Now sit and listen". And it was so difficult.

There's something in our culture—in the very air we breathe—that tells us we're never doing enough. That if we're not constantly producing, constantly moving, constantly optimizing, then we're falling behind. We're failing. We're not living up to our potential.

But God's command here is different. He says: observe. Have reverence. Stop.

When I read the story of the Exodus, I'm struck by something most of us gloss over. When God freed Israel from Egypt, He didn't just give them their freedom and say, "Now you figure out how to live." He gave them a rhythm. And at the heart of that rhythm was rest. The Sabbath.

More Than Just a Day Off

Think about what the Sabbath meant in the context of the Exodus. These people had just come out of slavery under Pharaoh. In Egypt, their lives were defined by endless work—quotas that never stopped, tasks that never ended. If you could work, you had to work.

And then God says something radical. Look at Exodus 20:8-11—

"Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Lord your God; you shall not do any work, you or your son or your daughter, your male or female servant, your cattle, or the sojourner who is within your gates."

Do you catch that? The Sabbath isn't just for you. It's for your servants. For the foreigner. For the animals. For the land itself. This is a rhythm built for everyone, not just the powerful or the productive.

And what's remarkable is how God provided the manna in the wilderness to support this rhythm. On six days, the people gathered. But on the sixth day, they gathered double—enough for the Sabbath too. On the seventh day, there was no manna because on that day, they weren't meant to work. They were meant to rest.

This rhythm is built on trust. Trust that six days is enough. Trust that God will provide. Trust that the world doesn't collapse when you stop.

The Promise That Never Materialized

It's intriguing when we think about today. We live in an age that promised us the opposite of what Pharaoh demanded.

For years, technology leaders told us that artificial intelligence would free us from drudgery. A four-day work week was coming. Some predicted it by 2025. OpenAI even encouraged companies to experiment with shorter weeks at full pay. The promise was seductive: machines will do the work. Humans will finally have time to live.

But something went wrong. Or maybe something revealed itself.

According to recent reports, workers at the very companies making these promises are now logging 70 to 90-hour weeks. The AI that was supposed to give us breathing room has instead created a culture where being constantly available, constantly responsive, constantly optimizing is the new baseline. We haven't escaped the treadmill. We've simply accelerated it.

Ironically, we did this to ourselves.

Jesus once told a parable about a rich man. The man looked at his overflowing barns and thought, "I've made it. Now I can rest." So what did he do? He made a plan to tear down his barns and build bigger ones. More storage. More security. More wealth. And Jesus called him a fool. Not because ambition is sinful, but because the man mistook accumulation for peace. He confused production with purpose (Luke 12:16-21).

We do the same. We tell ourselves: just one more project. One more promotion. One more achievement. Then I'll rest. Then I'll have time for my family. Then I'll slow down.

But that day never comes.

The Mindset Problem

Here's what I've come to realize: the problem isn't technology. The problem isn't the tools we have. The problem is the mindset we bring to those tools.

A faster computer isn't inherently enslaving. AI isn't inherently oppressive. But when we approach them with Pharaoh's mindset—the assumption that any saved moment should be seized for more work, that rest is waste, that our value is measured in productivity—then even our most liberating tools become new forms of bondage.

We've internalized Pharaoh's whisper: You can always do more. You should always do more. Your worth is what you produce.

And so when we save an hour, we don't rest. We fill it. We scroll. We check emails. We optimize. We're "always on," not because our jobs require it, but because somewhere along the way, we came to believe that stillness equals worthlessness.

Meanwhile, something precious is slipping away. The rhythm of a shared meal where no one checks their phone. The freedom to let your mind wander. The presence you bring to your children. The deep conversation with a friend. The simple act of noticing the world around you.

These aren't luxuries. These are the things that make life worth living.

What Sabbath Actually Means

I don't think God commanded the Sabbath because He wanted to limit us or punish us. I think He commanded it because He knows us. Really knows us.

He knows that work without rest doesn't produce excellence—it produces burnout. He knows that a human soul, like soil, needs seasons of renewal. But more than that, He knows something deeper.

The Sabbath is about remembering.

When you read Leviticus 26:2 in its fuller context, God is saying: remember who I am. Remember what I did for you. Remember that you are not held together by your own effort.

For Israel, that meant remembering the God who freed them from Egypt. The God who parted the sea. The God who provided food and water in the wilderness. The God who needed no human effort to sustain them. He was enough.

When you stop working, even for one day, you're making a statement: I trust that the world doesn't revolve around my productivity. My worth isn't measured by my output. Someone larger than me is at work in this world.

Building Rhythms of Rest

Now, I'm not suggesting we all quit our jobs and become monks. Work is good. In Genesis 2:15, God places Adam in the garden "to tend and keep it." Work is part of how we're made. The problem isn't work itself—it's work without boundaries. It's toil without rest.

But I am wondering: what would it look like to weave rhythms of rest into your everyday life?

It might look like:

• Setting your phone aside and actually reading a book, or letting your mind wander while you wait

• Standing in line without urgency, just observing what's around you

• Driving and noticing the light on the trees instead of mentally rehearsing your next meeting

• Waiting for water to boil without checking email

• Sitting with a friend without the hum of distraction in the background

• Resting not because you've earned it, but because you're human and humans need rest
  

These are acts of faith. They're how you remember.

To remember, one needs to pause, ponder and respond to who God is. Who he is today to you. "I am the LORD", he said. It's part of the remmberance. That the life we are living is bigger than us. What can you do today, to take time to remember? What needs to change, set aside, or planned and crafted, so that the life we are creating isn't a solo-endeavour but done in partnership with the LORD.