7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess

by Jen Hatmaker

  This hour is the prayer for wisdom to help us live like we were dying, which we are. Imagine the fearlessness we’d embrace with this understanding! Imagine the risks we would take, the love we would share, the forgiveness we would not withhold, the dreams we would chase. Envision the bitterness we would release, the hang-ups we would let go of, the beauty we would create.

  With evening approaching, we pray for perspective on this short, fleeting day, this short, fleeting life and accordingly, we hold out forgiveness, release our grudges, and offer our gifts to the world, understanding we have only a few years to share them or they will be wasted.

  Readings

  Psalm 71

  Psalm 90

  Psalm 138

  The Twilight Hour

  Also called vespers, this is the much loved evening prayer, prayed for centuries at the end of the workday as dusk approaches. The main themes are gratitude and serenity as the evening lamps are lit. We invite God’s peace as we leave work and transition into dinner, family, home, rest. Training our minds toward tranquility, we ask: What is the greatest blessing of this day? What one accomplishment can I smile over? What is undone I can gently lay down until tomorrow? Is there anyone I need to make peace with? The Twilight Hour is for exhaling, calming our minds, and transitioning into the evening.

  A major theme of vespers is gratitude. No matter the chaos of the day, Wiederkehr reminds us, “If you search out reasons to be grateful, you may be amazed to discover that your gratitude room is overflowing.”6 We practice being thankful for the gifts of the day, the loveliness of the season we are in. Even with disorder at this hour, we say “thank you” for employment, for children and home, for our gifts. We say “thank you” for tomorrow, a perfect landing spot for unfinished tasks. We say “thank you” for hands to labor and love with and ask for grace for the work of the approaching evening.

  Readings

  Psalm 34

  Psalm 139

  Psalm 145

  The Great Silence

  By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life. (Ps. 42:8)

  This prayer concludes the day; a beautiful time to pray with children as we tuck them in or with a spouse or friend before we sleep. Also called compline, from the Latin word for completion, it begins with a gentle evaluation of the day. The focus is on awareness, and we include not just weaknesses but the strengths and accomplishments of the day. The Great Silence teaches us to be healthy sinners, living in neither denial of our sin or despair because of it. God reminds us we are loved sinners. We learn to live with more integrity and obedience than the day before, as together in prayer we examine the day.

  The second theme is darkness—protection from some forms and acceptance of other forms. We ask the Spirit to guard against our enemy, protecting our zeal and innocence in Christ. We pray our children are sheltered under God’s wings. As sin is a darkness that envelops from within, we confess and repent from the tentacles that bind us. We intervene for those seized by darkness: suffering, sickness, death, disease. We pray for our brothers and sisters who need our intervention desperately.

  On the other hand, we welcome the soft darkness that is exquisitely beautiful and healing. God dims the lights on our weary bodies, making the way for sleep, allowing us to see the stars. There is a beauty to the darkness, the natural rhythm of the earth that invites us to be still and rest. It is time to let go of the day and enter the Great Silence.

  Readings

  Psalm 23

  Psalm 91

  Psalm 134

  Here we go.

  My friend Christi who paused with me during Month Seven...after she was assured it wasn't an intervention.

  Day 2

  I met Jenny and Christi for lunch at Fire Bowl Café. After yammering about whatever we yammer about, I slipped my Bible out of my purse. The table went silent.

  Jenny: Are we about to get rebuked?

  Christi: Are we having devotions?

  Jenny: Is this an intervention??

  Christi: Am I in trouble?

  Jenny: Are you about to admit something bad?

  Christi: Is this a Bible drill?

  I reminded them about the Hour of Illumination (Christi: Geez o’ pete, 7 is still going on??), and I read excerpts from Seven Sacred Pauses and opened Psalm 24. We let those beautiful words energize our midday while we passed Christi’s teeny baby around, and the girls were thrilled we were just praying together, not holding an intervention.

  Yay, me! I have friends I can do this with. I’ve prayed and studied so many times with these two. I know everything about their spiritual lives, and they know all the gory details of mine. We’ve wrestled through every issue imaginable and prayed through our best and worst times. Christi was so smitten that my phone rang two hours later from our friend Laura:

  “Christi told me all about the pauses. Tell me everything. I have a baby, a toddler, and a preschooler. My sharp mind has turned to cornmeal and I think I’ve developed an anxiety disorder. My hair is dirty. I’ve forgotten how to spell. I haven’t gone to the bathroom alone in four years. I need God forty-nine times a day, but I’ll settle for seven. Spill it.”

  Thus continues the cannibalization of my friends by 7.

  Day 6

  I sent an SOS e-mail to the Council, admitting I’m having trouble observing all seven pauses each day, particularly the Night Watch, which is spectacularly meaningful but, um, at midnight.

  Jenny to the rescue: “I am doing the Night Watch for you tonight. Just go to sleep and I’ll take it.” She sent me this the next day:

  I read all the psalms for today: 42, 65, and 119. They were all awesome. I felt so excited about this after reading them! This time is not about me, but interceding for the forgotten:

  Psalm 42:9–10, The Message

  Sometimes I ask God, my rock-solid God, (Hear their cry, sweet Jesus) “Why did you let me down? (Why are you letting the orphan, oppressed, poor, and lonely down?) Why am I walking around in tears (Why are they all in tears?) harassed by enemies?” They’re out for the kill, these tormentors with their obscenities, taunting day after day, (Lord, protect them from being tormented by the enemy) “Where is this God of yours?” (God, this question makes me feel so desperate for these people. And so sad that they probably ask this.)

  Psalm 42:11

  Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. (Thanks for being hope! God, I want to be hope too. And I pray these forgotten, lonely, and abandoned people will not give up hope.)

  Tonight I’m praying for:

  The women and children beaten by their husband/boyfriend or parent

  The women and children being raped

  The people thinking about ending their life b/c of hopelessness

  The children that just lost their only living parent

  The children dying from lack of food and water and lack of medicine and those still alive with aching bellies b/c we don’t care enough

  The twenty-seven million slaves and those driving the demand for them

  The teenagers and adults addicted to drugs and alcohol

  The lonely parents who have lost a child, and those sitting next to a child, knowing they are about to die

  The abandoned children who are scared and alone

  The widow or widower that just lost their best friend

  The homeless who feel unloved and forgotten

  The 147 million orphans

  Those that are feeling so dark and desperate

  The children being held captive/kidnapped

  The prisoners

  The sick

  This is NOT my writing for your book, stupid! But I loved these verses and wanted to share. Plus, I wanted you to know I was serious about taking your Night
Watch!

  How precious. Jenny kept vigil for millions suffering a dark night of the soul. She sat with Jesus, remembering them, interceding, naming their abuses and begging for justice. Her intervention has integrity because she is learning to shop “slave-free,” is active in the foster system, sponsors orphans and supports widows, and loves wayward teenagers her kids befriend.

  You participate sincerely in the Night Watch when your daytime hours maintain the same intervention. Like James said, “Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. But someone will say, ‘You have faith; I have deeds.’ Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by what I do” (James 2:15–18).

  Note to future friends: If I ask you to participate in a social experiment, and you send me material and say it is “not writing for the book,” I will ignore this and copy and paste it exactly as is, with complete disregard for your feelings.

  Day 7

  I haven’t observed all seven pauses in a day yet. For crying out loud! Stopping in midstream is way harder than it sounds. It’s not that I don’t want to; I can’t remember to. You would think since this concept is not only a spiritual exercise but book fodder, I would stay on it, but you would be wrong. I blink, and it’s lunch. I blink again, and I’m cleaning dinner dishes. Seven pauses is kicking my butt and taking names.

  Plus—BLEH—it is making me feel super guilty. At the end of every day, I count how many I missed and scold myself for prayer failure. I’m not the highest heel in the closet, but I think I’m missing the point. If prayer and rest equal guilt and frustration, then I’m doing something wrong. I can practically see God rubbing his temples.

  Today I remembered something from Seven Sacred Pauses: “One of the things I have learned is the importance of the bell. The bell calls us to the Prayer of the Hours. The bell is annoying. The bell is good . . . When I hear the bell, I pray for the grace to put aside the work I am doing. In listening to the bell I am actually listening to an invitation for union with the Beloved. In answering the bell I am proclaiming by my actions that there is an even greater Love than the loving service I am performing.”7

  I need the bell! (Read: iPhone alarm.) Done. Alarms set.

  While we’re discussing failures, our first Sabbath was a hot mess. It started with me flying home at 8:30 p.m. on Saturday night. Kids were heading to bed. Dinner was over, meaning the chips my children ate while Brandon was sequestered upstairs to finish his book due Monday. Even if we tried to observe Shabbot around the dinner table, we couldn’t have, since we sold it in the ABBA Fund Garage Sale. It only seated five and we’re about to ratchet that up by two, so we have a rug with a light fixture over it.

  Sunday morning Brandon dashed out earlier and zanier than usual, as the heater broke at church and the thermostat read 57 degrees. The kids and I came four hours later for the second service. Then we zipped to my mom’s for lunch, finished our last bite, and raced Gavin to his flag football double header, which I bailed on for training at church where I’m leading a new initiative in which I have no idea what I’m doing. I got home at 7:30, and the kids asked, “What’s for dinner? We’re starving. No one fed us.” (Brandon = book = deadline = anarchy.) So I dumped frozen soup in a pot, served it to everyone on the rug, and sent the kids to bed.

  Sabbath fail.

  Between the travel, football, Brandon’s book deadline, and the training, this day was unsalvageable. Our redemption: That was my last event of the year, Gavin’s final game, and the Internets will mercifully whisk the book away from our home tomorrow; thus Sabbath potential increased 100 percent for the rest of this month.

  Gentle reader, I shall shake the dust off my feet from this first week of malfunctions and try again, starting fresh tomorrow.

  I have seven daily alarms set.

  I have a clear weekend calendar.

  Brandon will return to life in twenty-four hours.

  However, three to five pauses a day was better than none, and some were very, very sweet. (Jettison the guilt, Jen. You abandoned that response with its partners in crime: traveling revival evangelists and awkward attempts to clap in church.) These are not a yoke of bondage, but breathing spells for the soul. Remember the point. Don’t miss the forest for the trees, even if the trees come in rapid succession all day, making them impossible to keep up with; then they conspire against you on the Sabbath like a haunted forest.

  Day 8

  Like Zach and Kelly and Screech and Slater, I’m saved by the bell! I set seven repeating alarms on my phone with text reminders on the themes, and we hit six out of seven (sorry, Night Watch, but you’re so late). The monks have that bell thingy down; I should’ve listened.

  Four of the seven prayers happen while the kids are home. Yesterday during the Wisdom Hour (right after school), Sydney prayed about forgiving a classmate, who has been mean as the devil to her. I don’t know why I didn’t pray first, what with my gift of discernment. I previously considered: (1) whispering to this kid that I’m sending psychotic fairies into her room at night to eat her legs off, or (2) just barely nicking her with my car, not enough to sustain a serious injury but enough to send a message (minor injury? gray area).

  Evidently prayer was a better option.

  Sydney came home today and said, “Mom! You won’t believe this! Out of nowhere, Jill said, ‘I’m really sorry I’ve been so mean to you. I don’t even know why I acted that way. I really want to be your friend if you’ll forgive me.’” The day after Sydney released her from this debt in prayer, she repented on her own.

  What happens in the spiritual realm when we pray? It’s such a mystery. What words prompt the Spirit to move? What goodness do we join Him on when we pray for peace? How powerful are our prayer words? They are a catalyst for miracles, the impetus for healing. Does God wait for us to pray in His will, primed to move for righteousness? How many relationships is He waiting to mend? How much turmoil is He poised to soothe? How much peace is He ready to administer? Are we withholding the necessary words to trigger God’s intervention?

  Perhaps this is why He urges us to forgive, release, lay down, let go, trust, offer, submit, and obey; these are the keys that turn the locks that bind. Like Jesus promised:

  I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. (Matt. 16:19)

  Maybe after we say, “I’ll forgive,” He inspires repentance in the offender. Perhaps when we say, “I’ll finally trust you,” He delivers. Is He waiting to hear “I’ll do it” before clearing the path? If we can bind and loose things in the spiritual realm, why are we squandering prayer words on football victories and temporary luxuries? What a waste! We could be binding evil, injustice, and hatred while releasing freedom, recovery, and healing—partners in mercy, not just consumers of it.

  God is inviting me into this spiritual clout seven times a day—seven times the power, seven times the influence, seven times the effect. I’m frustrated I ruined the first week with legalism, missing the exquisite opportunity to join God in the work of redemption. I knew Jesus was offering something wonderful, but my drift into legalistic entropy is strong, people.

  And good news! Now I won’t be named in a personal injury suit against a minor.

  Day 13

  Sweet, sweet Sabbath. People, please enjoy this sacred practice with your little families. There is such beauty to it, a spiritual rhythm. It is different from just another dinner at home. There is something supernatural in this form of worship.

  Beginning around 5:00 Saturday evening, Brandon and I joined forces in the kitchen, preparing dough and toppings for pizza plus a fig and goat cheese salad w
ith toasted almonds and fig vinaigrette tossed with butter lettuce from our own garden. I would be remiss to mention this is the best lettuce we’ve ever tasted. Ever. More delicious lettuce has never been grown. May I also brag on our carrots, snow peas, spinach, and potatoes? Please act impressed over our first winter garden, because we are morons and still managed to grow a bunch of our own food.

  Everyone gathered to top their pizzas, layering goodies over a brilliant eight-minute homemade sauce, which I’ve included for your eating pleasure:

  Sauté three garlic cloves and 1 tsp of red pepper flakes in 1/4 cup of good olive oil for 3 to 4 minutes. Add 1 28 oz. can of Muir Glen organic crushed tomatoes—please trust me, this brand matters and it MUST be “crushed tomatoes” or you will regret it the rest of your life. Stir then simmer for 5 minutes, add salt and pepper and a bunch of chopped fresh basil, put on your pizza and die of happiness. Set leftover sauce out for everyone to dunk their crusts or bread in. Now you’re a hero. Everyone loves you.

  The pizzas smelled up the house like heaven. We set out the “nice” dishes, poured wine and grape juice, positioned the candles, laid Shabbot readings on each place setting, situated challah bread in the middle, and the family assembled around our new lovely table, which now seats eight. Oh yes, we will soon have two little brown punkin’ faces at this gathering.