An unclenching of fists,

Palms open, fingers wide

Dropping plows and hoes,

Shears and soil.

The heavy harvest of the sixth year complete;

Divine provision procured.

The seventh year has come.

A year of rest for the land,

For the animal,

For the strong backs through which a people are fed. 

What bonds are loosed in this time?

What freedom is experienced?

Chains of worry and wonder fall free

As the Lord, the Lord our God, provides. 

Chains of poverty loosed

As debts are released, forgiven, negated.

Chains to the task of seeding and tilling and weeding 

Clang to the ground

Which despite inactivity miraculously births produce

For animal and alien. 

Freedom from despair,

From the daily grind,

From the ought tos and “I wish I had…”

From exhaustion and expectation.

Freedom to live sustainably

Where praise takes precedence over productivity,

And where all have enough and that enough is very good.

Cycle after cycle happens,

Seven sevens.            

A generation’s celebration,

A remembering of creation and God’s care,

A radical movement toward creation care.

A generation’s Jubilee. 

A coming home, 

A giving back and leaning in,

A trusting in the One who imagined,

Created, and modeled such restful release.



Photo by Marcus Schorn on Unsplash