We find ourselves at the close of the summer holidays, in the middle of this August bank holiday weekend. For many, it is a final chance to pause before the busyness of autumn begins. In our Parish Magazine, I encouraged everyone to use this summer as an opportunity for prayerful rest—a rest that renews not only body and mind but also spirit. (How have you approached your summer holiday ‘homework’ of rest?)
Yet, even as we try to pause, the world around us roars with unrest. Wars rage in Ukraine and Palestine. Daily, we see images of violence, oppression, and dehumanisation. Our rest is not easy. How can we truly sit still when our neighbours—near and far, human and non-human—are suffering?
This morning, let us reflect on the relationship between Sabbath rest and the liberation of all creation. Scripture insists that Sabbath is never simply ‘a day off.’ Sabbath is about freedom, dignity, justice, and God’s vision for life unbound.
In Isaiah 58:9b–14, God speaks clearly and precisely, laying out three conditional ‘ifs,’ each paired with a promise of restoration and rebuilding. Isaiah gives concrete guidelines for how restoration can be realised.
First: ‘If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil … then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday’ (vv.9b–10).
The ‘yoke’ represents oppression—systems, habits, and words that weigh others down. To remove it is to dismantle injustice, to end cycles of blame, and to speak life instead of harm.
Second: ‘If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted … then the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your needs in parched places’ (vv.10–11).
God calls us not to abstract charity but to concrete solidarity: sharing bread, tending to the afflicted, and ensuring no neighbour is neglected.
Third: ‘If you refrain from trampling the Sabbath, from pursuing your own interests on my holy day … then you shall take delight in the Lord, and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth’ (vv.13–14).
To trample the Sabbath is to exploit it for profit or selfish gain. To honour it rightly is to enter God’s rhythm of rest and to extend that rest to others.
Isaiah’s call is striking:
1. Break the yoke of oppression.
2. Feed and clothe the vulnerable.
3. Honour the Sabbath as a shared gift of freedom.
Then—and only then—will light break forth, ruins be rebuilt, and communities restored. Worshipping God without pursuing justice is no worship at all. Rituals, fasting, even Sabbath-keeping, when disconnected from concern for neighbour, are empty. But when joined with justice, worship becomes delight, and Sabbath becomes life—life that gives life.
Luke 13 shows us what this looks like in practice.
A woman bent over for eighteen years enters the synagogue. She is bowed down, her body twisted, her dignity overlooked by others
But Luke tells us: ‘When Jesus saw her …’ (v.12). That is the turning point. Jesus notices the one others ignore. He calls her forward, lays hands on her, and declares: ‘Woman, you are set free.’ She stands upright and praises God.
The synagogue leader protests—he believes Jesus has broken Sabbath law. But Jesus answers: ‘You untie your ox or donkey on the Sabbath to give it water. Should not this daughter of Abraham be untied from her bondage on the Sabbath day?’
Notice that word: untied. Jesus insists that the Sabbath is the perfect time for liberation. Far from breaking the Sabbath, he is fulfilling it. Sabbath is precisely about untying the bonds of those bowed down.
So what is Sabbath for us today?
It is not mere leisure. It is God’s holy protest against exploitation. It is God’s reminder that people are not machines, that the earth is not raw material for endless profit, that life is meant for joy and freedom.
Think of the people of Gaza and Ukraine, whose lives are torn apart by war. They are denied rest, denied Sabbath, because their days are consumed by fear and survival.
Also, think of those closer to home: neighbours burdened by poverty, by loneliness, by insecure work. They are denied the Sabbath as well.
Isaiah and Jesus both teach us: Until the oppressed are freed, until the hungry are fed, until the bowed down are lifted up, Sabbath remains incomplete. But there is also a warning: the synagogue leader shows how religion can miss the point—how we can cling to forms and rules while ignoring people.
In this tension, we see a fundamental message: the value of a person is never contingent on being ‘fixed’ or healed. The woman in Luke’s story was always a daughter of Abraham, always precious in God’s sight. Jesus did not create her dignity; he revealed it. And in revealing it, Jesus shows us the pattern of God’s Sabbath rest: it is restorative, inclusive, and liberating, calling the world to share in God’s freedom and generosity.
So too today: Scripture insists that none of this diminishes anyone’s dignity. All people—whether physically, mentally, or socially constrained—already embody the image of God. The discrimination and barriers they face do not diminish their worth; they reveal the injustice of a world that withholds access to freedom, generosity, and abundant life. True healing and restoration are not about ‘fixing’ individuals but about reforming and transforming the environment—removing barriers that disable, creating a world where all creatures can share in God’s generosity and flourishing.
Sabbath, established and practised by God himself, is his gift for all creation: a gift that reflects his life, joy, and desire for flourishing. Isaiah ends with a word of joy: ‘If you call the Sabbath a delight … then you shall take delight in the Lord’ (58:13–14). Sabbath rest belongs to everyone, and in it the world and all its creatures are invited to live in the freedom and abundance God intends.
So, as we enjoy this bank holiday pause, let us remember: true Sabbath is not just for us. It is for all.
When we rest, when we resist exploitation, when we set others free, we are declaring: Pharaoh is not our lord, consumerism is not our lord, work is not our lord, conquering victory is not our lord either—Jesus is Lord.
Isaiah promises that when Sabbath becomes justice—light will rise, ruins will be rebuilt, and we will be called ‘repairers of the breach, restorers of streets to live in.’
The promise remains: ‘If you call the Sabbath a delight … then you shall take delight in the Lord.’ This delight is not merely personal rest; it is participation in God’s liberating work. To delight in the Sabbath is to stand with those constrained by injustice, poverty, oppression, exhaustion, or denied access to life’s fullness.
It is to delight in freedom for all who are bowed down, marginalised, or burdened—whose bodies, minds, or circumstances have been constrained by power or neglect.
May we live into that promise—not only resting ourselves, but joining God in untying chains, lifting up the oppressed, and ensuring all creation shares in the abundance, generosity, and joy God intends. Until that day comes, may every creature find its rest in God’s liberating love. This is the heart of Sabbath.
Amen.