A Rocha USA Blog

by Bill Mangrum**

It is cool this morning. Here in southwest Colorado it is cool with a light breeze under a gathering layer of clouds. Rain will fall later today. Rain will fall and the parched earth will drink again. The earth will drink and yield back green leaves, mountain wildflowers, soft forest trails, and flowing rivers. The earth is good and good for all.

The earth is our common good. She remains our common good even in a dry season when conversation and agreement about "the common good" run scarce. Some say this conversational drought is our first crisis.

Some would say that underneath all other crises lurks this critical lacking:  unwillingness on the part of a powerful few to talk slowly, listen reverently, and come humbly to mutual agreement about what is good for all. More pernicious than oil spills, slumped economies, and intractable wars, some would say, is the persistent recalcitrance of these folks, a stubborn resistance to sit together with others and partake in a gracious discussion about "the common good" for all. As one writer puts it,

The great crisis among us is the crisis of "the common good," the sense of community solidarity that binds all in a common destiny - have and have-nots, the rich and the poor. We face a crisis about the common good because there are powerful forces at work among us to resist the common good, to deny common solidarity, and to deny a common destiny.*

Perhaps such conversation disappeared with front porches. Perhaps the rise of the hospitality industry curtailed lengthy car trips made possible only by overnights in private homes, sharing meals and bathrooms, and seeing  from inside the houses of others how others live. Perhaps conversation died with the Sabbath.

I learned recently of a young friend who is closing his home, leaving his job, and setting out for four months on the road in Europe. Married with two young children, his family embarks on what he terms "a life experiment." Sleeping bags for each of them, a small tent for all, a tiny portable stove, water bottles, minimal clothes, and an IPad - all they imagine they will need through four lunar cycles of European travel are now artfully packed inside three medium size duffel bags.  Not rich, they are frugal with their energies and determined to rest. Four people, four months, three duffels - one is borrowed - and no fixed itinerary. Rick calls it, "Sabbath."

There is urgent need among us for rest - a rest both primal and biblical. There is a yawning hunger and a steady aching for scaling back, walking afar down strange, magical paths, leaning in close over café tables in distant places and listening with wonder to others. We need to listen to others. There is a need for keeping company with those we love and welcoming those we have just met, for asking the right questions, and together seeking "the common good." There is a need for Sabbath.

A Sabbath from the campaigning and the labeling and the bickering and the blaming and the politicking and the warring and the polluting -- who does not want such a rest? Who does not need such a rest? And who would not agree that if we humans rested as we are commanded to rest, the earth too could take a much needed breather? The earth -- she who has given us so much for so long - does she not also require a Sabbath?

Underneath our waning communities is our failure to engage patiently and thoughtfully with others on "the common good." Underneath our warring feet, however, is our first common good: the earth . . . and she too is tired. So, if not for ourselves at least for the earth, for the common good upon which each of us tramps about with our puffed agendas and our ruthless polices and our fractious words - couldn't we all just take a rest?

Taking a Sabbath, however, will require maturity. Maturity not as tallied in years but maturity as measured in humility, grace, and wisdom. Only the humble rest. Only the wise sit down. Only the gracious cease pursuing their agendas so as to receive with glad hearts the earth's good gifts. These are the mature ones and as Walter Brueggemann goes on to say, "Mature people, at their best, are people who are committed to the common good that reaches beyond private interest, transcends sectarian commitments, and offers human solidarity."*

Underneath our feet is our first common good. The mature ones know this, walk humbly, and rest frequently.



*The words of Walter Brueggemann are contained in his new book, Journey to the Common Good (Westminster /John Knox Press, 2010). These two quotations are found in the essay entitled, "The Journey to the Common Good: Faith, Anxiety, and the Practice of Neighborliness." For more information, please go to http://brueggemann.wjkbooks.com.

**Bill Mangrum is the Pastor at First Presbyterian Church of Durango, CO.