Silent Sabbath, the day between Jesus' death on Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, is not something that Adventists always observe. But marking the silence of God on Silent Sabbath offers a rich worship experience, one that you are invited to enter today.
This Silent Sabbath service was recorded at the La Sierra University Church on Easter Weekend, 2014.
"The lights are off for us today, and we are safe, because God is doing God's work," says Pastor Chris Oberg.
Kessia Reyne Bennett has served as a university chaplain, an evangelist, a pastor, and a social media professional. She is currently pursuing a PhD in systematic theology from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois.
On January 24, she spoke at Loma Linda University Church's Re:Live Sabbath School during a weekend focused on the topic of women's ordination called "Women's Ordination: The Road to San Antonio." In her sermon entitled "Rights and Wrongs," Bennett addressed the problem with the argument for women's ordination.
Occasionally, the most powerful impact the words of Scripture can have is in the embodied, public reading of the text. Case in point: This past Sabbath, the pastoral staff at the La Sierra University Church in California--a staff that includes four women--read aloud the words of 1 Corinthians in which Paul admonishes the church in Corinth that women must be silent in the churches.
I find myself reflecting on the story of David and Goliath this week. It is a story that captivated me as a young child, as I think it does most children. In this story, we find David, a young shepherd, thrust into a situation much bigger than himself, both literally and figuratively. It is not a situation he thought he’d be in, and yet, here he is, taking a stand for his beliefs and his people against a giant.
There is something that seems almost idyllic about growing up in a small home town where you know everyone and everyone knows you. Rootedness, shared traditions, familiar faces, safety – or if not that, at least predictability. Even if times are hard, or circumstances challenging, there is a certain rhythm of life that develops that resists change and challenge. We know who everyone is, where they live, where everything goes.
February is drawing to a close, but for most of the country the days are still too short and the nights far too long. Each morning, the sun makes a feeble attempt to peek through the clouds only to quickly scurry back again, leaving cold and frost to overtake the evenings once more. A heavy blanket of snow covers the ground, and though I know spring is right around the corner, the never-ending chill in my hands and feet tell a different story.
I caught glimpses of my reflection in the intermittent light as it cycled between illumination and shadow in the large windows of the train car. My reflection stared back listlessly, with a face displaying a mix of anxiety and excitement. Beyond those emotions, I was staring at a face I knew well, but one with which I hadn't really ever connected—or even accepted as my own.
what shall I compare you to?
A mountain stream, running through snows of ivory?
A water lily, waving in a pond of tinted green?
A wild doe, dancing in a meadow of spring?
A proud mare, racing through African deserts of gold?
shadows of reality,
Tibetan snows tell of your purity.
Ocean depths reveal your richness.