Not too long ago, I found myself reflecting again on the theme of Sabbath. Instituted by God Himself – not as a burden, but as a gift. A gift for humanity. For you and for me. A gift with a purpose.

Simply put, the Sabbath is meant to give us time. Time to breathe, to enjoy, to worship. Time to be in relationship with God and His Son Jesus. Relaxed. Attentive. Present.

Right at the beginning of the Bible, we already encounter the Sabbath. A day on which God Himself rests – stops – from His work (Genesis 2:1). A divine beginning of relationship, of ceasing, of delighting.

Later, in Exodus 16, we see the Sabbath again. The people of Israel have just been freed from Egypt and are now walking as a free people through the wilderness. A dry place – but God provides. He gives them food and water. He reveals Himself as the God who provides.

And then… Sabbath. A moment of rest that God gives to a people who knew nothing but slavery. Always working in order to survive. And now? Now they are invited to live from grace. To receive instead of earn. That must have taken some getting used to.

And you can see it happening. Some people grab for more manna. They try to store it for the next day – just in case. Will God really provide again tomorrow? Can you afford to take that risk?

At its core, it’s about trust. About faith. Do they believe that God is enough – even for tomorrow? I have to admit: I recognize that. Maybe you do too. Of course, we call it something else – we call it being “wise” or “responsible.” But underneath? Isn’t it sometimes just unbelief? A deeply rooted sense that, in the end, it all depends on me?

And then it creeps in. That tendency to keep going, keep working, keep gathering. Doing things that are good in themselves – but driven by restlessness rather than trust. A slave mentality, disguised as diligence. Someone once said:

“Getting the slave out of Egypt is one thing, but getting Egypt out of the slave is something else entirely…”

So true! And not just back then — still today.

For me, Sabbath is a protest. A sacred, quiet moment in which I lay everything down.