Sabbath Might Be the Last Rebellion

We’ve reached peak content. Too many shows. Too many podcasts. Too many people with opinions and ring lights. And somehow, you’re supposed to keep up be informed, inspired, rested, regulated, productive and, of course, spiritually thriving.

But you’re not thriving. You’re exhausted. And it’s not your fault.

We’ve hit cultural overload. It’s not just a vibe it’s backed by data. According to Nielsen, the average American adult now spends more than 10 hours a day engaging with digital media. That includes streaming, scrolling, and often juggling multiple screens. The American Psychological Association connects chronic media exposure with rising rates of anxiety and burnout. The World Health Organization now flags screen fatigue as a legitimate mental health concern.

Even the spiritually inclined aren’t exempt. A Barna study found that 58% of practicing Christians under 30 feel spiritually unfocused most days. Over half admit to doomscrolling or binge-watching while feeling emotionally depleted.

We don’t rest because we’re tired. We consume because we’re numb.

When Rest Becomes Performance

Even our attempts at rest have been monetized. Quiet time has a brand aesthetic. Devotionals come with curated playlists and product links. Sabbath tablescapes trend on Instagram. Self-care has been hijacked by hustle culture, and somehow, even rest feels like another thing to optimize.

So what do we do? Move to a cabin in the woods? Toss our phones into the ocean?

Not exactly. But there is a countercultural move that might save your soul Sabbath.

Sabbath as Protest

In a world that commodifies everything including your attention, your peace, and even your stillness Sabbath may be the last truly rebellious act.

“Sabbath is a scheduled weekly reminder that we are not what we do; rather, we are who we are loved by,” writes A.J. Swoboda in Subversive Sabbath.

Sabbath isn’t a break from the grind. It’s a refusal to let the grind define you.

It’s not multitasking with lo-fi worship music playing in the background. It’s stopping. Not slowing down. Not fitting in some “me time” between meetings. Stopping.

And yes, it feels weird. In a culture that celebrates production and performance, stillness is suspicious. If you’re not posting, are you even alive? If you’re not improving, are you falling behind?

But Exodus 20:8 reminds us, “Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.” The word “holy” means set apart different. Not like the others. Not a day to catch up. A day to let go.

Even Jesus Stopped

Jesus modeled Sabbath not as an outdated ritual but as a rhythm of resistance. He withdrew. He disappointed crowds. He slept through storms. He took time to pray, to feast, to stop. And when the Pharisees tried to guilt him for healing on the Sabbath, he reminded them, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.”

This was never meant to be a burden. It’s a gift. One we’ve all but forgotten how to open.

A Weekly Reset

Sabbath is how you remember your humanity in a world that treats you like a machine. It’s how you learn, again and again, that you are loved not for your output, but for your existence.

It’s not about doing nothing. It’s about doing nothing for gain. Not posting, not promoting, not producing. Just being.

Swoboda calls it a rescue mission. “Sabbath is a way to save us from ourselves,” he writes. “It’s how we turn off the voices of demand and dive into the depth of our belovedness.”

How to Start Small

You don’t need to become a Luddite. You don’t need a monastery. You need a margin.

Start with half a day. Shut off your phone. Make pancakes. Go for a walk. Read a psalm out loud. Sit in silence. Journal. Don’t post about it. Let the moment pass unarchived.

If you live with others, eat a slow meal together. No devices. Just conversation. If you live alone, protect your peace fiercely. Light a candle. Open your Bible. Let stillness teach you something scrolling never could.

This doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be intentional.

You Can Log Off

The content will still be there. The feeds will keep feeding. The podcasts will keep dropping. But you don’t have to ride the wave 24/7.

You can get off the ride. Not forever. Just long enough to remember you’re not a machine.

You are not your screen time. You are not your follower count. You are not your output.

You are loved. Fully. Deeply. Whether you post or not. Whether you “keep up” or not.

And for one day a week, maybe that’s the only thing you need to remember.

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