In the beginning,
God created.
For six days, He spoke the universe into existence—shaping light and darkness, land and sea, plants and creatures. Then, on the seventh day, something changed. He stopped and rested. Unlike the previous six days, which ended with “there was evening and there was morning,” the seventh day had no such boundary. It was meant to go on. We were meant for a state of perfect rest where humanity and all of creation could live and work purposefully in the fullness of God’s presence.
But that rest was almost immediately lost.
Humans decided they knew better than God, and in their disobedience, sin entered the world. In Genesis 3 we read that the beautiful world the Creator had entrusted to mankind was forever changed. Man had to struggle and toil. Yet, from the very beginning, God had a plan to restore what was lost.
Hundreds of years later, the Israelites—God’s chosen people—were enslaved in Egypt by a ruthless pharaoh who worked them without concern or care for their wellbeing. When God rescued them, one of the first things He did was reintroduce the Sabbath—which was rooted in that seventh day of creation. Before they even reached Mount Sinai, He provided food from heaven with a built-in test: gather for six days, but on the seventh, stop and trust that He would provide. Then, at Sinai, He made it an official commandment.
For the Israelites, the Sabbath wasn’t just about resting—it was about remembering. Remembering God’s goodness in creation, in His character, and in their salvation from slavery. It was also a physical reminder that their God was different from the false gods of Egypt. Keeping the Sabbath declared His supremacy and ultimate power.
But the Sabbath wasn’t just for Israel’s own benefit. They were meant to be a light to the nations, showing the world a God unlike any other. No other nation had anything like a Sabbath. The idea of a deity providing for His people—rather than demanding endless work to appease Him—was revolutionary. Yet Israel’s God commanded them to stop, to rest, and to trust Him.
That made a statement. A bold, intentional statement.
These were people who trusted their God so much that they could pause every single week, believing He would provide.
And Sabbath went beyond just one day. It shaped the entire rhythm of life. Every seven years, the land was to rest, and debts were forgiven. Every 50 years—the Year of Jubilee—slaves were freed, and land was returned to its rightful owners. The Sabbath wasn’t just about taking a break. It was a declaration that everything—people, land, time itself—belonged to God, not to human systems of control. And not only did everything belong to Him, but He was the One sustaining it all, providing out of His absolute sovereignty.
Yet Israel struggled to keep the Sabbath.
To God, this wasn’t just about breaking a rule—it was a rejection of His provision, a refusal to trust Him. He took it seriously. In some cases, Sabbath-breaking even carried the death penalty. But after returning from exile, the Jewish leaders became so determined not to repeat their mistakes that they went to the opposite extreme. They built layers of rules around the Sabbath, turning a day meant for freedom into something rigid and restrictive. Instead of delight, it became about technicalities—how far you could walk, what counted as “work,” and who was breaking the rules. By the time Jesus arrived, the Sabbath, meant to be a gift, had become riddled with technicalities.
But even in this broken state, it pointed to something greater.
