American ground troops recently crossed the Euphrates river on their way to Bagdad, which is on the Tigris. Such familiar names, these ancient rivers. They take us back, back, to when civilizations were young, to the Tower of Babel and Ur of the Chaldeans.

They remind me of an old creation story from Mesopotamia, a story that was certainly known to the Israelites who preserved the story we read in Genesis. This ancient story makes an interesting contrast to the familiar story we know so well; it can tell us something about our own God—and ourselves. I therefore propose a break from the present, from war and turmoil, to take a brief journey back to ancient Babylon.

The story I have in mind is the Atrahasis, one of two Babylonian creation stories. They are very similar; I have chosen this one simply because it is slightly more detailed. This story was inscribed on clay tablets in cuneiform and is dated to around 1,700 B.C. Scholars think it was probably meant to be read aloud during a sacred ceremony.

When the gods instead of man
Did the work, bore the loads,
The gods’ load was too great,
The work too hard, the trouble too much.…

The Anunnaki, the gods of the sky
Made the Igigi, the earth gods, bear the workload.
The gods had to dig out canals,
Had to clear channels, the lifelines of the land.
The gods dug out the Tigris River bed
And then dug out the Euphrates.…

They were counting the years of loads;
For 3,600 years they bore the excess,
Hard work, night and day.
They groaned and blamed each other,
Grumbled over the mass of excavated soil:
"Let us confront our chamberlain, [they said],
And get him to relieve us of our hard work!
Come, let us carry Ellil,
The counselor of gods, the warrior, from his dwelling.…"

[So] the gods…set fire to their tools,
Put aside their spades for fire.…
When they reached the gate of Ellil’s dwelling,
It was night, the middle watch.…

[And the gods cried]:
"We have put a stop to the digging.
The load is excessive, it is killing us!
Our work is too hard, the trouble too much!"…

[Then] Ea [god of the sky] made his voice heard
And spoke to the gods his brothers,
"Why are we blaming them?
Their work was too hard, their trouble was too much.…
[Now] there is Belet-ili the womb-goddess
Let her create primeval man
So that he may bear the yoke,
Let man bear the load of the gods!…"

[And Belet-ili made primeval man, as she was asked to do.]
And she spoke to the great gods,
"I have carried out perfectly
The work that you ordered of me.
I have relieved you of your hard work,
I have imposed your load on man."1

In this somewhat comic tale (at least to twenty-first-century ears), the gods get so tired of digging irrigation ditches that finally they decide the first humans should be created; indeed, according to this story, the purpose of human beings is to work, so that the gods may rest.

This view of human life is also reflected by Babylonian Temple worship, which was mainly a matter of the priests feeding, dressing, and entertaining the gods. The people were the slaves of the gods, and slavery is the dominant metaphor for their relationship. What a contrast with the God of the Hebrews, YHWH, who creates the universe and humankind and then invites the people, like himself, to rest.

"Thou shalt not do any work." When we read it in the context of this story, it rings a little differently in our ears. It no longer sounds like a prohibition; it becomes an invitation, for one day out of seven, to attain just what Eve desired: to be like God, to repose ourselves beside our Creator and survey the landscape, to give up our digging and toiling, and to rest. And because this is our story, we are the people whom God does not consider slaves, but rather as agents, like their God, who work, but who also require leisure. Who make things, and then who rest.

I believe that God gives us the Sabbath because he wants us to remember that there is more to life than work, than getting a living, than mere survival. Beyond toiling and spinning, our Creator longs for us to have something more. What God wishes for human beings, all of us, in California and in Spain, in Delhi and Lima and Bagdad, is the opportunity—the leisure—to be creative.

Dorothy Sayers says that this is the way in which we most resemble God, our Maker; the clearest sense in which we are made in God’s image: that we, too, love to create. God makes this world of ingenious detail, of color and texture, this world so full of ten thousand things, and then says, "Let us make man in our image." The image of the Creator-God, of one who loves to make things.2

It seems to me that the Sabbath is indeed the sign of our being in God’s image; for like God, we rest. Next door, in Babylon, the gods make humans to dig their ditches, create their irrigation canals; but not here. No, our God has made us in his image, and one day a week, we rest. We do no work at all. Because in idleness, in rest and play, are the seeds of creativity. Because we rest, our work is better, more creative—more godlike.

Francine du Plessix Gray writes that "those of us who are painters, writers, and musicians know that it is in a particular form of idleness, in the suspension of everyday, routine work, in loafing and inviting our souls, that most of our innovations and breakthroughs, our best inspirations, come."3

I think we all know, not just the artists among us, that our best ideas, the solution to the problem we have been worrying over, the sudden insight into what is going on, come when we have worked hard, and then allowed ourselves to do something else, to relax. Taking a walk, gardening, lying in the bathtub, walking the dog—suddenly we cry "Eureka!" and we have found it. We return to the report to be written, the class to be taught, the patient to be treated with a new angle, a fresh approach.

The Sabbath hours allow us to think new thoughts, read new books, and meet new people; to explore places we would not have time to visit if we were working. Because God invites us to a day of leisure, we may visit the Museum of Asian Art, walk along the beach, picnic with an old friend, nap a nap and dream a dream. It is indeed a godlike luxury. And we will use this leisure not simply to solve our own problems, but to hear God’s call to do his work—God’s call to compassion. For surely the suffering and pain in this poor, war-torn old world require the most creativity of all.

If the Sabbath is a sign of God’s covenant, then here’s what the sign says: I the Lord thy God have made you in my image; like me you are to be creative; and like me you are to rest. You are not my slaves, to serve me as the Babylonians serve their gods. No; you are my sons and daughters. To worship me is to be free indeed. Rest with me on the Sabbath Day, the holiest day, the day when you wipe the sweat from your brow and remember Eden.

Notes and References

1. Stephanie Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 9-16.
2. "The Image of God," in The Whimsical Christian: 18 Essays (New York: Colliers, 1987), 113-121.
3. "In Praise of Idleness," Harper’s Magazine, Apr. 1990, 27.