Are you thinking about sitting lately? I am.
Mostly this is because of a Reel from Brian Jordan Alvarez in which his character, TJ Mack, improvises a little ditty which brilliant summarizes the joy of sitting. The song burrowed into my mind immediately, and I’ve now listened to renditions of “Sitting” a few dozen times. I don’t know how many times it’s played in my head.
I’m definitely not the only one because “Sitting” is going supernova. It’s getting radio play, write ups in The Atlantic, covers of Time, mentions on NPR.
My feelings toward any ear worm are complicated. If the melody and lyrics aren’t simple & catchy, they wouldn’t dig so deep. They can sometimes feel like prisons. Still as time goes by, as more renditions emerge, the further my appreciation for “Sitting” deepens.
Here is the original performed by TJ Mack, along with my favorite covers. I say embrace the meme, but if you hate the song, just don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re humming it later.
Here’s the bass version which officially hooked me.
Here’s the most soulful and beautiful version.
And here’s my favorite version of the original vocals, complete with harmonies.
I’m also wondering, What does all this mean? If creativity, and especially such improvisation, is an outflow of God’s expression, then how should we understand “Sitting”’s combination of sheer silliness and utter profundity?
“Sitting” strums a chord deep within us because we need rest. And there’s a satisfaction for that need already. All we have to do is turn back.
Over the last decade, a conviction unfolded in me that I needed Sabbath. The more I practiced a weekly day of rest—admittedly to varying degrees of success—the more I realized our lack of Sabbath is at the heart of American turmoil.
As a churchgoer for most of my life, I typically regarded the Sabbath as a day off to gather for meals with family or take walks and generally slow down and dwell with God. There weren’t many strictures.
Then I learned how seriously others take it. I first saw how intense Sabbath could be on a visit to Mormon friends in Saint George, Utah. The Latter-day Saint church services ran at least twice as long as our Presbyterian ones, and the family spent the rest of Sunday inside with board games and the blinds drawn. I admired their devotion to family time, though I didn’t see why sunlight was a problem.
Then, about eight years ago, we moved onto a street with many Orthodox Jewish families. And these neighbors practice Sabbath diligently. Each Friday before sundown they walk to synagogue, then return after the sun is set. Every weekend there is a parade of men in black suits and wide-brimmed hats and women with head coverings, walking with strollers, little ones in tow. Of course, the rituals run far deeper than a simple walk.
I admired my neighbors’ devotion, and I began to wonder about Sabbath for myself. I’d fallen into that Pressfield/War of Art drumbeat, where I should write every day.
But there were also weekdays—and most artists I know go through this—where I wouldn’t work at all. And when that happened I’d feel like I didn’t deserve a Day of Rest, that the lazy pits throughout the week were my rest. But they were not!
Then, maybe 4-5 years ago Rick McKinley preached a sermon on rest. With American life so darkly obsessed with the hustle and grind, he called our congregation to take up Sabbath as a method of peaceful resistance. Our rebellion wasn’t just against culture. Ultimately, the Sabbath was about priorities. By offering up a day of our week to God, by trusting His patterns and timing, we’d also reap benefits. At the end of the sermon there was a list of both Sabbath avoidances (chores, deathscrolling, shopping, work) and active practices (time with people, in nature, in contemplative space) and Pastor Rick encouraged us to take some up—just a few at first—because adjusting away from American speed might take time.
After that, I began practicing Sabbath bit by bit, and one noticeable difference right away was that Mondays became easier. I almost looked forward to them because I wanted to work. I’d feel refreshed. In setting aside one day, the work days became easier. I’m also less likely to waste time during the week since a full day of leisure is always ahead.
I’ve also resisted getting too religious with my Sabbath practice. Like, I haven’t quite given up deathscrolls, and I might do some chores. Once, as I started a laundry load on Sunday and wondered whether that might be wrong, a story came to mind. The one in Mark (2:23-28) where Jesus defends his disciples against Pharisee tattle-tales:
One Sabbath day he was walking through a field of ripe grain. As his disciples made a path, they pulled off heads of grain. The Pharisees told on them to Jesus: “Look, your disciples are breaking Sabbath rules!”
Jesus said, “Really? Haven’t you ever read what David did when he was hungry, along with those who were with him? How he entered the sanctuary and ate fresh bread off the altar, with the Chief Priest Abiathar right there watching—holy bread that no one but priests were allowed to eat—and handed it out to his companions?” Then Jesus said, “The Sabbath was made to serve us; we weren’t made to serve the Sabbath. The Son of Man is no yes-man to the Sabbath. He’s in charge!”
You’re free from shame, is what I think Our Messiah was reminding me. And you need clean pillowcases.
As a passionate sitter, and as one whose understanding of the fullness offered in Sabbath is still expanding, I want us to really hear with TJ Mack is telling us. That sitting really is the opposite of standing, and running around, and hanging on a barbell. We need rest, and we need to open ourselves up to the Great Song that’s playing. Sabbath is our wisest answer to both.
Jordan, I am not a person of faith, but a sabbatical day a week is a perfect practice.