“Year of Rest, Year of Return”

Let the fields breathe out their long-held toil, let furrows loosen and the oxen stand down. A hush falls over seed and stone, the land remembers Sabbath, the soil remembers home.

Every debt a shadow, every chain a name; on the trumpet’s call the ledger burns to ash. Children of the soil walk back to their plots, heirs reclaim the borders of their fathers’ maps.

Let mercy measure time in cycles, not in fear; let mercy mark the calendar with freedom’s face. When the trumpet sounds, the captives rise, the loss are counted, the lost return.

So, keep the year holy, keep the promise near: rest for the land, release for the heart, and in the rhythm of giving, find God’s art.