By Raffy Castillo
For one of the country’s most respected surgeons, the Sabbath used to be just another workday—another round of elective cases, another measure of success. Until one near collapse forced him to reexamine what it really means to heal—and to rest.
Dr. Miguel S. was the kind of surgeon every hospital wanted. Calm hands. Sharp mind. Unmatched discipline. His name appeared on conference programs, journal covers, and the lips of grateful families. Yet behind the polished professionalism was a man quietly unraveling.
He hadn’t taken a true day off in years. His Saturdays—supposed to be his rest days—were packed with elective surgeries, follow-ups, and medical society meetings. “If I don’t do it,” he often said, “someone else will, and my patients will suffer.”
But one morning, midway through his second operation of the day, a wave of dizziness blurred his vision. His assistant steadied him as he took a step back from the operating table. He finished the procedure—but barely. That night, his blood pressure shot up. His wife found him slumped over his desk, charts scattered like fallen leaves.
She held his hand and whispered, “Mig, even the Great Physician rested on the seventh day.”
Those words stayed with him.
The Awakening
The following week, still pale and shaken, Dr. Santos visited the hospital chapel. He hadn’t entered it in years. There, in the stillness, he reread the commandment that once felt distant from modern medicine:
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God.”
He realized he had been operating as though even God’s rhythm didn’t apply to him. He healed bodies while neglecting his own—and his soul.
That Saturday, for the first time in decades, he declined to schedule elective surgeries. His colleagues were surprised. “Why waste a productive day?” one asked.
Miguel smiled faintly. “It’s not wasted. It’s worship.”
Healing as Worship
At first, the silence was awkward. No alarms, no monitors, no surgical schedules. Just him, his wife, and Scripture. They joined Sabbath worship, something he hadn’t done since residency. The hymns stirred something he hadn’t felt in years—a deep gratitude for the privilege of being alive, of being able to heal.
He decided on a principle:
- No elective surgeries on the Sabbath.
- But emergency cases remain holy work—acts of mercy aligned with God’s purpose.
When an emergency appendectomy came in that evening, he didn’t hesitate. “This,” he told his team, “is lawful to do on the Sabbath. For the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.”
That night, after the successful surgery, he prayed with the patient and her family. It was the most peaceful Sabbath he could remember.
A Surgeon’s Restored Rhythm
Over the next months, the change was remarkable. His headaches stopped. His temper cooled. His focus sharpened. He spent Sabbath mornings studying Scripture and Sabbath afternoons walking in nature, meditating on creation.
He began mentoring younger doctors—not only in surgical technique but in life balance and faith. “Your hands can’t heal well,” he told them, “if your heart never rests.”
Even his patients noticed. “Doc, you look happier,” one said. He laughed softly. “I discovered that healing doesn’t only happen in the OR.”
His wife observed how their Saturdays became sacred time again: no gadgets, no consultations, no rush. Just quiet meals, laughter, prayer, and unhurried hours with family.
“Before, I thought success meant busyness,” he reflected. “Now I see that true success is peace.”
The Science of Sacred Rest
Medical literature has long confirmed what the Sabbath principle implies: the human body is not designed for nonstop strain. Studies from Harvard and the Mayo Clinic show that consistent weekly rest lowers cortisol, improves cardiovascular health, and enhances cognitive recovery. The hippocampus—the brain’s center for memory and emotion—actually “resets” during periods of deep rest and spiritual reflection.
By honoring the Sabbath, Dr. Santos was not only obeying God’s commandment; he was also aligning himself with biological wisdom. Even the heart—his lifelong focus—beats best when it alternates contraction with relaxation.
“Rest,” he said during a medical seminar, “isn’t a break from healing. It’s part of it.”
A Rest That Heals More Than One
The ripple effects of his decision spread beyond the operating room. His residents noticed how calmer and kinder he became. He instituted a hospital policy: no elective surgeries scheduled on Saturdays unless life-threatening. “Let our staff, too, have time for worship and renewal,” he urged.
Other doctors followed. Some joined Sabbath worship with their families; others simply took time to rest, reflect, and breathe. The hospital’s once-chaotic weekend wards grew quieter, more humane.
The Holy Tension
Dr. Santos knew that the Sabbath doesn’t exempt anyone from compassion. When ambulances arrived with trauma victims or cardiac arrests, he responded instantly. “Mercy doesn’t rest,” he explained. “To save life on the Sabbath is to honor its purpose.”
He understood that the Sabbath was never meant as prohibition, but as protection—shielding the soul from the tyranny of ceaseless toil while keeping the heart open to serve.
In every emergency case he handled, he began with a prayer: “Lord, may this act of healing glorify You, the true Physician.”
Restored in Body and Spirit
Years later, Dr. Santos reflected on his transformation. “I used to think I was indispensable,” he said, “but the world kept turning when I stopped. The Sabbath reminded me that I’m a steward, not a savior.”
His health stabilized. His faith deepened. His marriage flourished. And his Saturdays became a sanctuary—no longer about idleness, but about intimacy with God.
He often told his residents, “Every week, I fast—not from food, but from ambition. I let my heart remember that it is God who heals, not me.”
A Closing Reflection
In a profession where human hands meet divine miracles, Dr. Santos learned the most vital truth of all: that healing begins not only with skill, but with surrender.
By laying down his scalpel one day each week, he picked up something far greater—peace, presence, and purpose.
And as the Sabbath sunsets bathed his home in golden light, he whispered with gratitude, “The seventh day is holy… and so is every heart that learns to rest.”
“Healing on the Sabbath wasn’t a violation—it was an act of worship.”
