After this hectic season of (fill in the blank), things should slow down.
Once I complete (name your project), I’ll be able to catch my breath.
Someday, (choose your goal) will be finished, and I’ll take a vacation.
Name your taskmaster, but you’re likely spinning the same story to your tired self that the rest of us are. This is just a season, we tell ourselves as we trudge on.
And maybe it is. After all, God has woven cyclical patterns into all of His creation, including the seasons of our souls. We’re designed to grow through the newness of Spring, the productivity of Summer, the release of Autumn, and the stillness of Winter. One season without the others equates to dormancy or death.
Or maybe it’s not merely a season, it’s habitual drivenness and overproduction. It’s the drumbeat of Western culture, much of Christianity included: Just a little more. Just a little more. Bigger. Better. Just a little more.
This is one of those Psalm 139:23 moments where we ask the Lord to search our hearts and expose our motives. Yet even if you discover that your exhaustion is of a self-inflicted kind, you still have the same human ache for rest as those who are keeping in step with Jesus.
“There remains, then, a sabbath-rest for the people of God” (Heb 4:9) We aren’t free of the burden of toil just yet, are we? Our true rest is yet to come.
This struggle reminds me of the iconic feeding of the five thousand portrayed in Mark 6:30-44. What comes to your mind when you think of that story?
Loaves and fish? Hungry crowds? Twelve basketfuls of leftovers? Yes, all those. But did you consider Jesus’ weary followers? The disciples had just been sent out on a preaching tour. They left with a buddy, a staff, and the clothes on their body. That was it. They returned, apparently, with all kinds of stories:
“The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, ‘Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.’ So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place” (v. 30-32).
I can easily imagine their joy and relief as they settle into the boat with Jesus, headed for a time of retreat. These fishermen and tax-collectors now turned traveling preachers had been stretched to the max on their journey. If there was one thing their bodies and spirits needed, it was a snack and a good nap! That, however, was not to be.
You already know what happens next:
“But many who saw them leaving recognized them and ran on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things” (v. 33-34).
Am I the only one who feels a twinge annoyed at Jesus for His response here? Sure, teach the crowds, Lord, but how about after that getaway You promised the disciples? What about compassion for them?
Obviously, I identify with the weary kingdom workers. But I also recognize that their season with Jesus was in full-on summer: the harvest was plentiful, and they, the few workers, had an invitation to partner with Him in it. In fact, while Jesus was the miracle worker, He used his disciples’ own hands to provide the abundance of bread.
And what an abundance it was! Five loaves and two fish fed over five thousand people, and how many basketfuls were leftover? Twelve. How many disciples were there? Twelve. They received back much more than they gave.
Yes, I mutter, but what about their promised quiet time and rest with Jesus? When will they get that?
Apparently the moment for retreat is gone, because according to Mark, Jesus “immediately” sent his disciples off in the boat again where they were buffeted by a storm before Jesus joined them by walking on the water. Nor do they rest when they reach Gennesaret on the other side, for people recognized Jesus and “ran throughout that whole region” to bring the sick to him.
It would seem that Jesus has forgotten His promised rest for his followers.
Here, I’m tempted to tie a nice little bow on this apparent point of tension and tell you that surely the disciples were nurtured and sustained in Jesus’ presence and through His words in ways that go far beyond a merely physical nap. After all, if He could miraculously multiply the bread and fish, surely He could suffuse his followers with supernatural energy.
And perhaps He did. But I also want to acknowledge the everyday struggle of living with willing spirits yet weak flesh. We’re holistic beings, created to love God with our heart, soul, mind and strength. From the very beginning, our Creator designed a day of physical rest for us through the sabbath. He doesn’t discredit our bodies and our weariness whatsoever.
How, then, do we balance both work and rest with Jesus?
I’m left with the conclusion I often land at when finding a lack of clear biblical prescription about a topic. The answer is in abiding.
I must align my life so tightly with His that I’m not shaken when our course changes–He’ll get us where He wants us to go, even if it seems to be a total shift from the original plan. I trust His compassion for both those I serve and for me–He will provide abundantly for my needs, as well. And I thank Him for His patience–that none should perish, that more souls will one day enter true Rest alongside me.
This life of hardship, hard work, and heaviness is a blink. Let’s cling to Jesus in it, and let Him lead us through.
