Rest

  

There are fleeting moments, as in the past days, when the desire to rest and refrain from work gets overwhelmingly powerful. Stepping out of the house brings about a weariness—fatigue and sadness combined. Those moments don’t last long, usually a few minutes upon waking up, before daylight, but they do make me wonder about the reasons why I do what I do. 

Perhaps because it has been raining in this part of the world, usually in the afternoons—a welcome respite from the equatorial heat of lunchtime. I love rains. They make me think deeply. I enjoy the rain when I’m at home, looking out the window, listening to the white noise of water crashing on the roof, observing the soil and grass getting wet, the flowers and leaves dancing as they receive the drops from the skies.

Perhaps because we’re nearing the end of the year. We’re closer to December than January, a fact that surprises me even as I write this. Time moves quickly as a whole, yet the acceleration of time remains  unobserved despite the hour-by-hour schedules I sometimes have to keep up with. The cares of this world, if I’m not careful, can drown the rhythms of the moment: weeks feel like days, or the reverse. I know my to-do list for the day, but I often forget what date it is, unless I check my phone. 

But the body keeps the score. And I must rest. 

Active rest is hard. I must have heard it from the late Tim Keller, whose voice I still listen to most times of the week on way to work, that rest involves idleness (doing nothing), meditation (studying Scripture and praying), and avocation (doing something else other than work, like a hobby unrelated to one’s primary job). I schedule moments of rest because I realize I’m not a machine. When I feel rested, I become more effective in my work. These rest periods may look like a 20-minute nap at home before I start my clinic, or an extended period of travel, like a week spent with friends and their families, or a weekend with my brothers, who now each live in Europe and Australia, or a quick drive to the farm with my mother.

But rest—the real, abiding, refreshing rest—is primarily spiritual. I love what the Redeemer City to City says about the topic:

True rest can only be found in Jesus Christ. We must stop looking to occupation as our main source of identity and fulfillment. Our true identity is a beloved child of God. Salvation is not based on our achievement, but on Jesus’ finished work on the cross. As Tim Keller writes, “the ultimate source of the tranquility we seek is Jesus Christ, who—because he has toiled for us on the cross—can offer us the true rest for our souls (Matt. 11:28–30).”

When we turn away from idolizing our career and look to Jesus, we regain a proper perspective on vocation and rest. Similar to work, rest was part of God’s original design for creation. God took a break (Gen 2:2-3). Likewise, God commanded His people to observe the Sabbath, a day when no one was to labour (Exodus 20:8-11).

Some people apply this passage by taking a day off each week. However, practising Sabbath is much more than a vacation. In reality, we cannot experience a Sabbath day if we do not have a Sabbath heart. In The Rest of God, Mark Buchanan writes: “A Sabbath heart is restful even in the midst of unrest and upheaval. It is attentive to the presence of God and others even in the welter of much coming and going, rising and falling. It is still and knows God even when mountains fall into the sea. You will never enter the Sabbath day without a Sabbath heart.”

It’s amazing to me that Jesus offers a welcome embrace for the world-weary and overworked among us: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:29).