Why resting is brutal...
“Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10
Well, today didn't unpack how we’d planned.
As the weather blanks our schedules we find all forward momentum stopping. And this can be hard for some of us because it forces silence, but silence can form us in a positive way. Even if the house is noisy, the soul has a chance to get quiet. All the predictable and regular rhythms have been disrupted. God, very often, in moments like this reminds us who is carrying the world. We have “rare air” to stop pretending that everything depends on us.
God doesn’t say, “Be busy and efficient and know that I am God.” He says, “Be still.”
Not our idea
For God, rest is not an afterthought, or a solution to His fatigue - but an opportunity to step back and delight. He invites humanity to live from his completed work rather than our frantic effort. Rest, as we see begins in Creation, and is later platformed when God rescues Israel from slavery in Egypt. One of His first gifts to His covenant people was rest. For generations they had known only endless labor. Brick after brick. Day after day. No pause. No margin. No relief.
Their new rest wasn’t laziness, but a lived confession that said, “We rely on God to provide, protect, and sustain us.”
…but rest is hard…
Most of us are not only tired in our bodies, but in our run-down souls. There’s work beneath our work. The work of proving ourselves to the world and staying ahead. The work of being impressive enough to matter enough. It’s as if we’re trying to convince a world that we belong. It’s exhausting begging the world to accept you.
And even more tragically, we do the same with God. We try to convince Him as well that we belong. When we obey, perform, and overextend ourselves in subtle attempts, we’re in fact trying to quiet an imagined divine disappointment. We imagine God frowning on us, embarrassed to be a Father to us. So, we strive, and that kind of striving is exhausting.
So, how can rest be so brutal when we’re so exhausted? Because silence and stalled momentum reveal what we depend on. Quietude exposes our fears. We’re left alone in our heads and achy souls from unending striving. We don’t know how to rest well, do we?
…so along comes Jesus…
The gospel tells us that God himself provided belonging and rest for us - the end of striving - the end of noise - and the end of begging for acceptance. Jesus himself becomes our peace and rest. From this gospel springs the truth that God is not waiting for us to prove ourselves. Christ has done the unthinkable work, and we are not under obligation, but grace.
So, you need not redeem this day with hyper-productivity. You don't need to make it meaningful by accomplishing something. You are free to receive it as a gift. Take the “snow day” as a win.
How we can reflect today
Ask yourself…
- What feels hardest about slowing down for me?
- Where have I been living as if everything depends on me?
- What remains unfinished that I cannot seem to trust God with?
- What might it look like to rest without guilt?
And then: Put your phone down. Sit near a window. Watch the snow fall (or sleet or whatever). Do nothing on purpose. Resist the urge to plan, fix, or evaluate. Let stillness do its quiet work.
Forever rest
Every pause and rest in this life points forward to one day where striving will forever and fully end. Work will give way to joy. Rest will be complete. Until then, days like this - unplanned snow days - are rehearsals. Small reminders that the heaviest work has already been done for us. The world is held, and we aren’t holding it together. We are safe to rest.