Choosing Rest

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

This week, I had the privilege of joining our friends at Trinity Lynchburg, Grace Memorial Lynchburg, and Peakland Baptist as they hosted Compassion Camp. It might have looked to us like a VBS, but the Trinity children’s minister reminded us often that this is not vacation Bible school, because most children do not feel particularly excited about going to school in the summer. The camp environment was as raucous and joyful as nearly two dozen children between the ages of four and thirteen can be. Each day was filled with activities centered around learning how to act with compassion toward others, using familiar stories from scripture to guide us. Our working definition of compassion was “I see your hurt, I feel your hurt, I work to ease your hurt” and the children earned points every time they recited the definition or showed it with their words and actions toward others. It was a joy, and something I hope we can work toward offering our neighborhood in the future.

I found myself charged with the formation and care of 7 children ages four through six for 6 hours a day for the 3 days of Compassion Camp. Those of you familiar with child development will surely know, as I was reminded very quickly, that there is a lot that happens between 4 and 6. Some of the younger children needed frequent bathroom reminders and assistance. Some of the older children were astute enough to notice that the older age groups had more complex crafts and access to scissors, which caused great consternation. Some of the children knew how to sit quietly and listen to a teacher, and some have yet to experience a classroom. I had my hands full, and by the end of each day I was very tired.

Those of you who work with children or did during your career, and those who have lived with children and helped them learn and grow, will know that it is a special kind of tired. Young children often need constant supervision and direction, even more so when they are not your own children or children you see often and know well. They may seek validation and affection while simultaneously acting to bring about the opposite, and they are almost always stronger than you think. I spent an entire storytime repeatedly removing a very acrobatic child from the altar rail. I look forward to cheering for him in the Olympics someday.

There were times in the day when I had to ask another volunteer to step in so that I could take a few moments to myself. Moments when I could feel my patience waning, or my attention slipping, neither of which you want to lose when you are responsible for the safety and Christian education of other people’s children. Even with those short breaks, by the time the last child was picked up and the staff huddle was over, I was utterly drained, and I wasn’t the only one. I distinctly recall a fellow minister struggling to keep their eyes open by the end of day two. I had planned to jump right back in to the work of this parish at the close of each camp day, and each day I realized that without a nap and a real meal, I was of little use to anyone in my pastoral care. So I would go away to a quiet place and rest a while, so that I could do it all again the next day.

In our culture, we very often treat rest like a privilege, something you must earn and something only the wealthy and elite can really afford. Parents feel guilty for needing breaks from the 24/7 job of parenting, and society shames moms for wanting a life outside of motherhood. To educators and social workers and others in the helping professions, we say “you didn’t go into this job for the money” when they ask for better leave policies and higher pay so that they don’t have to work a second job on the weekends and in the summers. At social gatherings we compare notes on how little sleep we are all getting and how many hours we are working beyond our contracts just to meet the demands of our jobs. Students are expected to spend hours outside of the classroom on homework for each class, and participate in sports or the arts or both, and it has become nearly impossible to pursue higher education without also working, even for those who earn merit scholarships. I have listened to retirees express resentment about the working generation’s desire for a balance between work and life, as if we no longer wish for our children to have it better than we did. I have been in rooms with peers my own age and younger who are wishing their lives away so that they might finally enjoy life in retirement, because there simply isn’t enough time in the day to enjoy it now.

The challenge is one that I am sure all of you are well-acquainted with. What we’re doing is important. What we are doing matters. What we are doing gives life meaning. How could we possibly stop? If we did stop to rest, even just for a day, wouldn’t that just mean more work tomorrow? It feels like a trap because it is, and it is one we as Christians cannot allow ourselves to fall into. It is precisely because of how important our work is, how important the way we spend our waking hours is, that we must carve out time for rest.

Think about Jesus, who spent his days preaching the Good News of the Kingdom of God and healing the sick and disabled and bringing hope to the oppressed and forgotten. Every human life matters to God, every hand that reached out to touch Jesus mattered and was important to him. He very well could have chosen to never stop, to spend every waking hour healing and teaching, never stopping in one place or taking time to recover. But even God gets tired. Even God rests. Not because the people crying out to him are not important, but because they are too important. The work of the Gospel is too important not to take care of the bodies and minds doing that work. The work of God is too important not to rest from God’s labors.

In our passage from Mark today, Jesus greets his apostles as they return from their missionary journeys. Hearing their frenzied and frazzled voices, he invites them to come away with him to a quiet and empty place and rest. Does this mean that Jesus did not think their work or their stories were important? Of course not. Does this mean Jesus did not care about the crowds waiting for him to heal them? Of course not. Jesus knew just how important the work he was doing was to the world, and so he rested. He did not need to earn it. He just had to choose it.

Very often, for all of us overachievers, finding time for rest isn’t nearly as hard as actually resting. An unscheduled day, or a sudden free hour, or a week off the grid, can throw us into a tailspin. You might feel the sudden uncontrollable urge to clean your whole house on your day off, or feel that if you’re going to be home sick you might as well catch up on some emails. You might think that you need to have something to show for every long weekend or personal day. You might not actually do any of the things on your to do list, but still shame yourself about them the entire time. You might find yourself recovering from surgery or illness and still trying to offer to help others with the things they’re doing to help you. I’m sorry to break it to you, but none of these things count as resting.

Rest is a choice, and for many of us it will feel like work the first few times we try it. Rest requires sacrifice, which includes sacrificing the pressure we put on ourselves to perform. Remember, if God incarnate needed a break, so do you. So choose rest, especially when it’s hard. As disciples of Jesus, we have a very important job to do, one that we can’t do if we’re just squeezing it in one hour a week or adding it to a to do list we use to beat ourselves up. When you begin to prioritize rest, you might just run into Jesus in the quiet and deserted places in your life. But you have to choose to meet him there.