Rest as sacred resistance

On June 17th, I turned in my final paper for my summer class, took a deep breath and then a glance at my calendar. Three months. I have three months until Fall classes begin. This is the longest school break I have had since starting seminary in 2023—the blessing and curse of attending a year-round program. 

I spent the first week of summer break with my mom who came to visit, which was a great bridge from being extremely overwhelmed to wondering how best to spend the free-time I haven’t had in eons. After my mom left, I deep-cleaned and organized, rounded up the stacks of books that had accumulated around my house for the past three years and found them homes on my bookshelf, and began checking off other items on my non-school/non-church to-do list. After a few days, I woke up and realized I no longer had anything pressing to do, and it felt WEIRD. 

That first day I was restless. I should be doing something productive, right? Wasn’t there a fire to put out, a paper to write, a book to read, a service to plan? It took a solid three days for my nervous system to begin to come down. I could literally feel my cortisol levels drop and my whole body relax. I realized I had no idea how much tension I was holding in my body until it began to release. Now, I’ve reintroduced naps when I’m tired, playtime with my dog when he does his tell-tale “I want attention” howl, regular trips to the gym, a diet that includes thoughtful planning instead of survival meals, a calendar that includes time with friends I haven’t seen in a few months (or more), and books I’m reading for pleasure instead of school or work (imagine!). 

Yet even as I write this, knowing that it is healthy and that I am practicing what I preach to others about the importance of rest and sabbath and balance, there is still a little voice in the back of my head that says, “But if people know that you have a break, won’t they admonish you for being lazy?” Raise your hand if this little voice lives in your head too. We live in a culture where “I’m so busy” has become a humble brag and an empty calendar a sign of failure; and our mental, physical, and spiritual health are bearing the burden for it. On top of the cultural pressures, if you’re like me—a Type-A perfectionist and recovering people-pleaser—spending time on your own needs feels selfish. I get it. In my work as a therapist in a Children’s Home, I conducted quarterly training for our staff on the importance of self-care and the dangers of burnout and compassion fatigue. I was the resident expert on all-things Sabbath, and yet I still do not always practice what I preach.

However, the reality is, we do not have unlimited energy and resources. Even Jesus, though fully Divine, was also fully human with all the limitations that go with it. So, Jesus rested…a lot actually. The Gospel of Luke (verse 5:16) recounts, Jesus “often withdrew into solitary places and prayed,” sending His Disciples elsewhere so He could completely unplug and just be. In another story in Luke, Jesus gently admonishes Martha for overdoing it as a host and points to Mary, sitting quietly at Jesus’ feet (Luke 10:38-42). Jesus prioritized rest. 

I think what is even more profound, though, is that God the Creator rested. God, when God was not incarnate, when God was fully Divine without any human aspects, rested (Genesis 2:2-3). Rest is a blessing, and the curse on humanity was that “in toil” and “by the sweat of your face you shall eat” (Genesis 3:17, 19). This ceaseless toiling is a brokenness, not a gift. So, what if reclaiming rest is part of our work towards rebuilding the Kingdom of God back to shalom, to wholeness and peace? What if rest is an act of resistance against the curse? 

I know what you’re thinking, and no, I am not saying that we should just be lazy and resign ourselves to the “hover-chairs” of Axiom (IYKYK, and if you don’t, it’s a reference from the movie, WALL-E, where people live on recliners that move around, feed them, and keep their eyes glued on a screen with endless, brain-rot entertainment). Getting our hands dirty to plant a garden or a field of crops is blessed work. Showing up to a desk job to crunch numbers and maintain a functioning corporation or non-profit is blessed work. Maintaining a safe and welcoming home is blessed work. Prioritizing all of this work to the detriment of rest, time spent with loved ones, and care for oneself is not blessed work; it is living under a curse that yes, we are bound to, but does not have to control us. 

There are a few times Jesus says that the results of the curse will always be with us this side of eternity, but He doesn’t mean we should just accept these things and do nothing about them. For example, when Jesus tells his disciples in John 12 that there will always be poverty, He is certainly not negating everything else He said about feeding and caring for the poor. What He is saying is that there are results of the curse that are much too big for us to fix on our own like systemic poverty, brokenness, evil, and this idea that we must work ourselves to the bone until we die. That is why Jesus was born into this world to teach us how to love and then died for it. 

Our sacred work in this world is continuing to be the hands and feet of Jesus, continuing the radical work that He began in, around, and through us—healing, loving, caring, advocating, fighting for justice through peace, and resting in resistance to a world that continues to tell us that our worth is wrapped up in what we produce and not in who we are in the eyes of God.