Happy Friday. Is there a huge breath of relief that the weekend is here? I’ve squandered much life focused on theoretical ease awaiting me just around the corner. Living in exhaustion with eyes on the weekend. Like: When the kids get out of diapers, things will be easier. Maybe next summer when the kids are out of school…fall when the kids are back in school. Oh, after the holidays. Then, things will be easier.
Two things: You were made for rest. And you can never stop working, living, trying.
The Jews needed rest from their work because they were trying to achieve salvation through their own strength. If you are coming from the overwhelm of striving, “You are qualified. You are accepted. You can rest.”
But we come from a reference that grace is free—and since we can’t do a thing, I don’t need to do a thing. So, for the remainder of us, I clarify the last paragraph, “God qualifies you. You are accepted but unrepentant sin is not. You can only rest in God’s love, not the work he has for you.”
This post is more for our modern, western retirement culture, coming from our context of entitlement to every luxury and ease.
We definitely need days off to be able to do it again. I’m not talking about all the ways that humans should rest to nourish our bodies, brains and souls. Time spent not bound up in physical labor, stress and worry. I’m talking about a frame of heart where we discard intention and allow atrophy. We coast on previous understanding or previous success and stop trying. Because something that’s been on my mind lately is how we long to reach a point where we’ll be done with all hard things.
We’re not supposed to wear ourselves down in the hustle. We know we’ll never be enough. We just seem to hope that there is this grand retirement from life awaiting. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially. When that retirement happens, things will be easier. Maybe it’s all tied up in some of our interpretation of heaven. Miserable now—heaven is all that matters.
I don’t know what age 85 feels like. Maybe I’ll feel different enough in a few decades to justify sitting down and giving up.
But, I don’t believe you can ever “phone it in” in any area of your life. Not the relationships you want to keep. Not your physical health and the chore of moving your body. Certainly not your wrestling with God.
I was processing this while reading 2 Chronicles 26, so it jumped out at me. Listen to second part of verse 5, “as long as he sought the LORD, God gave him success.” this is about Uzziah, a king of Judah during the days of Zechariah. Then, in verse 16, “but after Uzziah became powerful, his pride lead to his downfall.“ There is a certain truth that if you’ve survived many decades, you’ve acquired the wisdom of survival. But don’t assume that the aged have all the wisdom of the realms. We have to continue seeking new treasure to be able bring out of our storehouse both old and new.
And God does do new things. Just because Solomon or the compiler of Ecclesiastes didn’t observe anything new under the sun doesn’t mean God isn’t capable of generating matter out of nothing. The unchanging God has “different” for each generation, so don’t crush the next generation with what you know that you knew. Be ready to add to your storehouse.
We see it in a number of the kings of the Old Testament. Hezekiah is another example. They start off good, victorious in their youth. Faithless in their age. Even if we start by killing Goliaths, we can end killing Uriahs.
I’m on edge when I read in Kings and Chronicles because it’s basically a list of how all the leaders left the Lord, and how many people died as a result. Most of it is gross, and any victory is short-lived. We tend to press into God in the deserts when we have nothing, in childhood when we know nothing. But as soon as we get a little age, experience, money, success, we move into a lazy pattern of repeating what we did before. Instead of remaining willing to work, curious, humble, and open to wonder and revelation.
I’m (finally) reading something that’s been recommended to me for many years. Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art. And my last blog post might’ve been different if I had already read it. Specifically (in oversimplification) that all “good” art is Christian, and all “bad” art is not, regardless of the label or the salvation status of the creator of said art. I don’t mind a bit of the mystical, because it jives with my understanding of “every good and perfect gift comes down from the father of lights.” Even if it isn’t ordained by your denomination—if it’s good, or true—it’s from God. That’s why you can read fiction that doesn’t have a conversion scene.
Madeline l’Engle touches on why we can never set aside our intention when she reminds us that we have to work to become like a child in approaching God. Jesus assured us that some mystery of childhood is required to enter God’s presence.
“(as I run over my favourite characters in both Old and New Testaments, I can’t find one who was in any worldly way qualified to do the job which was nevertheless accomplished)…In a very real sense not one of us is qualified, but it seems that God continually chooses the most unqualified to do his work, to bear his glory. If we are qualified, we tend to think that we have done the job ourselves. If we are forced to accept our evident lack of qualification, then there’s no danger that we will confuse God’s work with our own, or God’s glory with our own.” (Madeline l’Engle, Walking on Water)
Is there complacency? “I already know God. Check. I found him, so I can stop seeking. The Bible is “clear,” and I already read it—I’m good.” The minute you stop trying, and rest in your qualifications and entitlement, you are no longer a vessel.
A king who started off victorious but, then retired faithless.
Rest, nourish and feed the mortal. But keep your frame of heart full of intention. Don’t allow atrophy. Too much is at stake to retire from living. Remain willing to work, curious, humble, and open to revelation. Forever.
Because even after a lifetime of success, pride can still be a downfall.
