Hello Friends,
This is Mark Ludman,
Also known as Brother Frederick James,
Your friendly neighbourhood monk in docks.
Welcome back as we continue this season of reflecting on the invitations of Jesus.
Before we begin.
.
.
I invite you to just settle into this moment.
To notice where you are,
Your breathing.
The weight of your body,
The sounds around you.
Non-native.
Change them or try and block them out.
Just be fully aware,
Fully present.
And fully arrive in this moment.
Our lives in the modern world move at remarkable speed.
There's always another email,
More responsibility,
People to care for,
Expectations to meet.
Sometimes our spiritual lives can feel like another thing to accomplish.
And we start to measure ourselves by how productive we are,
How much we've achieved.
And many people we've helped.
How much we've done for God even.
But today's invitation from Jesus.
Gently disrupts and interrupts all of that.
And it's an invitation that I think a lot of us find really difficult to accept.
And invitation.
Says come away.
And rest.
And so I invite you to listen carefully to the words.
In Mark's Gospel.
Chapter 6 beginning.
At verse 30.
The apostles gathered around Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught.
And he said to them,
Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.
For many were coming and going and they had no leisure even to eat.
And then they went away.
In the boat to a deserted place.
By themselves.
Now,
The disciples had just returned from ministry.
They're excited,
Full of stories.
People have been healed,
Lives have been changed.
They'd noticed and witnessed the kingdom of God breaking into the world.
Surely now!
Is the time to do more.
And yet Jesus says something completely unexpected,
I would imagine.
Come away.
Not,
Work harder.
Not,
Let's get some more results.
Not,
There's still more people waiting.
Not,
Strike while the iron's hot.
Not,
You can rest later.
He literally invites them to step in.
Back to step.
Hawaii.
And that tells us something profound.
About the heart of God.
And that is that rest.
Isn't an interruption.
Especially to discipleship.
But particularly in terms of the discipleship.
Rest is a part.
There's a phrase in that passage that we often skip over.
They had no leisure even to eat.
Hear how contemporary that sounds.
This is the way many people today live.
Always moving,
Responding,
Connected.
To a point where meals become rushed,
Even skipped.
Conversation's a hurry.
Silence becomes uncomfortable because we think they've got to fill it with something to do.
Even moments that should be restful become opportunities to check one more notification or one more task off the list.
Without noticing,
We begin to believe that our value comes from our usefulness.
That we matter because we produce,
That we're loved because we achieve.
Jesus never,
Ever measures people this way.
He never confused worth with productivity.
He knew.
That human beings are not machines,
We're souls.
And souls require rhythms of work.
End.
Rest.
Now,
The invitation to rest begins much earlier than this passage.
It begins in creation itself.
God creates and then.
.
.
Rests.
And God doesn't rest because God's exhausted.
God rests because.
.
.
The creation's done.
It's complete.
Or at least complete enough.
To be enjoyed.
And the Sabbath then becomes woven into the fabric of the universe,
One day in seven.
A rhythm that says,
You are more than what you produce.
Sabbath is an act of trust.
When we stop working,
We acknowledge that the world continues without our constant effort.
God.
Remains God.
And we're invited.
To become human.
And there's another beautiful detail in this story too.
Jesus invites the disciples away before they ask for rest.
He notices their weariness before they do.
So think about that,
How often?
Are we the last people to recognise our own exhaustion?
We keep going,
We push through,
We convince ourselves that we can rest after the next deadline,
The next school term,
The next project,
The next season of life.
But do you ever notice the finish line keeps moving?
It keeps getting pushed back.
The invitation of Jesus interrupts that cycle.
He sees our tiredness.
But interestingly,
He doesn't judge it.
He sees the burden we carry and says,
Hey.
Come away.
And the place that he invites them to is described as a deserted place.
Elsewhere,
Right across scripture,
These quiet places become places of prayer,
Places where distractions fall away.
Places where we can begin hearing again the voice we've forgotten.
Beneath all the other voices.
And I know,
Look,
Silence can feel uncomfortable at first.
When the noise fades.
We often become aware of everything we've been carrying.
Unfinished grief,
Hidden anxieties,
Questions we've avoided.
Longings we've ignored,
But this is precisely why solitude and silence matter.
Because it allows us to return to life more fully present.
And so the desert isn't empty,
It's spacious.
There's room there for God.
And there's room there for ourselves too.
I think one of the greatest misunderstandings about spiritual life.
Is that we have to earn our rest.
I think subconsciously many of us believe that once we've done enough,
It's then that we're allowed to rest.
But Jesus reverses the order.
Rest isn't the reward for faithful living.
It's actually one of the ways we remain faithful.
When we rest.
We remember that we're creatures.
Not creators,
That we're loved children,
Not indispensable workers.
We remember that God's kingdom ultimately depends on God,
Not on us.
And that should be deeply.
.
.
Free.
So maybe… This invitation is especially difficult because The rest requires us to trust.
To stop working.
Is to admit that we have limits,
To step away.
Is to believe that God continues caring for the world while we sleep.
The Christian tradition has always regarded humility not as thinking less of ourselves but as living truthfully,
And one of the deepest truths about us.
Is this,
We are finite.
We need sleep,
We need quiet,
We need friendship,
We need prayer.
We need to launch.
And they're not weaknesses,
They're gifts.
That are woven into our humanity and Jesus honours them.
Maybe we should too.
I'm sorry.
Today,
Hear Christ speaking these words personally to you.
They're not a command.
To escape responsibility,
But they are an invitation to rediscover the rhythm of grace.
Come away.
And rest a while.
So just become aware of your breathing once again.
Know where else your mind or your heart needs to be for the next few moments.
And imagine yourself walking with Jesus.
Along a quiet path.
The crowds have faded into the distance,
The noise has become quiet.
You walk together,
No need to speak.
There's no destination that you have to reach,
There's just companionship on the way.
And ahead you see a peaceful place beneath the shade of trees.
Jesus sits down and invites you to sit beside him.
No agenda,
No lesson,
No task.
Just rest.
Notice how your body feels.
Where have you been carrying tension?
Where have you been living as though everything depends on you and without forcing anything?
Allow yourself to place those burdens into Christ's hands.
And now hear him say gently.
Rest well.
And remain with those words.
Because those words are a gift that are already offered.
And allow yourself just to rest.
In the love of God.
Lord Jesus.
You know the pace.
At which we live.
You know how easily we become burdened by responsibilities,
Expectations,
And endless activity.
Thank you for inviting us into rest.
Teach us that our worth isn't measured by our productivity.
Help us to trust that your love doesn't need to be earned.
Lead us into the quiet places where our souls can breathe again.
Renew our hearts.
Restore our joy.
Refresh our minds.
And as we return to our work,
May we do so from a place of peace.
Rather than pressure.
And may grace,
Peace and love be with us in that rest and in that peace today and always.
And so as you move into the rest of your day,
Carry that invitation with you.
Come away.
And rest a while.
And maybe you can't take an entire day.
Of Sabbath rest today.
You may be able to pause 60 more seconds before your next meeting Eat a meal today without rushing.
Step outside and notice the sky.
Offer one slow breath of gratitude.
Because sometimes the smallest acts of rest,
Sometimes they become the places where we rediscover the presence of God.
So until next time,
May you know the gentle welcome of Christ,
Who delights not only in your service,
But also in God.
In your stillness.
Till tomorrow.
Bye for now.
