Day 39: Jesus was Never in a Hurry

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke and learn from me, because I am lowly and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” MATTHEW 11:28–30

WHEN I WAS AN adolescent, I spent most weekends at my dad’s ranch (my parents divorced when I was little), which was in Central Florida in the middle of nowhere. The ranch was a great place to ride horses and motorcycles or chase roosters and fireflies. The only downside to life on the ranch was its isolation and the lack of friends my age. Fortunately, several kind (albeit older and rather rowdy) kids from the youth group at the country church we attended befriended me. And they were more than glad to tutor a straitlaced “city girl” in the art of mild rural rebellion.

One of the most memorable incidents from my brief apprenticeship in crime involved a pickup truck full of green oranges, a passing Volkswagen “VW bug,” and peer pressure. It was a hot, summer afternoon and we had all piled into the back of Chris’s truck (Chris was a very sweet and unwitting rural Romeo—he was so stinkin’ cute but seemingly oblivious that all the girls in the county had a crush on him!) to go get drinks and snacks from Roach’s Grocery. (I’m not making this stuff up—that really was the name of the convenience store and the tiny community where it was located was called “Roachville.”) The store was about five miles from our ranch, and we chatted and threw oranges at street signs while Chris drove.

Mind you, we weren’t planning to do anything destructive . . . until a little red bubble appeared on the horizon of County Road 46A, getting bigger and rounder as we barreled toward it. It looked like a rolling bull’s-eye. Someone leaned down and scooped up a shirt-full of oranges to hurl at the bug, and we all followed suit. Everyone’s fruity ammo missed the mark and bounced harmlessly off the blacktop—until the very last orange was tossed. The one I threw! Mine hit the road in front of the oncoming car and bounced up for a direct hit in the middle of the windshield.

The other driver slammed on the brakes and whipped around in hot pursuit as we jumped up and down in the back of the truck, screaming as if our lives depended on outrunning him. But an old truck full of teenagers is no match for a Beetle bent on revenge so he caught up with us quickly! Still, we begged Chris to keep driving, “Come on Chris, keep going! Faster, faster!” Although we had probably topped out at thirty miles per hour and the Volkswagen was inches from the rear bumper, we didn’t want to stop because the forward motion kept us from facing reality. But after a mile or so, we finally pulled over and I hung my head to confess to the irate driver. Then we turned the truck around and wobbled back home—without so much as a soda—to face my dad.

While I don’t make a habit of hurling citrus in traffic anymore, I still tend to race as fast as I can through each day. And my frenetic activity fits right into most Christian circles since we tend to wrap verses around our inability to rest and call it a virtue. We emphasize the “go out and do” passages but ignore the “be still and know” parts. We wear signs of physical exertion like badges of honor, as if all our stress “on God’s behalf” is adding up like frequent flyer miles. And the busiest beavers in church are often labeled the best—until their exhaustion begets disillusionment and they limp away, seeking a less demanding pond. Frankly, some of the most stressed out, emotionally spent people I’ve ever met are Christ-followers.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” (Matt. 11:28–29 msg, emphasis mine)

During the second to last class of my doctoral candidacy, one of my wonderful Denver Seminary profs and spiritual mentors, Dr. Brad Strait, effectively nailed me to my chair with this simple observation: “Jesus’s earthly ministry happened at the pace of approximately 3 mph because He walked everywhere.” In all my years of study and pouring over the Bible, I’d never once thought about the pace of our Messiah’s praxis. How He never missed a “God moment”—well, because He is God!—but besides that massive theological given, Jesus did life with the unforced rhythm of grace. He lived unhurriedly enough to be beautifully interruptible. Lepers were able to ask Him for help when He and the disciples ambled past on their way to town. He sat still long enough for children to climb into His lap and giggle. He looked deep into lonely people’s eyes because He wasn’t staring at His phone.

Sometimes rest involves a complete cessation of activity, like when we practice a regular Sabbath based on biblical parameters, but sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it just takes a few minutes to stop and evaluate how fast we’re going, then slowing down to match Jesus’s pace. I don’t know what your goals look like when it comes to slowing down in our lightning-fast world, but my goal is to live the rest of my life—or at least long stretches of it—at 3 mph. Wanna join me?

• ON A SCALE of 1 to 10, with 1 being languid and 10 being running around like a chicken with your head cut off, how would you rate the pace of your life right now?
• WHAT’S ONE CONCERN, responsibility, or activity you could set aside—even momentarily—to carve out a bit more breathing room in your life?
• READ HEBREWS 4:11–13 and 1 Corinthians 10:1–13. What’s the common theme of these two passages and what does it imply regarding the relationship between obedience and rest?