View source for The Lesson of Rest

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<p>No words Jesus spoke have found welcome in more hearts, than His promises of <em>rest to weary and heavy laden ones</em>. No other word touches the deep need of human lives, as this word does. What is this rest which Christ gives? It is not rest from labor, for work is one of the laws of life, and is necessary to health, growth, and happiness.<br><br>
"Rest is not quitting<br>
  The busy career;<br>
  Rest is but fitting<br>
  One's self to one's sphere."<br><br>
The world's thought is that if we can get away from trouble, struggle, need, and suffering—that we shall find rest. In one of Job's complaints, he laments that he had ever been born, or that he had not died before his eyes saw the light. "There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary are at rest." But there is nothing noble in such a bitter cry. The rest of the <em>grave </em>is not the rest that Christ promises.<br><br>
Nor can we ever find rest by fleeing from the place of God's appointment, because it is a place of suffering. In one of the Psalms the writer is in great trouble, and cries to God to help him. Then he says:<br>
  "Oh that I had wings like a dove!<br>
  Then would I fly away, and be at rest."<br><br>
This, too, was a mistaken longing. The place where he was—was the very place in which God wanted him to be, and he could never have found rest by fleeing from it. We can find<em>rest, </em>only in the place of <em>duty</em>. Only the other day one wrote: "I wish I could leave all this tangle, this perplexity about money, this need for struggle." But he cannot get away. He is face to face with the necessity for courage, for action, for work, and he cannot escape from it. Then even if he could flee out of it all—he would not find rest. An old writer said about the wish in the Psalm: "David should have been praying for the <em>strength of an ox </em>to bear his trouble, not for the <em>wings of a dove </em>to flee away from it." That is the only way to find rest. We must stay in our place, perform our duty, bear our burden, and do God's will. That is the footpath to peace.<br><br>
The rest which Christ gives is rest in the soul—not external ease. One may have it in all its sweetness and fullness, and yet have to toil unceasingly, and endure continual suffering and pain. Some of the holiest Christians the world has ever known, have been the greatest sufferers—but meanwhile nothing has been able to break their rest.<br><br>
Christ's call is not a call to less earnest living; rather it is a call to still greater activity, to more wholehearted service, to work which will count for more. They only can do their work well—who have this rest in their hearts. The restless mind is unfitted for the best work.<br><br>
The prophet says, "In quietness and in confidence, shall be your strength." The man who accomplishes most, is the man who has calmness in his heart. The prophet says again, "He who believes, shall not be in haste." Some people are always in feverish haste. They rush restlessly from morning until night. This makes them excited, flustered, fretted. The commentaries tell us that the words may be translated, "He who believes shall not fuss." He who has his mind set on God is not in haste. He has the quietness of God in his soul. He is complete master of himself, and never becomes excited.<em> Nothing hinders more in life than hurry.</em><br><br>
It is Christ's rest which we need, in order to make our lives calm and strong. Restlessness makes us weak. It unnerves our hand, so that our work is not well done. It disquiets our mind, so that we cannot think clearly. It disturbs our faith, so that we lose our hold upon God and eternal things. We can do our best work in any sphere—only when we are at peace with God. This rest of Christ, instead of sapping our energy and making us less active and enthusiastic in our Master's service—will give us a new secret of strength, and put into our hearts a new impulse to work. Our work lacks power because we are not at rest. Our spiritual life lacks depth—it is too much like the noisy, fussy stream which splutters down the hillside, and too little like the quiet lake that is noiseless and still, its peaceful depths undisturbed by the surface storms. One day of quiet work with the rest of Christ in the heart—will do more for the kingdom of God than a whole month of nervous, restless, fretted activity.<br><br>
There are two promises of rest: First, Jesus said, "I will <em>give </em>you rest." Then He said, "You shall <em>find </em>rest." He gives rest at once to those who come to Him—but it is not the full and complete rest. Rest is a divine gift—but it is also a lesson which we have to learn.<br><br>
It is not only the rest of forgiveness—but a rest which extends to all the life, to the desires, the ambitions, the cravings; a rest which holds all the life in its sway. The lesson is not easy. To teach a human life, with its mighty energies and sublime capacities, to be still—is not an easy matter. It is a task that requires years.<br><br>
The lesson is learned by taking Christ's yoke upon us. A yoke is a symbol of <em>submission</em>. Captive kings put their necks under the yoke of their conquerors. A yoke also implies<em>service</em>. Animals are yoked <em>together </em>that they may draw a load. We are yoked with Christ. We enter upon a life which our Master shares with us. If we have a duty or a task—He walks beside us. If it is a sorrow we are called to endure—He shares it. Every burden we have to carry—He carries it. In all our afflictions—He is afflicted. To be yoked with Christ is the highest honor that could be ours.<br><br>
We must also enter Christ's school and learn of Him, if we would find the larger, fuller measure of this rest which is promised. Each new experience is a new lesson set for us by our great Teacher. There will come to you a sharp temptation tomorrow. While God permits it, He does not mean to have you sin. He does not mean to make life hard for you. He lets you be put to the trial—that you may learn to resist, to come out victorious and strong. Every temptation is a lesson. Even Jesus learned, by the things that He suffered. If a new duty comes to our hand, a new task a new responsibility, God has turned another page in your lesson book for you.<br><br>
The Christian graces all have to be learned. They do not come naturally to any one. Paul said, "I have <em>learned</em>, in whatever state I am, therein to be content." It is a satisfaction to us to know that he had to learn to be contented, and that he was well on in years before he had mastered the lesson. So we have to learn to be patient, to be meek, giving a soft answer to hard words, to insults, to wrongs. We have to learn to be forgiving towards those who injure us.<br><br>
We have to learn to be unselfish. Selfishness stands in the way of our obtaining the fullness of Christ's rest. It is hard for us to give up our own way, our own interest, and our own comfort. Many a man's heaviest burden—is himself. Unselfishness is one of the longest and hardest lessons we have to learn. But we must learn it, for we cannot know the joy of perfect rest until we get our selfishness mastered.<br><br>
These are hints of the meaning of the Master's words, "Learn of Me… and you shall find rest unto your souls." Dr. Babcock's little poem, "School Days," interprets life to us in this way:<br><br>
"Lord, let me make this rule,<br>
  To think of life as a school,<br>
  And try my best<br>
  To stand each test,<br>
  And do my work,<br>
  And nothing shirk.<br><br>
Some day the bell will sound,<br>
  Some day my heart will bound,<br>
  As with a shout<br>
  That school is out<br>
  And lessons done,<br>
  I homeward run!"<br><br>
In attaining the fullness of Christ's rest, we must stay in Christ's school until the end. We must have lessons, lessons, continually. Everyone who comes before us sets a little lesson for us. We say this person <em>tries </em>us. Well, that is just the reason we need to see him often—until we have learned to keep sweet. Sickness comes, that in the quiet of the darkened room, we may learn the lesson of patience, trust and peace. People think a season spent in a sick room is lost time. Perhaps no days of our life will mean as much to us at the end—as the days we have spent in pain, shut away from active life. Sudden danger comes, not to startle us—but to teach us not to be startled by any alarm, any terror, since God is keeping us. One of Alice Palmer's hymns was written after a time of great danger. While she was lying ill, lightening struck the house, shattering it, destroying the room next to hers. She was not disturbed. Then she wrote a hymn of this experience.<br><br>
"He shall give His angels charge<br>
  Over you in all your ways.<br>
  Though the thunders roam at large,<br>
  Though the lightening round me plays,<br>
  Like a child I lay my head<br>
  In sweet sleep upon my bed."<br><br>
Many Christians seem never to learn this lesson of rest. Their faith in God seems to do little for them. They tremble before every smallest danger. They are afraid of <em>tomorrow </em>lest it bring poverty or pain. But there are no accidents in the believer's life.<em> God watches over each of His children. </em>We say we believe these things. Why, then, do we not have the rest? Let us get the <em>lesson</em>: "Learn of Me… and you shall find rest unto your souls."
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