The Work of Rest

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Our guest preacher today is Morgan Aspinwall. You can read her bio below the sermon text.

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When I was asked to preach about Sabbath and rest, I started thinking about all the passages we normally associate with Sabbath.

And then I started thinking about Jesus.And I realized something. Jesus has a Sabbath problem.

I mean, seriously. Jesus keeps getting in trouble on the Sabbath. At some point, you have to wonder if he is doing it on purpose.

Because there are seven days in a week. Seven.

And yet, Jesus seems to have an incredible ability to find someone who needs healing on the one day everybody has told him not to work.

In Mark, Jesus walks into the synagogue and there is a man with a withered hand. It is the Sabbath.

In Luke, Jesus is teaching in the synagogue and there is a woman who has been bent over for eighteen years. It is the Sabbath.

And here in John, Jesus encounters a man who has been unable to walk for thirty-eight years. And wouldn’t you know it? It is the Sabbath.

Jesus. Buddy. There are six other days. The woman in Luke has been bent over for eighteen years. I don’t want to sound insensitive, but she has already waited eighteen years. Technically, she could wait until tomorrow.

The man at Bethesda has been there for thirty-eight years. What is one more day? Jesus could come back another day. He could put it on his calendar.

Set a reminder. “Monday morning. 9:00 a.m. Heal man at Bethesda. Pick up coffee on the way.”

But Jesus doesn’t wait. Jesus heals on the Sabbath. Again. And again. And again.

So I started wondering: If Sabbath is about rest, why does Jesus keep working on the Sabbath? Because Jesus does not deny that he is working.

In John 5, the religious leaders are upset because Jesus has healed this man on the Sabbath. And Jesus responds to them by saying, “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” That is a strange defense.

If somebody accuses me of doing something I am not supposed to do, my first response is usually to explain why I technically wasn’t doing it. “Well, see, here’s what happened…” “I know it looks like…” “Technically…”

Jesus doesn’t do that. They say, “You’re working on the Sabbath.”

And Jesus essentially says: “Yep.” “My Father is still working, and I also am working.”

Which makes me wonder if we have been asking the wrong question about Sabbath. Maybe the question is not simply: Are you working?

Maybe the question is:

What kind of work are you doing? Because not all work is the same.

There is work that gives life. And there is work that consumes life. There is work we do because we are called to it.

And there is work we do because somewhere deep inside of us, we are absolutely terrified of what might happen if we stop.

And I think some of us are very bad at stopping. I know I am.

I am the person who will say, “I am taking the day off,” and then answer seventeen emails. But I answered them from my couch.

So obviously, that is rest. I might even have a blanket. Maybe a candle burning. Very peaceful. Very Sabbath.

Just me, my blanket, and the crushing weight of everybody else’s problems. Some of us don’t know how to stop.

We produce. We perform. We prove. We answer. We fix. We manage. We carry.

And somewhere along the way, we start believing that everything depends on us.

If I don’t answer the email, something might fall apart. If I don’t solve the problem, nobody will. If I don’t show up, somebody will be disappointed. If I don’t handle it, who will? If I stop moving, everything might catch up with me.

And sometimes we disguise it with really holy language.

“Well, people need me.” “This is my calling.” “This is ministry.” “God has given me these responsibilities.”

And maybe all of those things are true.

But I have had to learn; and, if I am being fair, I am still learning, that being called by God does not make me God.

There is already a Savior. And it isn’t me. And it isn’t you. Maybe the opposite of Sabbath isn’t work.

Maybe the opposite of Sabbath is believing everything depends on you. Jesus says, “My Father is still working.” God is still working.

When you stop answering emails, God is still working. When you turn your phone off, God is still working.

When you go to sleep, God is still working.

When you admit, “I cannot carry this today,” God is still working. When you leave something unfinished, God is still working.

And I know that is uncomfortable for some of us because we really like being needed. We may complain about being needed. We will tell everybody how exhausted we are from being needed. But then somebody tries to help us and we say, “No, no, no. It’s fine. I got it.”

We don’t got it. We haven’t got it in six months.

But apparently today is the day it is all going to come together. Sabbath is an act of trust. Sabbath says:

I can stop because God has not.

I can rest because God’s faithfulness is not dependent on my productivity.

I can put something down because I was never meant to carry the whole world in the first place. Sabbath invites us to rest from the work of proving, producing, and performing. And something interesting happens when we stop moving so quickly. We start noticing things.

Look at the people Jesus encounters on the Sabbath.

In John 5, this man has been unable to walk for thirty-eight years. In Luke 13, the woman has been bent over for eighteen years. In Mark 3, the man has a withered hand.

These are not new problems. The woman in Luke did not wake up bent over that Sabbath morning. The man’s hand did not suddenly wither during the opening hymn. The man at Bethesda had not just gotten there.They had been there.

People had walked past them. People had worshiped beside them. People had entered the synagogue with them. People had left the synagogue with them.

People had gone about their lives. And somewhere along the way, their suffering had become part of the scenery.

People stopped noticing. But Jesus notices. And I think hurry has a way of teaching us how to walk past things. When we are always trying to get somewhere, people become interruptions. They become delays.

They become obstacles between us and whatever we have decided is the next important thing.

We walk past pain. We walk past loneliness. We walk past injustice. We walk past the person sitting alone.

We walk past the person whose life is falling apart quietly because we are rushing to help the person whose life is falling apart loudly.

We walk past people whose bodies move differently. We walk past people whose minds process differently. We walk past people who do not fit comfortably into the buildings, programs, systems, or schedules we have created.

And sometimes… we walk past ourselves.

We ignore our exhaustion. We ignore our grief. We ignore our bodies. We ignore the fact that something inside of us has been bent over for a very long time.

Because we have somewhere to be. Something to finish. Someone who needs us.

I think about this a lot as a disabled person. I have spent my entire life in a body that people notice. Sometimes subtly. Sometimes not subtly at all.

Children are my favorite because children have absolutely no social filter.

An adult will glance at my prosthetic leg and then immediately look away like they have just accidentally seen a government secret. A child will walk right up to me and say, “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG?”

And their parent is standing six feet away looking like they would like the earth to open and swallow them whole.

But there is a difference between noticing a body and seeing a person. And in these Sabbath stories, the religious leaders notice bodies.

They notice the withered hand. They notice the bent back. They notice the man carrying the mat.

In John 5, they see a man who has been unable to walk for thirty-eight years finally walking. And what do they notice? The mat. They say, “It is the Sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your mat.”

Sir. He is walking. He has been unable to walk for thirty-eight years. And you are worried about his luggage?

But that is what happens when systems become more important than people. We can become so focused on protecting the way things are supposed to work that we completely miss the person standing right in front of us.

The religious leaders see a Sabbath violation. Jesus sees a man who has waited thirty-eight years.

They see a bent body. Jesus sees a woman who has spent eighteen years looking at the ground.

They see a withered hand. Jesus sees a person.

Sabbath slows us down enough to see what hurry has taught us to ignore. And when Jesus notices suffering on the Sabbath, Jesus acts.

Which brings us back to the question: What kind of work belongs on the Sabbath?

Because Jesus is working. “My Father is still working, and I also am working.” So what is Jesus doing?

Look at the pattern. A hand is restored. A woman stands upright. A man gets off his mat. People experience freedom. Dignity is restored.People who have been pushed to the edges are brought into the center.

In Mark 3, Jesus tells the man with the withered hand, “Come forward.” Come into the middle. Let everyone see you. In Luke 13, Jesus sees the woman, calls her over, and declares her free. In John 5, Jesus looks at a man who has spent thirty-eight years beside a pool and tells him to rise.

There is a pattern to Jesus’ Sabbath work.

Jesus does the work of restoration. Jesus does the work of shalom. And shalom is so much bigger than quiet. Sometimes I think we hear “peace” and imagine a quiet room.

Nobody talking. Nobody asking us for anything. Maybe we are near a lake. There is probably a hammock or a kayak and a Cherry Coke from Sonic… or maybe that’s just me. I don’t know why our imaginary peace always has a hammock, but apparently that is where peace lives.

But shalom is more than quiet. Shalom is wholeness. Shalom is restoration. Shalom is things being moved toward the way God desires them to be.

And suddenly, Jesus’ Sabbath behavior starts to make sense. Jesus isn’t rejecting Sabbath. Jesus is revealing Sabbath.

The religious leaders are protecting the Sabbath. Jesus is practicing it.

They are so focused on making sure nobody violates the day that they have forgotten what the day reveals about the heart of God.

In Mark 3, Jesus asks them: “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to kill?” And they are silent.

Because sometimes silence is what happens when our rules are confronted by an actual human being. It is easy to debate theology in the abstract. It is easy to create policies when we don’t know the person affected by them. It is easy to say, “This is how we have always done it.” Then Jesus puts a person in the middle of the room. “Come forward.” Look at him.

Now answer the question.

Is it lawful to do good? Is it lawful to restore? Is it lawful to bring someone closer to wholeness?

Jesus shows us that mercy is Sabbath work. Liberation is Sabbath work. Restoration is Sabbath work. Shalom is Sabbath work. Jesus rests from demands. But Jesus never rests from restoration.

Now, I need to be careful here. Because church people are incredible at turning anything into an assignment. I could stand here and say, “Restoration is Sabbath work,” and some of you are already making a list.

You are thinking: Who do I need to help? Who do I need to call? What organization do I need to volunteer with? Could we start a committee? We need a committee. Church people love a committee.

Someone has already opened a spreadsheet. There will be a sign-up sheet in the back. We are ordering matching T-shirts. And now Sabbath has somehow become another thing we are exhausted from doing.

We missed it.

Because maybe the person who needs restoration on the Sabbath, is you.

I wonder how many of us hear about Jesus noticing the man at Bethesda and immediately start looking around the room for somebody else who needs Jesus.

We are very good at that. “Oh, I know who needs to hear this sermon.”

Do not look at them. You can tell them later. But what if today, you are the person beside the pool?

What if you are the person who has been carrying something for years?

What if something in you has been bent over for so long that you have forgotten what it feels like to stand upright?

What if there is a part of yourself you have learned to hide?

A part that feels weak. A part that feels different. A part that doesn’t work the way you think it should. A part you keep tucked close because you are afraid of what will happen if Jesus says:

“Stretch out your hand.”

Maybe the holy work of Sabbath is not finding another person to save. Maybe the holy work of Sabbath is allowing yourself to be the one Jesus notices.

And I want to be clear about something here. As a disabled person, I am cautious when we talk about healing and restoration. Because sometimes the church has taught disabled people that restoration only looks like our bodies becoming nondisabled.

That wholeness means walking differently. Seeing differently. Hearing differently. Thinking differently. Moving differently. That somehow, if our bodies do not change, restoration has not happened.

But I don’t believe shalom means God is trying to make everybody’s body look the same. I don’t believe my prosthetic leg is evidence that God has failed to finish working on me. I don’t believe I am a before picture waiting for heaven to become the after picture.

Restoration is bigger than making bodies conform to our expectations.

Sometimes restoration is a body changing. Sometimes restoration is a community changing. Sometimes the healing Jesus is doing is in the person. And sometimes the healing Jesus is doing is in the people who have spent years refusing to see the person.

Because notice what happens in these Sabbath stories.

Jesus doesn’t only confront physical suffering. Jesus confronts systems. Jesus confronts communities. Jesus confronts religious leaders.

Jesus confronts the people who have become comfortable walking past someone else’s pain. That is restoration too.

Maybe Sabbath gives us enough space to ask:

What has been bent in me? What has been withered in me? What have I been carrying? What have I been walking past? What have I accepted as “just the way things are” that God is trying to move toward shalom?

And maybe… just maybe, you don’t have to fix it today.

Maybe you simply need to let Jesus notice you. Because you are also someone God desires to restore.

You are part of the world God loves. Your body is part of the world God loves. Your mind is part of the world God loves.

Your tiredness matters. Your grief matters. The things you carry matter.

You do not have to prove that you are tired enough to rest. You do not have to collapse before you are allowed to stop. You do not have to finish everything first. You do not have to earn Sabbath. God is still working.

That is what Jesus says: “My Father is still working.”

God is still working. So you can stop. God is still working. So you can breathe.

God is still working. So you can leave something unfinished. God is still working. So you can admit that you are tired.

God is still working. So you can rest from the work that consumes you. And when you rest… maybe you will begin to notice.

Maybe you will notice the person you have been walking past.

Maybe you will notice the system you have accepted without questioning. Maybe you will notice the suffering that has become part of the scenery. Maybe you will notice God already doing the work of restoration around you.

And maybe you will notice something in yourself that has been asking for rest for a very long time.

If Sabbath is about rest, why does Jesus keep working on the Sabbath?

Because Jesus knows the difference between work that consumes and work that restores.

Jesus does not spend the Sabbath proving his worth. He does not spend the Sabbath building his reputation.

He does not spend the Sabbath trying to convince everybody that he is needed. Jesus notices. Jesus restores. Jesus brings shalom.

So perhaps the invitation of Sabbath is this:

Rest from the work that consumes you. Slow down enough to notice what hurry hides. And make space for God’s holy work of restoration. Around you. Within your community. And within yourself.

Because the world does not need a more exhausted version of you trying harder to be Jesus.

God is still working. You can rest. And sometimes… the holiest work of Sabbath is allowing God to restore you.

Prayer

Gracious and loving God,

We come before You today tired in ways we sometimes know how to name and in ways we do not. We carry the weight of our responsibilities, our worries, our expectations, and the things we cannot control.

And yet, You invite us to rest.

Remind us that rest is not a failure. It is not weakness. It is not something we have to earn after we have accomplished enough. Rest is a gift from You—a holy reminder that the world does not depend entirely upon us.

Teach us to lay down what we were never meant to carry. Quiet the voices that tell us we must always be doing more, achieving more, fixing more, and proving more.

Help us to trust You with the unfinished work. Help us to believe that when we stop, You do not stop working. When we are still, You are still God. When we rest, You are still holding us.

Give us wisdom to know when we need to work and courage to know when we need to rest.

May our work flow from Your strength rather than our exhaustion, and may our rest flow from our trust in You.

Restore what is weary within us. Renew our minds, refresh our spirits, and teach us once again that our worth is not measured by how much we accomplish. We thank You for the invitation to come, to breathe, to be still, and to rest in You. In the name of Jesus, who calls the weary to come and find rest, we pray. Amen.

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Morgan is the Communications and Financial Administrator for the American Baptist Churches of the Central Region. She also directs the region’s high school camp at White Memorial and is one of the leaders for the region’s 4Ten leadership program. Morgan has a B.A. in Christian Studies from Ottawa University and is currently working towards her M.Div. at Central Seminary.

Morgan is a Ewing Sarcoma cancer survivor and lifelong amputee. She is an advocate for others and works at bringing awareness to areas of everyday life that aren’t accessible or inclusive for those with disabilities. She has an interest in disability theology and helping the church be more accessible and inclusive.

Morgan loves bees, butterflies, and flowers. She spends time kayaking, baking, and playing volleyball with friends, visiting her family in Texas, and watching movies with her 20lb cat, Ferguson.