A Time to Rest, A Time to Return

There is something about summer that invites us to slow down. For some, summer means vacations, family gatherings, long days, cookouts, trips to the shore, or simply a change from the normal rhythm of life. For our children, it means a break from school. Even in the life of the church, summer feels different. People travel. Attendance becomes lighter. Familiar faces disappear for a Sunday or two, sometimes longer. Perhaps we need that.
 
Jesus once said to his disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while” (Mark 6:31, NRSVue). I have been thinking about those words lately because, truthfully, I needed them.
This summer was full. Freedom School and Vacation Bible School filled our days with children, laughter, questions, meals, activities, challenges, and plenty of movement. It was good and meaningful work, and in the middle of it all, I saw God.
 
I saw God in the faces of children. I saw God in those who showed up to serve. I saw God around tables and in conversations. I saw God in the laughter coming from our hallways and in those small moments that reminded me why this work matters.
 
During Freedom School, God was loud. God sounded like children laughing, feet moving through hallways, questions being asked, and voices gathering around tables.
 
Then came vacation. And God became quiet. I saw God in the sun warming my face and in the vastness of the sea. I saw God where the water seemed to meet the horizon. I saw God in the beauty of the moon at night. I tasted God’s goodness in food I could sit down and enjoy without rushing somewhere else. I felt God while lying on the beach, listening to the waves, with nowhere to be and nothing to accomplish.
The setting had changed. The pace had changed. But God had not.
 
And somewhere between the noise of Freedom School, VBS, and the quiet of the sea, I was reminded of something I already knew but needed to remember again: God is present when I am doing the work, but God is just as present when I put the work down.
 
My body needed to stop moving. My mind needed permission to stop planning. My soul needed room simply to be with God without preparing anything, leading anything, fixing anything, or figuring out what needed to happen next.
 
Sometimes we become so accustomed to doing that we forget there is holiness in simply being. Maybe that is one of the gifts of rest. When we stop moving so quickly, we begin to notice what has been there all along. Just God. God in the ordinary. God in creation. God in laughter and good food. God in silence. God in our breathing. God in the simple gift of being alive.
 
Scripture reminds us, “but those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31, NRSVue). Notice that Scripture does not tell us we will never become tired. It tells us that strength can be renewed.
 
I hope somewhere during these summer months you found some rest too. Maybe you traveled somewhere beautiful. Maybe you sat in your own backyard. Maybe you spent time with family. Maybe you slept a little later. Maybe you did absolutely nothing for an afternoon and discovered that the world kept turning without your help.
 
But I also know summer does not automatically mean rest. Some of you worked all summer. Some cared for children, parents, spouses, or other loved ones. Some carried grief. Some worried about finances. Some dealt with things nobody else knew about. Some of you may be arriving at September more tired than you were when summer began.
 
So, hear this clearly: You do not have to come home refreshed. You can come home tired.
 
September is here. Children are preparing to return to school. Teachers are preparing their classrooms. Families are returning to familiar schedules. Vacations are ending. Calendars are beginning to fill again.
 
And here at The Mark, it is time for us to come home. When I say come home, I do not simply mean come back into the building. Come back to community. Come back to the people who know your name. Come back to the place where we pray for one another, carry one another, laugh together, worship together, and remember that none of us is meant to walk this journey alone.
 
I am looking forward to returning to the pulpit this Sunday, but even more, to seeing you. I have missed our worship together. I have missed looking across the sanctuary and seeing familiar faces. I have missed the sound of our voices praying, singing, laughing, and praising God together.
 
There is something sacred about returning. We return carrying whatever this summer has given us. Some will return rested. Some tired. Some joyful. Some grieving. Some hopeful. Some uncertain about what the next season will bring. Bring all of it.
 
Come home rested if you can. Come home tired if you must. Come home hopeful. Come home carrying questions. Come home with stories from your summer. Come home because there is room for you here.
There are still people to love, children to nurture, neighbors to serve, prayers to pray, songs to sing, and a community to build. There is still good work before us.
 
We have rested. We have wandered. We have seen God beyond these walls. And now, together, we return.
 
Welcome home, St. Mark’s family. I cannot wait to see you.

Written by Rev. Kay Dubuisson