Maybe we just need to retire, or cut back on work so we fall into a hammock, walk on the beach, read murder mysteries, fill our souls with quiet and solitude. Surely that will bring us rest.
But as lovely and sometimes necessary as all this is, this is not enough.
What then will rescue us from the restlessness that keeps us moving, exhausted, striving, chasing after success and security and wealth and love? We know where some of it comes from. In a consumer world that profits on our fears and insecurities, we are urged to buy more to fill our emptiness. In a culture that cultivates discontent, we are groomed to believe there’s never enough. We’re always running out.
It was like that then, too. In the midst of oppression and violence, too much religion and poverty, and people working so hard to stay alive, they were exhausted and restless, always needing more. In the clamor of all of that came one man with a simple invitation. Maybe he called out, gently. Maybe he held his arms out as he said it. Maybe he took the hand of a man bent with bricks on his back, or reached out to touch the sleeve of an exhausted woman. . .