Finding Rest Beyond the Christmas Chaos

Two things have struck me this December. Most of the people I chat to either look harried, or tell me how busy and hassled they are. And nearly everyone says how keen they are to get past Christmas. Not just pastors (who have carols and services to organise, as well as friends and family events to wrangle). Everyone. They have to wrap up their end-of-year projects before they can get to buying presents (let alone wrapping them). The whole thing seems a burden to bear, not a festival to celebrate. 

Now, I’m not going to beat the ‘bring back the true meaning of Christmas drum’.

In fact, I’m not going to talk about Christmas (at least, not to begin with).

Instead, I want to direct our attention to some familiar words. In Matt 11:28 Jesus says: ‘Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ These well-known words are most welcome—especially in moments like these—and so worth our attention. 

Now, earlier in the chapter we hear of doubt and resistance to his proclamation of the Kingdom, followed by what’s been called the ‘bolt from the Johannine blue’—Jesus’ celebration of the hiddenness of the Father’s purpose, and the unique relationship Jesus has with him—one that he invites his followers to enjoy. And in that context he speaks of a light yoke, an easy burden, and rest. 

Interesting language. The yoke picks up on an important first century metaphor for Torah obedience, even as the burden refers back to the prophets’ ironic references to Israel as a burden for Yahweh (and that Yahweh had not burdened them with onerous obligations—see Isa 43:23–24, Mic 6:3). Jesus is yoking his invitation to rest to Yahweh’s invitation to relationship. 

That connection lies deep in the Torah. For the Sinai covenant sign is Sabbath. Rest. Indeed, in the Ten Commandments, Sabbath is one of only two positively framed commandments (the other being honouring parents). Remember Sabbath; set it apart from other days (keep it holy, special). The mark of the covenant, what demarcates Israel from other peoples, is God’s invitation to enjoy this day of rest. 

Rest. Rest entrusted to all members of the household, from greatest to least—including slaves. Rest grounded in God’s own work: in original creation blessing in Exod 20:11, and in liberation in Deut 5:15.

Rest is both what Yahweh enjoys as Creator, and what Yahweh gifts as Saviour.

Jesus who has been revealed to them and in whom the Father is revealed extends this divine invitation to rest-in-liberty to his followers. 

I could take us forward to Heb 4:9 and its extension of this invitation, lost to Israel in its refusal to enter into God’s rest, renewed with urgency in the invitation of the gospel to embrace the way of the Son, an invitation that challenges even as it comforts, but space prohibits. 

So, let me tie this back to where we began, the harried busyness of the run up to Christmas, and the wistful longing for it all to be behind us. 

It would be more than a little ironic to add a burden of rest to the demands of organising work, family, holiday preparation, presents… And it would be irritatingly (and pointlessly) pious to attempt a manufactured ‘stillness’ in the midst of this chaos. Instead, let me suggest this. 

The one we turn to in our harried weariness, the one who invites us to rest, the one whose birth (and life and death and resurrection) we celebrate, the one who defines who we are, is the self-same one who spoke the worlds into existence and who shares the Father’s rest. He is the God, now enfleshed, who first invited God’s people to enjoy the resting liberty of the children of God. He is the One who came from the Father (yes, to that celebrated manger), and who makes the Father known to us. 

And in these words, ‘come to me’, he summons us: not to guilt that we’ve forgotten the true meaning of Christmas; not to add something else to the busyness of the season; not to a futile attempt to manufacture a sense of space and peace in the frantic run of life. He summons us to life. To freedom. To relationship with him—that burden which is no burden, that yoke of liberty which is ours no matter how full our days are, or how restive we feel. 

And when, at last, the office is shut, the presents wrapped, and the car packed. When friends and family have all been visited (or have blessedly left). When on the other side of Christmas we can at last draw breath, then we can take time to hear again Jesus’ invitation.

We can remember the gift of rest, we can anticipate the rest that still awaits us, and in moments small and great we can breathe a little joyful sigh of peace.