I remember gripping the door handle of my grandpa’s farm truck with joyous fear as he sped across the wheat field to make it home in time to listen to Paul Harvey on the radio. That distinctive voice and storytelling was a staple at the lunch table in my early years. And those closing words, filled with anticipation and wonder, would hook the listener… “And now, for the rest of the story.”
But the rest of the story was only told after another Buick commercial. And yes, my grandfather also owned a Buick…
That memory and those words came to mind today as I was pondering another set of words I came across in my reading. In his book, Sabbath as Resistance, Walter Brueggemann writes, “I have come to think that the fourth commandment on sabbath is the most difficult and most urgent of the commandments in our society, because it summons us to intent and conduct that defies the most elemental requirements of a commodity-propelled society that specializes in control and entertainment, bread and circuses … along with anxiety and violence” (xiv).
Brueggemann’s words point directly to a core issue in our culture today—a culture that glorifies exhaustion, promotes overwork, and views constant productivity as the highest virtue. Rest is a dirty word in environments of production. Rest is a terrible thing in economies dependent on constant consumption. And if you listen carefully to the noise of the airwaves, or maybe even in your own mind, you will hear the sounds of celebration for those who model exhaustion.
Some can’t even ponder past that last sentence. Their immediate protest is, “Don’t you know that nothing gets done without hard work?” or “While you’re resting, I’m going to get rich.” Of course, when the driving value of the day is how much you have, the result is a measuring stick of your own value (and others’) based on how much you seek to have. We wear busyness as a badge of honor, exhaustion as a sign of how much we care, and running on empty as public proof of our dedication. Perhaps the question should be: dedication to what?
The cultural demand to produce more never ceases, for in our present lives even a moment of rest is often quickly filled with entertainment designed not to restore but to fill someone else’s coffer—someone who gains from our attention, subscriptions, and views. It seems that consumption is nearly inescapable, and we too are rushing across our lives… just to get to more commercials designed to tell us how to live our lives. And, just as Brueggemann rightly claims, the final results of anxiety and violence—whether personal, relational, or systemic—flourishes in a society that cannot pause long enough to see its own rushed unraveling.
What can we do? We can rest. And the kind of rest we need will only come about through great intention. We must intentionally rest.
Many of us cannot simply step away from work for long stretches of time, but we can integrate rhythms of rest into our lives. Of course, this requires great intention. It means making time for deep rest, for practices that nourish rather than numb. It means setting boundaries around our attention and availability, even when life insists we remain accessible. It means silencing the culture of constant noise and slowing down in a world obsessed with instant everything.
For those in caregiving roles—pastors, mental health providers, healthcare professionals, educators—I believe the call to intentional rest is especially crucial. Compassion fatigue, burnout, and moral injury are the natural consequences of a life lived without rhythms of restoration. We cannot pour from an empty cup. If we are to sustain lives of meaningful service, we must cultivate habits of intentional rest.
Today, I invite you to see rest as a spiritual discipline that reorients us toward trust, safety, and belonging—an awareness that our inherent worth is not tied to our work, that the world will keep turning without our constant striving, and that there is something deeper and more meaningful than the endless pursuit of more.
And now…let us put rest into our story. May you rest. And in doing so, reclaim the joy and fullness of your life.
Shane Ash 