Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Mark 6:30–34
It’s summer! And so we must be sipping iced tea, having manicured nails in lovely shades of pink, achieving a perfect golden bronze tan. We must also be watching sunsets, anticipating our family vacation to the Cape, eating ice cream while maintaining the ideal figure, watching fireworks, and, above all, resting. We must be relaxing, having fun, and delighting in everything this glorious season promises.
Right?
Don’t mistake my sarcasm. I love summer, I adore the Cape, and I would love nothing more than to blink myself into that scene I’ve painted for you.
But as I pay attention to my own life and listen to the hearts of my sisters, I can’t help but notice the quiet admission (often tinged with a hint of guilt) that summer often brings more busyness than rest, more chaos than harmony; that it is, dare I say, even a tiny bit stressful.
This made me curious. Where did this idea of summer being synonymous with vacation and rest originate? Surely, that couldn’t have always been the narrative.
Without going into all the details, the historical context of the American summer is fascinating and challenges the notion that summer is inherently relaxing. It suggests that the idyllic summer experience is a constructed ideal rather than a natural cadence. In many ways, summer has been commercialized, romanticized, and shaped to fit our hedonistic lifestyle.
In pursuit of the perfect summer, we chase after rest, reach for things that promise leisure and respite, and grasp for picture-worthy moments of peace and tranquility. Occasionally, we glance at our neighbors or scroll through Instagram and get the impression that any feeling of stress, fatigue, or busyness is indicative of a failure to rest.
Next summer, we promise ourselves, we’ll do better.
But rest isn’t the enemy here.
No, rest is anything but the enemy. From the beginning of creation, rest has been part of God’s plan: “God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all his work which he had done in creation” (Genesis 2:3). But rest as God proposes and rest as the world curates are two entirely different things.
The real enemy is the lie that says rest must look like something out of a Coastal Living magazine; the lie that says any interruption forfeits rest.
In Sunday’s gospel, the disciples gather with Jesus and tell Him about everything they have done and taught. Jesus' response to all of their stories, to all of their works is to offer them rest: “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while” (Mark 6:31).
To be honest, as an introvert and a mother of young children, nothing sounds lovelier right now than going to a deserted place by myself. And I have to imagine some of the disciples must have been introverted and craved solitude.
So away the disciples sailed to break away from the pace they’d been maintaining, to go get rest. But things take an unexpected turn. Unbeknownst to them, the crowd follows them, hastening to beat the disciples to their arrival. Why? Because they are desperate and hurting, lonely and hungry and lost, looking for rest, miracles, and life-giving food and drink, because they are sheep without their shepherd.
Jesus gets off the boat and sees them. Probably hundreds of them.
I have to imagine for a second that Jesus took a deep breath. I’m sure it would have been tempting to brush the crowd aside, get frustrated, and stick with His plan.
But that is not what Jesus does, is it?
No, He sees them, truly sees them, allows His heart to be moved, and responds with compassion.
And isn’t that what love requires? A willingness to set aside our own plans and be present to the individuals in front of us?
I can’t help but wonder if, at this moment, Jesus was teaching His disciples another type of rest—a soul-level rest that comes from listening to God’s will, surrendering our plans, welcoming interruptions, and being fully present to the circumstances and people God places before us.
This doesn’t mean that solitary rest will never come or that it isn’t important. But it does mean that solitary rest isn’t sustainable in day-to-day life. We can’t spend our days living for summer and the promise of relaxation. But we can ask God to give us the grace to rest in Him, to rest in the present moment, to redefine our understanding of rest as a state of abiding rather than escaping our responsibilities.
The next time you’re feeling overwhelmed by summer expectations, look at the beautiful chaos around you and choose to engage with love: shepherd your flock, let plans and dreams be deferred, and find rest in the presence of your Creator, who has perfectly placed you in this particular moment of His story for a reason. By doing so, we might find the most restful summer of all, the one where we learn to embrace the glory of the ordinary and love as Jesus does—interruptions and all.
Food for thought or journaling...
What would it look like for me to embrace the interruptions rather than resenting them? How might I find rest and connection with God by doing this?
Jesus, help me to find true rest in You, not fleeting moments of escape, so that I may serve the people in my life with joy and peace. Free me from perceiving interruptions as burdens. Please use those very moments to teach me to love as You love. Thank You for being present in every ordinary, beautiful, messy moment of my day. Amen.
