Alive to Rest

                A good friend of mine was getting ready to leave my house after a brief visit. It would be the last time we’d see each other for a very long time. As he began walking down the stairs of our apartment, he turned and looked at me, with a smile on his face, and said, “Well, see you in two years. But if I don’t see you again, Ryan, then I’ll see you in the kingdom.”

                At that time I was amazed to hear such words coming out of the mouth of my friend. I mean, come on: we’re both recent college grads. We’ve got “our whole lives ahead of us,” right?

                Then I began to ponder what my friend had said. The longer I thought about it, the clearer I saw: the kingdom is the future. All else between that future and this present moment is of lesser value—it is not without value, surely, for it is the agent that brings us into the future.

                I read somewhere that first century believers used to gather together at various times to lift up a specific request: maranatha. They actually met together in order to ask that the Son would return and establish his reign upon the earth. They lived as if his return was not merely definite, but imminent. We can see this over and over in the N.T.

                Do I want his kingdom to come? Do I want him to return, like he said he would? Do I want him to come back for me, and take me to where he is, that I may be with him and he with me?

                Sometimes I do. But sometimes I hope that he waits just a bit longer. I want to see and experience so many things in this life that I feel sure, for some strange reason, I will not see in the kingdom.

                The implications of this thought are startling. It means that I would rather be here in a broken world than in a perfected one. It means I would rather experience all the joys and pleasures of life through the mortal, defective lens that I am born with instead of experiencing them with the immortal, indestructible perspective of the Eternal One. It means I would rather praise him from a distance instead of face-to-face.

                And it means I consider this realm to be of greater worth and value than the realm where his glory is actual, visible, and beautiful.

                I’ve been reading lately about the “seventh day” that the Creator set aside for rest. This is what I’ve found:

                At the close of the sixth day, the Creator “finished” all his work. All that he had willed to do had been done. Nothing was altered or hindered or forgotten. All was, essentially, perfected. So then, from this viewpoint, to “finish” something, by the Creator’s standards, is to “perfect” it. And where does he go from there?

                He rests.

                This rest is not a rest from weariness or in response to weakness. This is a rest of accomplishment. Do you know what that feels like? That moment when a runner crosses the finish line, that moment when a mother’s last push brings life into being, that moment when the last nail is driven, the last drop of blood has fallen, and that last breath is given over to signify the completion of a work—that moment, that rest, is not about being tired, but about bringing something to completion, to finality, to perfection. So, when this moment is achieved, what’s next?

                Albert Barnes puts it this way: “The only good that can be bestowed on a portion of time is to dedicate it to a noble use, a special and pleasing enjoyment.” In other words, when perfection is achieved, the natural (and most virtuous) way to react to it is to set apart another moment of time—a moment of celebration.

                This should tell us something about the nature of our Maker. In the culmination of his accomplished work and subsequent rest, there is pleasure. His creating of all things, his perfecting of all things, his resting from all things, and his setting apart of all things, displays to the human mind that the final verdict and inherent purpose of our Creator in creating the universe was to display his own pleasure and joy. And know this: it is a trustworthy thing to say that he loves those things in which he takes joy, those things which he set apart, perfected, and made—those things which he spoke his light and spirit into, thus drawing them out of darkness and into his rest.

                This is his design: he creates for the purpose of his glory (Is. 43:7), he creates and always blesses his creation (Gen. 5:12, Eph. 2:10), and thus creates joy in those things he has made (Ps. 104:31). The intention of our Creator is always perfection, rest, and a setting apart of that which he has made. As parents who conceive and bear a child do so for their own joy and pleasure and glory (Ps. 127), so he creates man in his own image; as parents then set apart that child and dedicate  it to him (Ex. 13:1-2, Lk. 2:22-23), so also he sets apart his people for the kingdom of his rest.

                Ultimately, then, the creation of man is a foreshadowing of the coming of the Son; the blessing of the “seventh day” foreshadows the eternal perfection of the kingdom of our Father’s power, glory, rest, and pleasure. In other words, he made you and he made me to be witnesses of his perfection and beauty in his kingdom. He has not made us for this world.

                If, then, we are made for the kingdom, and yet remain in the earth, let us live according to the design that our Father had in mind since the very beginning, holding fast to the hope we have in he who said both, “It is finished” and “It is very good.” Him we proclaim to the world, that the world may know rest, perfection, and pleasure in the One who has made all things and who holds all things together.

Maranatha.

-Ryan