Tuesday, December 8, 2015

There Remains a Rest

I wrote this column several months ago upon our return from Ouray.  Since I've shared photos from our vacation, I share these thoughts as well.
                
Our family just returned from five days of camping in the rugged San Juan Mountains in southwestern Colorado.  If you’re looking for a vacation recommendation, here’s one: campsite #64 at Ridgway State Park.  It boasts a beautiful view and a footpath that leads to a little inlet of a turquoise mountain reservoir.  Ouray is a nestled in a valley just a short drive away.  We swam in the hot spring there, hiked the short trail to the rushing Box Canyon falls, and braved a jeep tour that took us to basins and passes so remote they’re populated only by waterfalls and wildflowers.  Like Ouray, nearby Telluride is as rich in history as the silver and gold mined there.  A continuous stream of gondolas climbs to the top of the mountains that tower above the town, offering an entertaining free ride and a breath-taking view.  Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park lies a short hour north of the campground – the canyon is so named because it’s so narrow and steep that it’s walls are usually shadowed, making them appear black.  I’d be remiss if I failed to mention the sky: we watched the Perseid meteor shower in a night sky that’s so clear and vast the misty arc of Milky Way seemed closer than the trail of smoke from our own campfire.  And all of this at the end of a 6-hour drive that crosses the Continental Divide and had me snapping my camera’s shutter the entire way. 

The week was so lovely it seemed almost magical to me, and when it came to an end, not one of us wanted to leave.  It was restful – as restful as camping can be when it involves six young children – and in a part of the country so magnificent I had never even imagined it.  The week was a gift – undeserved but lovingly bestowed by our graciously heavenly Father.  It was a week that made my heart overflow with gratitude.  It was a week that made me think about heaven, and about the rest that remains for the people of God.

It’s Sunday evening as I write this.  Sunday, the New Testament Sabbath: the day of rest.  The notion of keeping the Sabbath day holy is more and more unpopular these days, even among Christians.  Instead, Sunday is a day that most fill with their own pleasures or pursuits.  I tend to gauge my days by how much I’m able to accomplish: the more things I check off my to-do list, the better I feel about the day.  But the Sabbath day is the day on which I’m reminded that there’s no to-do list when it comes to my salvation.  None of my works can or will save me from the punishment I deserve.  But praise God, the work is as my Savior said when he hung on the cross: “Finished!”  That’s the same Savior who cries, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28).

What rest does Jesus give?  Rest for the soul.  Peace with God, no matter what storms rage about us.  Freedom from sin. 

That rest is limited.  Only “we which have believed do enter into rest” (Heb. 4:3).  It’s a rest that’s not yet complete, and it’s a rest that, though it doesn’t depend on our work, still involves spiritual labor.  I spent two days preparing food and packing for our camping trip.  Similarly, entering into the rest of heaven requires difficult spiritual labor and discipline.  We enter that rest when we engage in the hard work of Bible study, prayer, ministering to the needy, and faithfully witnessing of the gospel of our Lord Jesus.  “Let us labor therefore to enter into that rest” (Heb. 4:11).

The rest that remains for the people of God will be fully realized in heaven.  “And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, ‘Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea,’ saith the Spirit, ‘that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them’” (Rev. 14:13).  That rest will be in a place more beautiful than any here on earth, a place you and I can’t even begin to imagine.

And it’s a rest we will never have to leave. 

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