9th Sunday after Trinity
READING:
Matthew 15: 23-21
Rest and refreshment
There has been one question on many people’s lips over the last couple of weeks: How do we keep cool?
As the heatwave has settled over much of the UK, many of us have found ourselves slowing down whether we intended to or not. Gardens have become places to linger in the evening, fans have worked overtime, and anything that required too much effort has often been postponed until tomorrow.
And now the school holidays have begun. For many families, routines are changing. Some people are heading off on holiday, others are staying at home, and for others there will be no holiday at all—just a different rhythm to the weeks ahead.
It is perhaps no coincidence that our English word holiday comes from holy day. Before holidays became associated with airports, beaches and travel brochures, they were days set apart. Time to stop. Time to worship. Time to remember that life is about more than work, productivity and keeping busy.
Our Gospel reading begins with someone who understands that need.
Matthew tells us that, when Jesus heard the news of John the Baptist’s death, “he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”
It is such a simple sentence that we can easily pass over it. But it reveals something profoundly important.
Jesus needed time away.
Perhaps he needed space to grieve the death of his cousin John the Baptist. . Space to think. Space to pray. Space simply to be. A very human reaction and need.
Sometimes we imagine that being faithful to God’s calling means always being available, always saying yes, always putting everyone else’s needs before our own. Yet Jesus himself seems to know that this is not how healthy, holy living works.
So the Bible reading today reminds us that before Jesus feeds the crowd, before he teaches, before he heals, he withdraws.
Rest is not a reward for finishing the work. Rest is part of the work of being human.
The writer and activist Tricia Hersey, in her book Rest Is Resistance, argues that our culture has almost forgotten how to rest. We measure ourselves by what we produce, how busy we are, how full our diaries become. Rest can even make us feel guilty.
The Bible offers a different vision.
Sabbath is not simply about having a day off. It is God’s gift that reminds us we are loved before we achieve anything. Our value does not come from what we accomplish, but from who we are as God’s beloved children.
Of course, Jesus’ plans do not quite work out.
The crowds discover where he has gone. They follow him. His quiet retreat disappears before it has really begun.
And yet Matthew says something beautiful:
“He had compassion for them.”
Notice what Matthew does not say. Jesus does not sigh with irritation. He does not complain that people are interrupting his day off. His compassion grows from who he is.
But that compassion does not mean Jesus carries everything alone.
When the disciples point out that there is not enough food, Jesus replies, “You give them something to eat.”
He draws others into the work. Ministry is shared. Responsibility is shared. Compassion becomes something that belongs to the whole community.
Perhaps churches need to hear that as much as anyone. Sometimes we quietly assume that one person will always keep everything going. But Jesus seems to have a different model. We all have something to offer, even if it feels as small as five loaves and two fish.
There is another lovely detail in this story.
Jesus tells the people to sit down on the grass.
Before anyone eats, they rest.
There is no frantic queueing, no panic, no scramble to get enough before it runs out. They sit. They receive. Only then are they fed.
That feels like a picture of God’s kingdom.
A place where people are invited first to stop striving.
Perhaps that is what Sabbath has always been about.
Not simply stopping work, but remembering that we are not machines.
Not everything depends on us.
God is still God while we rest.
As summer unfolds, perhaps this Gospel gives us permission to receive the gift of holy time.
Whether we are travelling abroad, spending time with grandchildren, tending the garden, sitting with a book, walking the dog, or simply enjoying a quieter cup of tea, these moments are not wasted time.
They may even be sacred time.
Because Jesus himself sought quiet places.
He knew the value of stepping away.
He knew that grief needed space.
He knew that prayer needed silence.
And from that place of stillness came compassion.
Perhaps that is the invitation for us this summer.
Not to fill every moment, but to trust that God can meet us in the slower pace.
To discover again that a holiday can truly become a holy day.
And when the time comes to return to the ordinary routines of life, may we do so as Jesus did—not exhausted by endless striving, but renewed by God’s presence, ready to notice those around us with compassion, and ready to discover that, in God’s hands, even what seems too little can become enough.
Image: Paulina Herpel, Unsplash.com
