Rebellion Against This Mad Rush

Sometimes in the confusion with which we live, we find ourselves longing for quiet places. The intensity of everything we do leaves us breathless from day to day, and before we have emerged from one whirlwind, we find ourselves in the midst of another. The acceleration of all things leaves us little time to pause, to linger, to think. For some these things are because they would have them so. There are those who are reluctant to slow down the pace of their lives, because to pause would mean to think, to think would mean to face reality, and reality might not be so pleasant as the unreality of a constant whirl. There are others who rebel against the madness of this rush—a rush that is often quite apart from arriving at any particular place. And in rebelling against it we sometimes go to the extreme of thinking we would like everlasting repose. But that, fortunately, is not the heaven we shall inherit, nor should we want it if we did. Somewhere between these two extremes is to be found that which we have reason to hope for—a life that provides for refreshment of mind, for refreshment of spirit, for enjoyment of family and friends, for time to think, for time to work—and then time to pause, not too long, but somewhat free from the always breathless hast, somewhat free from the ever-present pressure. No, we do not look for a heaven of unbroken rest, not useless, indolent rest, but only a little pause, that we may think clearly, that we may be at peace, that we may rest briefly, and then have greater zest for work yet to be done, which there will always be, worlds without end. Said the Savior of men to those who were with Him: “Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while.”¹ We feel sometimes that we should like to respond to that invitation—to get out of the rushing stream just long enough to catch our breath, and then, gladly we set to, and work again so long as life shall last here, and in that place to which we shall be called home, hereafter.