Trying to Rest Like God: Easier Said Than Done

Today’s reading, Hebrews 1–6, introduces the idea of God’s “rest.” The author connects it first to the Israelites’ journey in the wilderness, then extends it as something still available to later generations. It’s described as a kind of rest that even the most devout or disciplined can miss. That caught my attention—what kind of rest is this, and why is it so elusive?

The Rest That Comes from Completion

In Hebrews 4:1 (NLT), the author writes, “God’s promise of entering his rest still stands, so we ought to tremble with fear that some of you might fail to experience it.” It’s not about sleep or a vacation, and it’s not even clearly about heaven. The text makes a distinction between the Israelites entering the land of Canaan and this deeper rest. Hebrews 4:9–10 adds, “So there is a special rest still waiting for the people of God. For all who have entered into God’s rest have rested from their labors, just as God did after creating the world.” The image draws on the seventh day of creation, when God “rested from all his work.”

The comparison between divine rest and human rest feels deliberate. In Genesis, God’s rest doesn’t come from exhaustion but from completion. It suggests satisfaction—the sense that something is finished and no more striving is needed. The writer of Hebrews seems to be suggesting a similar kind of rest for people: a state where one’s work is complete, where striving gives way to peace. Yet, this rest is something people risk missing by their own disobedience or unbelief.

The Problem with Striving (and Why It’s So Hard to Stop)

That word—striving—feels important here. Much of life today revolves around constant striving: for success, for recognition, for security. The idea that rest could be something more profound than physical recovery, that it could be tied to contentment or fulfillment, is compelling. Perhaps the “rest” described in Hebrews isn’t about stopping activity but reaching a point where effort no longer feels necessary for one’s sense of worth.

The Irony of Working to Rest

There’s also tension in how the text frames this rest as both available and conditional. The Israelites’ failure to enter the Promised Land is used as a warning. It’s not that the promise disappeared—it’s that they didn’t believe enough to enter. From a historical or literary perspective, that warning fits the pattern of Hebrew scripture: divine promises paired with human reluctance. On a human level, it reads as a reminder of how often people resist peace even when it’s offered.

Hebrews 4:11 concludes, “So let us do our best to enter that rest. But if we disobey God, as the people of Israel did, we will fall.” It’s an interesting paradox—to “do our best” to rest. It implies that rest isn’t passive but intentional. Perhaps the modern parallel would be how difficult it can be to truly disconnect, to stop working, or to feel that something is enough. The message here isn’t just religious—it’s also deeply human: that rest, in the fullest sense, may require both trust and the courage to stop striving.