Rest is Not Earned: A Theology of Self-Care

I was scrolling through social media when I came across a story about a teacher asking kids about their dream jobs. The kids shared typical answers like firefighter and NBA star. Then one child said, "I'm sorry, teacher. When I dream, I don't dream about working."

That kid might be onto something.

We're in the middle of our series called "Sacred Self-Care" during this season of Lent. We're exploring what it means to be full-bodied human beings who aren't meant to dream about work all the time, but rather to be fed, nourished, and cared for.

Genesis: Rest as Foundation, Not Reward

To talk about self-care and being human, I have to start with Genesis. In the creation story, God created humanity in God's own image, giving them charge over all living things. After six days of creation, on the seventh day, God rested.

Imagine you're those first humans. You've just been created on the sixth day. God gives you this incredible responsibility over creation. You go to bed, wake up, and ask, "Okay, God, what's next?"

And God says: "Rest."

The first full day of humanity's existence is a day of rest. This is crucial: rest is not earned; it is given as a divine gift. Rest is not the result of labor; it is God's first commandment to humans. Yes, you will rule. Yes, you will care for creation. But the first step is a day of rest.

In God's economy, we don't rest from our work. Rather, our work is the fruit of our rest. Without a foundation of care, rest, and Sabbath, our work and its fruit will end up rotten.

Amos: The Danger of Rushing Past Rest

In Amos 8, we see what happens when a society forgets the importance of rest. The prophet Amos reports the words of the Lord to those who "trample on the needy and destroy the poor of the land," saying, "When will the new moon be over so that we can sell grain? When will the Sabbath be done so that we can offer wheat for sale?"

The mindset of oppressors is: "Can we be done with Sabbath already so we can get back to business?" There's a slippery slope here, this urge to rush past rest to get back to productivity.

I know my congregation isn't intentionally oppressing the poor. And yet, we are influenced by a culture that continually says: "Stay connected all the time! Don't miss our sale! The more you spend, the more you save!"

We're in a culture with no interest in Sabbath, to the point where self-care is now a product to be sold. The very act of caring for yourself becomes just another cog in the wheels of capitalism.

I know that suggesting you set aside 24 hours where you don't produce anything but your own pleasure brings up anxiety. The work is never done—how can you put it down?

As we rush through rest to get back to "good business," we become more deceived about our own importance. Our souls get crushed. And those with crushed souls end up crushing other souls.

Mark: Even Jesus Needed Care

In Mark 1, Jesus has been preaching, healing, and casting out demons. Early one morning, he goes to a deserted place to be alone in prayer. When his disciples find him saying, "Everyone's looking for you," Jesus replies, "Let's head in the other direction."

Even Jesus needed care. You're not better than Jesus.

If anybody deserved a Messiah complex, it was the Messiah. Yet even Jesus withdrew from the demands of the crowd.

I'll admit to having a Messiah complex myself, feeling like I need to bleed myself dry for the sake of the church. To which God chuckles and says, "Are you better than me? Do you think you're that important?"

Sabbath and rest remind me that the world keeps spinning without me. God invites me into God's work, but I am not necessary to it. That's humbling in the true sense—not "I'm so humbled by this honor," but "I must become lesser so God becomes more."

Acts: Self-Care in Community

In Acts 4, we see the early church where believers "held everything in common" and "there were no needy persons among them."

I know there can be tension around self-care, particularly in a progressive activist congregation. With so many urgent crises around us, self-care can seem indulgent.

What I see in Acts is that self-care on its own, when packaged as a consumer solution, is insufficient. Self-care must have a trajectory toward both a whole individual and a whole community that has "no needy persons among them."

Self-care must be met with community care. All of us taking bubble baths and drowning ourselves there solves nothing. But those at work need to ensure they're working from a place of rest, that their fruitfulness comes from abiding with God and community. Then we can address the work ahead.

In the story of Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5, we see what happens when people withhold from the community. They drop dead—not necessarily because God killed them (the text doesn't say that), but perhaps because the very act of withholding is itself deadly.

When a community brings possessions in common, they have no needy among them. When someone withholds, it kills not just the community, but the withholders themselves.

My Own Journey with Anxiety

This past December, I had my first anxiety attack at age 37.

My life started with foster care, open heart surgery, and bouncing between homes. This traumatic background taught me to be entirely self-reliant, not needing anyone else's care.

As I've been in therapy, some of that shell has begun to crack. At a Christmas party, I experienced all the symptoms of an anxiety attack—elevated heart rate, rapid breathing, sweating, needing to escape. I found myself crying in the car, which is rare for me.

Our 2024 was challenging—a child with health issues, difficult church finances, closing our evening service, congregation members going through horrendous things. I started noticing anger and sadness emerging, and a need to hide away.

I know better. I've preached about the importance of taking medication when needed. I've said that theology claiming "God will just heal you" is trash. Yet I had an asterisk for myself: "Not me though. I'm a pastor. I've been through worse."

After two months (two months too long), I finally called my doctor. The assessments confirmed anxiety and depression. I told my therapist how this ruined my self-image as independent and resilient. I secretly believed my faith made me immune to these conditions.

My therapist said, "That's not how it works, buddy."

I got medication. It helped. We're still in the middle of this story—I'm still getting blood work and meeting with doctors.

I share this to remind us all that the lies our culture and sometimes our religion tell us—"You're alone. You must figure this out yourself. Your work is too important for rest"—are lies from the devil.

If these lies can affect your pastor, they can affect you. You deserve to be well. God is not interested in any future where you're miserable. God rejects any theology that says someone else's joy requires your suffering. God does not endorse a story where you don't deserve care.

We must create communities where we give ourselves and others permission to be cared for, because day one of humanity's existence is rest.

As one preacher friend says, not just everyone deserves soup, but everyone deserves good soup. Not just barely meeting needs, but creating abundance where grace is lavished upon us.

May we be a lavish community to ourselves and each other, because we all deserve to be well.