Come to Me and Rest

What I Want You to Know About Me

There is something a little unusual about a priest’s first weekend in a new parish.

Everyone is sizing each other up.

Who is this new priest? What will he be like? What matters to him?

So perhaps the simplest introduction is the best one:

I love Jesus. I love the Church. And my heart belongs to you.

Everything else flows from there.

There are plenty of other things that make up a life: family, hometown, interests, personality, friendships, experiences, and the path that eventually led to the priesthood.

But underneath all of those things is something deeper.

Years ago, as a high school student, there was an encounter with Jesus that brought a kind of peace I had never experienced before.

It was the sense:

I am where I am supposed to be.

I do not need anything else right now.

Jesus became the center.

Daily Mass followed. More time with Him in the Eucharist. Eventually came the question of priesthood and the invitation to follow.

Which makes today's Gospel especially fitting for the beginning of a new assignment.

These are words I chose years ago for my priesthood:

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”

That captures something essential about the mission of a priest:

To help draw weary people toward Jesus.

How Can Jesus Promise Rest?

Think about what Jesus is claiming.

“Come to me.”

Not merely, Listen to my advice.

Not, Try these ideas.

Come to Me, and I will give you rest.

How can one man make a promise like that to the whole world?

Jesus had an ordinary human life in many ways.

He had a mother.

He belonged to a family and a community.

He came from Nazareth.

He was part of the people of Israel.

All of those relationships truly shaped His human life.

But none of them fully explains who He is.

The deepest secret of Jesus’ heart is revealed just before His invitation to rest:

“No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son.”

Jesus lives in constant union with the Father.

He lives beneath the Father’s gaze.

He receives the Father’s love.

He trusts the Father’s care.

He knows the Father delights in Him.

And He gives Himself completely back in love.

That is the source of His peace.

The Meek King

The first reading gives us a beautiful glimpse of the same Jesus.

Zechariah tells Israel to rejoice because its King is coming:

“Meek, and riding on an ass.”

Not dominating.

Not forcing.

Not crushing those beneath Him.

Meek.

Jesus uses that same word about Himself:

“Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart.”

And Psalm 145 shows us what this King is like.

He is gracious and merciful.

He lifts up those who are falling.

He raises those who are bowed down.

No wonder Jesus can say to the burdened:

Come to Me.

This is the heart waiting for us.

The Rest Jesus Offers

Jesus does not promise a life without responsibility.

He does not say there will be no work, suffering, uncertainty, or sacrifice.

He actually offers us a yoke.

But He says:

“My yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

The difference is not that we carry nothing.

The difference is how and with whom we carry it.

Jesus does not carry His mission alone. He lives everything from His relationship with the Father.

And He invites us into that same kind of trust.

There is a very different way to live when we know:

I am seen.

I am loved.

I am provided for.

I do not have to create my own worth.

I do not have to carry everything by myself.

That is rest at a much deeper level than simply taking a break.

A Freedom Deeper Than Independence

This weekend, as our country celebrates Independence Day, we can be grateful for the good gifts we have received through our nation, including the ideals of life and liberty and the freedoms entrusted to us.

Those are real goods.

Our families, communities, country, work, and relationships all help shape who we are.

But none can become the deepest foundation of our identity.

Jesus shows us something deeper.

His ultimate security comes from belonging to the Father.

Ours must too.

The motto “In God We Trust” expresses something the Gospel asks us to live personally.

Do I actually trust Him?

Not simply as an idea.

With this burden.

With this child.

With this future.

With the thing keeping me awake.

Jesus does not merely tell us to trust.

He says:

Come to Me.

Life in the Spirit

St. Paul reminds us that this relationship with God is not something we have to manufacture for ourselves.

The Spirit of God dwells in us.

The same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead has been given to us.

God is not asking us to stand at a distance and imitate Jesus through willpower alone.

He gives us His own life.

Prayer becomes the place where we return to that truth.

Where we stop performing.

Stop controlling.

Stop trying to hold every piece together.

And stand again beneath the Father's gaze.

For Moms

Moms carry a lot of identities.

Mother.

Wife.

Daughter.

Friend.

Volunteer.

Professional.

Caretaker.

Organizer.

The person who remembers what everyone else forgot.

All of those roles can be good and important.

But none of them is the deepest truth about you.

Before you accomplish anything for your family, you are a daughter of the Father.

Before you solve today's problem, you are loved.

Before you know how everything will work out, you are held.

That can be difficult to remember when the burdens are real.

Jesus does not tell you they are imaginary.

He simply says:

Bring them to Me.

The rest He promises may not mean the calendar suddenly clears or the problem disappears.

It may mean discovering that you were never meant to carry the weight of your life apart from Him.

Family Practice

Choose one burden your family is carrying right now.

Instead of only talking about how to solve it, stop together and pray:

“Jesus, we bring this to You. Help us trust the Father’s care and carry this with You.”

Then end with a few moments of silence.

Let your children learn that prayer is not only asking God to fix things.

Sometimes it is simply resting with Him.