Running and Rest Aren’t Opposites

Last year, I wrote about a generational shift in expectations related to rhythms of running and rest in the Christian life. The overachieving, never-ending ambitiousness of Gen X and older millennials has led in many cases to burnout and prompted a course correction toward more sustainable rhythms of rest, practicing Sabbath, prioritizing health and well-being, and eliminating hurry and anxiousness. But for many younger millennials and Gen Z, the course correction has become the default setting, and over time, this emphasis on self-care can devolve into inordinate self-focus and sometimes laziness.

I discussed this issue recently with a church-planting friend in Germany, Jason Lim. He offered a helpful construct centered around essential rhythms of running and rest. Without the proper focus, rest can slip into resignation, marked by apathy, laziness, personal comfort, indifference, and self-indulgence. Meanwhile, running can become another form of restlessness, marked by busyness, anxiety, worry, pride, and the never-ending hustle and bustle of spiritual activity.

Running and rest are to be kept in healthy tension, Lim says, so we’re sacrificially ambitious in our kingdom service and securely anchored in Jesus and his love for us. Right rhythms are the key to ensuring running doesn’t become just a mask for restlessness, and rest doesn’t turn into a spiritualized form of resignation.

Running and Rest Aren’t Opposites

I find a lot to commend in Lim’s construct and in his heart to ensure the next generation adopts rhythms for a healthy Christian life. Yes, we run the race to win the prize, keeping our eyes on Jesus, striving with all our might in the Spirit’s power. And yes, we rest in Jesus, seeking to abide in his love, acknowledging we’re saved by grace through faith, with our identity as God’s children secure in him.

But I’d like to build on Lim’s thinking by offering an insight that may help us work toward this healthier vision: running and rest aren’t opposites. Running and rest aren’t merely two aspects of the Christian life we must hold in tension or try to balance. Rightly understood, rest is present when we’re running, and we’re still running even when we’re resting.

Running a Marathon

Say you’ve trained to run a marathon. For this event, runners incorporate periods of walking and the occasional stop for water. So even when you plan to run a marathon, you’re factoring in slowdown periods and hydration breaks. Yet in those moments when you’ve slowed to a walk or stopped completely, you still say, “I’m running a marathon.” Why? Because rest is factored into the running.

Let’s go deeper, to the level of identity. If you’ve trained and succeeded at running marathons regularly, you can honestly say, “I run marathons,” even though nearly all runners take significant time off in the days following an event. A period of recovery isn’t only normal but necessary for the runner.

If we broaden the analogy for the Christian life, we can say we too are running a marathon. We’re in the race of faith. Even when we’ve ceased activity—even when we’re on vacation or celebrating the Sabbath—there’s a sense in which we’re still running. Our stillness is part of running the race.

The same is true when we look at it from the angle of rest. We’re saved by grace through faith, not by our works, and yet we know we’re called to work out our salvation with fear and trembling, trusting the Spirit who wills and works through us. Rest is foundational to the Christian life. Resting in Christ doesn’t only take place when we’ve ceased activity or when we’re taking a break. Even when we’re sweating and striving, running the race as best and fast as we can, there’s a sense in which we’re still resting. There should be a deep sense of security in Christ, even when we’re active.

Why does this matter? Because our running will become a mask for restlessness or our rest will become an excuse for resignation not just when our life rhythms get out of balance but when at the foundational level we don’t understand the overlapping relationship between running and rest.

Restless Running

Why does running turn into restlessness? Most often, we’re trying to prove ourselves or we’re compensating for something we feel we lack, instead of running from a place of security and restfulness in Christ, with our confidence rooted in him. We may look like we’re killing it out there on the track when instead we’re focused less on Jesus and more on standing out from other runners. We may look like we’re seeking first the kingdom when instead we’re seeking first a projection of ourselves seeking the kingdom. We’re scraping out good deeds from the void in our souls rather than overflowing in love from the fountain of God’s grace.

What’s so terrible about restless running is how easy it is to spiritualize our activity by making it seem as if our striving is the perfect picture of the Christian life. We run ourselves ragged for Jesus to prove to him and the world how devoted we are, because we’re unaware of the extent of our self-deception. We learn to equate the faithful Christian life with restlessness, grounding our value in how useful we are to the Lord rather than in the reality that he wants us and loves us.

Running Resignation

Why does rest slip into resignation? Most often, while facing periods of disappointment and disillusionment, when we wonder why we don’t see more spiritual progress, we begin to underestimate the effects of our choices. We lose sight of the good tired that comes after a season of exertion in the way of Jesus. We begin to equate resting in God with ceasing all work, as if strenuous activity or striving that creates personal discomfort is less spiritual somehow than a baptized version of apathy.

It’s easy to give laziness a spiritual justification. “I’m learning to rest in God,” we say. Or, “I’m learning to set boundaries and take care of myself first.” Or, “I’ve just got to let go and let God . . .” Once we begin to equate spiritual maturity with our lack of action, our lack of service, or our lack of care and concern for others, the spiritual race gets radically transformed. Spiritual growth becomes little more than self-care. Self-absorption becomes not only justifiable but a necessary sign of our spiritual attentiveness.

Easy Yoke and Light Burden

The only way we can avoid these pitfalls and find the best way to incorporate healthy rhythms of activity versus stillness is by realizing running and rest are always interlocking and overlapping. We’re at rest when we’re running. And we’re running when we rest.

“Come to me for rest,” Jesus says. His yoke is easy and his burden is light. Make no mistake, there’s still a yoke. The Christian life doesn’t eliminate burdens.

But the key is Jesus. We’re to abide in him. We find rest . . . in him. We run . . . in him. Because of Jesus, we can run the race even when the road is long and the journey is tough. He grants us the stamina to move forward, to continue that long obedience in the same direction. Because of Jesus, our times of stillness help us acknowledge our limitations and recharge as we prepare for more exertion. He refills our souls for what lies ahead so we can offer ourselves up to God and our neighbors.

Running and rest. Don’t see them as opposites. Put them together.

Trevin Wax is vice president of research and resource development at the North American Mission Board and a visiting professor at Cedarville University. A former missionary to Romania, Trevin is a regular columnist at The Gospel Coalition and has contributed to The Washington Post, Religion News Service, World, and Christianity Today. He has taught courses on mission and ministry at Wheaton College and has lectured on Christianity and culture at Oxford University. He is a founding editor of The Gospel Project, has served as publisher for the Christian Standard Bible, and is currently a fellow for The Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics. He is the author of multiple books, including The Thrill of Orthodoxy, The Multi-Directional Leader, Rethink Your Self, This Is Our Time, and Gospel Centered Teaching. His podcast is Reconstructing Faith. He and his wife, Corina, have three children. You can follow him on Twitter or Facebook, or receive his columns via email.