Rest Before Revival
There’s a curious line at the end of Luke 23. Jesus has just died. His body has been laid in a borrowed tomb. The women who followed him, heartbroken and weary, prepare spices to anoint his body—and then Scripture says:
“But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.” (Luke 23:56b)
They rested.
It’s easy to skip over that line, to jump ahead to Sunday’s light. But that Sabbath rest is doing something theologically profound. It echoes the rhythm of the entire biblical narrative.
In Genesis, God creates the world and then rests—not because He’s tired, but because His work is complete.
In Luke, Jesus cries out, “It is finished,” and then enters the rest of death.
And in Acts, the disciples are told to wait in Jerusalem. They rest and pray. Then, at Pentecost, power comes.
Rest always comes before resurrection.
The Sabbath isn't just a day off. It is a signpost. A reminder that the work is done. That God is complete. That grace is not a reward for effort, but a gift that flows from stillness.
Jack de Jong calls the Sabbath following the crucifixion “the final Sabbath of the Old Testament.” He writes:
“With the coming of this Sabbath, the law is fulfilled, the old is passing, and the new has come.”
The curtain has torn. The tomb has closed. And the world holds its breath.
This rhythm—rest before revival—reminds us that we don't strive to resurrect ourselves. We don't manufacture revival.
We receive it. We wait for it. We are raised into it.
In our lives and ministries, we often rush ahead. We long for the resurrection, but we avoid the tomb. We want Pentecost without the upper room. We want Holy Spirit power without pause.
But Dallas Willard said:
“Hurry is the great enemy of spiritual life in our day. You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.”
And Henri Nouwen reminded us:
“Hope frees us from the need to predict the future and allows us to live in the present, with the deep trust that God will never leave us alone but will fulfill the deepest desires of our heart.”
I wonder:
Are we making space for the completeness of God?
Are we willing to trust that the work really is finished, even when nothing looks complete?
What if waiting in prayerful stillness isn’t inactivity—but alignment?
Maybe we don’t need more striving.
Maybe we just need more Sabbath.
Yesterday at our Easter service I found myself thinking about the statue at the front of our church. It’s not Peter or Paul, not Moses or Mary. It’s a strong woman—unnamed—carrying a load of spices. She rested on the Sabbath. She rose early while it was still dark. She came to the tomb, expecting to tend to death.
And instead—she was the first to witness resurrection.
Of all the people to be immortalized in stone, our church chose her. A woman whose story was small, whose name was forgotten—but whose faith showed up in silence and obedience.
She wasn’t striving for a result. She was simply faithful.
And in response, God entrusted her with the greatest truth ever told.
She became the first evangelist.
She ran to tell the disciples—not because she had a vision for a movement of revival, but because she had good news.
We do not strive for resurrection. We wait for it. We make space. And then—like her—we are surprised by joy.
