Leaning on the Everlasting Arms

I don’t mind telling you, I’m exhausted. But it’s not like a physical exhaustion. Though… I have my moments of that, too. I’m exhausted because it feels like my spirit was not created for the kind of existence that I currently have.

This world is fast and loud and brightly colored, and I’m just none of those things. Everywhere I go, I feel like I’m being told that only the loudest gets heard, only the fastest gets ahead, and only the shiniest has any business glimmering in the first place.

But I’ve always preferred to keep my opinion to myself rather than shout. I don’t run the race to win, and as far as being shiny is concerned, I’m pretty content out of the spotlight.

I worry about how we’re raising our kids on a steady diet of ephemera and superficiality. The economy of attention feeds my children videos of shouting dude-bros throwing frisbees or whatever, laughing hysterically as though they’ve tapped into some kind of fermented elation that’s only available to people with GoPros.

It all just feels so vapid. But, I suppose I understand the appeal. Real joy takes time. Real joy takes work. Developing a root system is hard.

I imagine that’s why work in the church appeals to me so much. It’s the one place I feel like I get to plug into something deeper than myself. Broader than my experiences.

When I enter our sanctuary, I palpably feel relief as I set aside the superficial for the capital-T truth. I leave behind the ephemeral for the eternal. I come into worship bringing my exhaustion, and even though I’m working, I find rest.

I hope you’ll consider joining us this Sunday. Especially if your spirit is tired, too.

What a fellowship, what a joy divine,

leaning on the everlasting arms;

what a blessedness, what a peace is mine,

leaning on the everlasting arms.