Running on Empty

Read

Exodus 20:8–10 "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God."

Think

There’s a strange kind of pride that comes with being busy. We flash our calendars like badges of honor, joke about being “buried,” and carry our exhaustion like proof that we matter. We sleep less, say “yes” more, and treat rest like a luxury for the weak—or at least for people with fewer responsibilities. But at some point, that pace starts to bleed. We snap at people we love. We forget why we started what we’re doing. And even when we finally sit down, we can’t silence the inner noise telling us to get back up.

If you’ve ever found yourself there—wired and tired, busy but empty—you’re not alone. In fact, that restlessness has ancient roots. When God gave his people the Ten Commandments, he included something radical in the list: a command to stop. Not to worship harder, work more, or give everything away. Just… stop. Honor the Sabbath. Build space to rest. Remember who you are and who you’re not.

Sabbath wasn’t meant to be another rule to perform—it was meant to remind people of their dependence. It was God’s way of saying you’re not a machine. You’re not a slave. You belong to him.

But we still live like slaves to our schedules, afraid that if we slow down, we’ll fall behind or be forgotten. We equate stillness with laziness, and margin with weakness. But Jesus reframes everything. When the Pharisees challenged him for healing on the Sabbath, he reminded them of its true purpose. “The Sabbath was made for man,” he said—not to trap us, but to free us. To remind us we’re human. Limited. Dependent. And deeply loved even when we’re not producing anything.

One of the most dangerous lies in Christian leadership and modern life is that rest is earned. But in the kingdom of God, rest is received. You don’t collapse into Sabbath because you’ve finished everything—you enter it to remember that you’re not the one holding the world together.

Jesus modeled this. He frequently pulled away from the crowds. Not because he didn’t care—but because he knew his power came from communion, not constant output. His rhythm wasn’t just about balance—it was about obedience. And if the Son of God needed space to breathe, pray, and be still, why would we think we can function without it?

The reality is your soul has limits. And ignoring them doesn’t make you holy—it just makes you tired. At some point, burnout stops being a scheduling issue and starts being a spiritual one. When we refuse to rest, we’re often saying with our lives what we’d never admit with our lips, “I don’t trust God to handle this if I stop.”

But Sabbath is how we say, “I trust you.” It’s a weekly reminder that we’re not what we do—we’re who he’s called.

Apply

Block off at least one intentional hour this week—no screens, no emails, no tasks—and do something that recharges your soul. Take a walk without your phone. Sit quietly with God. Have a slow meal with someone you love. Choose something that isn’t productive but is deeply human. Let it be a small Sabbath, a holy defiance against the chaos that tells you you’re only as valuable as your output.

Pray

God, I’ve been running at a pace you never asked of me. I’ve treated rest like a reward instead of a rhythm. Forgive me for trying to prove my worth through what I do. Teach me to rest like someone who trusts you to run the world. Show me how to build rhythms of renewal, not just recovery. I want to live in step with your grace, not the grind. In Jesus’ name. Amen.