January 18, Morning
C. H. Spurgeon · Modern retelling
"There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God." — Hebrews 4:9 · KJV
How different the believer's state in heaven will be from what it is here! Here he is born to toil and to feel weariness, but in the land of the immortal, fatigue is never known. Longing to serve his Master, he finds his strength unequal to his zeal; his constant cry is, "Help me to serve You, O my God." If he is truly active he will have much labor — not too much for his will, but more than enough for his power — so that he cries out, "I am not weary of the labor, but I am weary in it." Ah, Christian, the hot day of weariness does not last forever; the sun is nearing the horizon, and it will rise again on a brighter day, in a land where they serve God day and night and yet rest from their labors. Here rest is only partial; there it is perfect. Here the Christian is always unsettled, feeling he has not yet arrived. There all are at rest; they have reached the summit of the mountain and ascended to the bosom of their God, and higher they cannot go. Toil-worn laborer, only think of it — you shall rest forever! Can you conceive it? It is a rest eternal, a rest that "remaineth." Here my best joys wear "mortal" on their brow: my fair flowers fade, my sweetest cups are drained to the dregs, my most pleasant days darken into night, and the flood-tides of my bliss ebb into sorrow. But there everything is immortal: the harp never rusts, the crown never withers, the eye is never dimmed, the voice never falters, the heart never wavers, and the immortal being is wholly absorbed in infinite delight. Happy day, when mortality shall be swallowed up of life, and the eternal Sabbath shall begin!