We are all busy and stressed, overworked and exhausted—evidenced by the fact that, compared to many of our peers, U.S. Americans work some of the longest hours in the world. In the U.S., adults who work full-time average 47 hours a week, with 4 in 10 Americans averaging more than 50 hours per week. Along with these long hours, Americans also receive fewer vacation days (an average of 15) than our peers (Europe receives 28; Asia-Pacific receives 19), and many Americans don’t even use the vacation we’re offered (source).

We are overworked, and we are seeing the effects of these long hours. In a recent study by the American Institute of Stress, we learn that 44 percent of Americans are more stressed today than compared to five years ago, and 20 percent experience “extreme” stress. This stress impacts our health too. Stress causes heart attacks, strokes, and sleep loss and costs an estimated $300 billion in medical costs each year (source).

Our lives are unceasingly on the go. We work long hours. We take care of children. We take care of elderly parents. We run kids to soccer practice, band trips, or sleepovers with friends. We stress about money. We feel overwhelmed with politics, and we find ourselves making the same promise each new month: “Next month, I’m going to get my schedule under control.”

But that never quite happens, does it? Instead, we push onward into the endlessly busy future, feeling like, even in the midst of a life packed with good things—money, success, friends, hobbies, clubs, parties—the grind is wearing us down. Then, when our heads hit our pillows at night, we wonder, When will we find what we’re looking for?

There’s work to be done—but first, rest. You are not immortal. You are not gods. Your value is not derived from the amount of work you do. Your worth is not tied to your bottom line. Your preciousness not found in your talent or skill. Your value and worth are tied to me—-and me alone.

 Genesis 1, with its sweeping cosmic narrative, is a moving account of a Creator putting form to what has never been, establishing the dignity of creation and placing the image of God within humanity. And then God rests.

Over the years, as I’ve read the creation account and studied what it means to rest, I have often found myself believing that work was best done first, and then I rest from that work. This is, after all, the rhythm and pattern of God the Creator.

However, if you look at how things progress in the creation narrative, you’ll find something interesting.

Day 1: Light is separated from darkness.
Day 2: Sky is separated from land, and land is separated from sea.
Day 3: Land produces vegetation.
Day 4: Sun, moon, and stars are created.
Day 5: Creatures fill the sky and sea.
Day 6: Creatures fill the land—and then, as the pinnacle of God’s creative work, man is created.
Day 7: God rests.

As we look at the order of things, we see that, though God rested on Day 7, that was not the case for humanity. We rested on Day One. It’s as though God is telling humanity, There’s work to be done—but first, rest. You are not immortal. You are not gods. Your value is not derived from the amount of work you do. Your worth is not tied to your bottom line. Your preciousness not found in your talent or skill. Your value and worth are tied to me—and me alone.

Jesus echoes this same concept in John 15 when he says: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. . . . Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me” (vv 1–2, 4).

“Remain in me,” Jesus says. Want to be successful? Surrender. Want more? Allow yourself to be pruned.

I pastor a church in Napa, California, which means I’m surrounded by almost four hundred vineyards. From my house, a person can drive five minutes and encounter mile after mile of vineyard. The entire Napa Valley economy is driven by the production and exportation of grapes and wine. Our vast tourism is tied to grapes and wine. Go to a majority of restaurants anywhere in the world, and chances are they’ll have a wine on the menu that originates within thirty minutes from me.

Patience, not effort.
Time, not expedience.
Rest, not ambition.

One of the most fascinating things I have learned in my time in the Napa Valley is that grapevines must spend three years growing before they’re allowed to produce fruit. Under the watchful eyes of the vineyard workers, the vines are pruned back over and over because their vines are not strong enough to withstand the weight of the fruit. Patience, not effort. Time, not expedience. Rest, not ambition. These are the keys to unlocking the fullest potential of the vine. The eventual success of the wine is completely dependent on the continued and intentional care of the vine. It’s as though the recipe reads: “Rest first. Wine second.”

In this image of the vine and branches, Jesus is telling us we’re completely tied to the one who makes us. We’re completely dependent on the vine. No amount of effort, no amount of willpower, no amount of bootstrap-picking-up will bring us the results we so desperately want. Rest—not work—is the source of life. Life comes from the vine, not from the fruit.

We now find ourselves in January, the first month of a new year, which means that as we scroll through our social media feeds, we will probably see numerous articles telling us how to better ourselves. There will be voices shaming us for what we’re not doing, voices telling us how to do X more effectively. Word after word, crafted by experts, will communicate to us that happiness is just a gym membership away.

“Take on more!” these voices shout. “If you don’t, you’ll never be enough!”

However, as we begin this new year, I issue a challenge to us all. In the face of endless expectation and the temptation to create dozens of New Year’s resolutions, in the midst of an onslaught of need-to’s and shoulds, may we, instead, resolve to rest. Let us rest in the love and approval of our Father. For our life comes not from what we produce but from the Vine to which we’re connected.