Come Away with Me
When Jesus calls, “Come away with me to a quiet place,” the invitation is not about a place or a program, but finding rest in his presence.
Several weeks ago, I took a mission trip to Southeast Asia. In the weeks leading up to the trip, I said repeatedly (to anyone who would listen, really) that the trip was coming at the worst possible time. My schedule was chaotic, demands on my time were high, and I was convinced my work wouldn’t wait for ten days.
Yet, I boarded a plane and flew halfway around the world. In the process, I learned a lesson you’d think I’d have mastered by now: my definition of perfect timing is rarely the same as that of my loving Father.
Disconnected from my everyday life and all its noisy distractions, I heard the voice of the Savior whispering, “Come away with me to a quiet place and rest.” Those ten days in Southeast Asia became a quiet place to rest and be refreshed. My roommate snapped a picture of me on one of the early mornings, which will linger in my memory as a reminder of the nearness of God’s presence, there in that quiet place.
The Invitation
The whisper I heard during that time away is an invitation Jesus offered to the twelve disciples. In Mark 6, Jesus sent the twelve out to minister in his name, and Mark records their return:
“The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, ‘Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.’” (Mark 6:30-31, NIV)
Jesus invites his disciples, still walking on air after the triumph of ministry in his name, to come away to a quiet place (literally a desolate or remote place). His invitation is about more than a destination or a retreat. It’s an invitation to find rest with Him. It’s reminiscent of the call in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
When Jesus calls, “Come away with me to a quiet place,” the invitation is not about a place or a program, but finding rest in his presence.
It’s not about a place
We’re so prone to making rest about finding a quiet place. I mean “place” broadly — a location in space or a moment in time. We picture escapes or getaways, and they don’t even have to be beach vacations. A mom who hides in her closet from the unending cry of “Mommy!” seeks a quiet place, and so does the executive assistant who leaves her phone on the desk to escape the ping of notifications (not autobiographical, at all!)
We also idealize places in time, carefully crafting an environment that’s perfectly suited for rest. We go analog, ditching the Apple Watch, social media, and notifications. We clear our calendars, saying “no” to all the excess. We plan time off, mark it on our calendars, and look forward with anticipation — “Then I’ll rest.”
If rest is dependent on place, though — if it’s all about the ideal environment — it’s inevitably fragile. I was reminded of that this week when I sat down in the rocking chair on my patio (one of my personal quiet places) for five minutes of quiet, only to have music begin blasting from the nearby pool seconds later.
The rest Jesus offers isn’t fragile because it’s not about a place. It isn’t dependent on circumstances or limited to a season. It is a rest that remains — an eternal rest (Hebrews 4). It is the rest that we will enjoy for all eternity, when God himself dwells with his people. And a foretaste of that rest is available now, as Jesus invites us, “Come away with me.”
It’s not about a program
If rest isn’t about a place, neither is it about a program — at least not my program.
Upon returning from Southeast Asia, I sat down with a trusted friend and mentor, sharing with her the invitation that lingered in my mind. “I fear the quiet place,” I told her; “I fear what the Lord might show me there, or what he might ask of me. But what if that’s the point? What if this is all about me surrendering?”
I expected my friend to help me dig beneath the surface of my fears with heart-revealing questions. But instead, she surprised me by leaning back in her chair instead of leaning in. She smiled and said, “Isn’t it funny how often we bring our agendas, even when the Lord invites us to rest?”
I find myself doing the same thing when reading Mark 6. Why does Jesus call his disciples away to a quiet place? What does he have to teach them? What lessons or revelations awaited them in that quiet place? But Mark doesn’t record the program for the disciples’ retreat with Jesus, much to my dismay.
Another friend summed it up well: even in our rest, we have to be productive.
But when I create a program for my retreat to the quiet place, bringing an agenda and a three-step process for learning the lessons involved, it becomes all about me. I’ve forgotten the Person giving the invitation: “Come away with me.”
Are there lessons to be learned in the quiet place? Will my Savior reveal depths of his character and call me to respond? Most definitely. After all, nothing is wasted or purposeless with him. But his thoughts are not my thoughts, neither are his ways my ways (Isaiah 55:8). His program is infinitely better than mine.
It’s about the presence of the Good Shepherd
The invitation, “Come away with me to a quiet place,” is not about a place or a program, but finding rest in the presence of Jesus. This is an invitation to delight in his nearness. It’s an invitation to experience the fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11) that is found in him and him alone.
It’s an invitation to delight in the presence of the Good Shepherd, as he makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters (Psalm 23:2). That sounds like an idyllic quiet place but the presence of the Good Shepherd is no less real if I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23:4). The rest that is found in the presence of Jesus, our Good Shepherd, isn’t limited to green pastures.
As we come away with him, he shows us where true rest is found. He reveals the lesser things to which we turn for rest. Our idealized pictures of quiet places show their cracks, and our programs pale in comparison to this one aim:
One thing have I asked of the LORD,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD
and to inquire in his temple. (Psalm 27:4)
I don’t have a neat bow to tie on this reflection, because I’m writing in real time. These are not the words of one who has returned from the quiet place, transformed. No, I’m a traveler on the journey along with you — a journey toward our eternal rest, enjoying the presence of our Good Shepherd along the way. This new space on Substack is dedicated to cultivating a quiet life to the glory of God, and that begins with simply enjoying his presence!
Simple Pleasures
Simple pleasures, enjoyed in the quiet place.
Enjoying: Long walks, followed by a few minutes of cool-down in the rocking chair on my porch
Listening: “Be Still, My Soul” by Paul Zach, Jessica Fox, and iAmSon
Reading: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
Watching: “The Year the Earth Changed” on Apple TV