“My people hath been lost sheep: their shepherds have caused them to go astray, they have turned them away [on] the mountains: they have gone from mountain to hill, they have forgotten their restingplace.” (Jer 50:6 AV)
It’s that phrase, “they have forgotten their restingplace” that speaks extra loud this morning. Jeremiah is referring to Judah and Israel as they return to Palestine. They had suffered a number of years removed from their land. Assyria invaded Israel, or the ten northern tribes, in 723BC and carried away the vast majority back to modern-day Iran. In 586BC, 137 years later, Babylon would carry Judah and Benjamin back to modern-day Iraq. It would be 207 years of captivity for Israel and 70 years captivity for Judah and Benjamin, which they were given liberty to return to their land. By decree from Cyrus, king of the Medes and Persians that people were allowed to return to their homelands so that houses of worship might be repaired or rebuilt. Jeremiah alludes to this time. They are returning after generations of absence. Their shepherds, or their leaders, failed to prepare them for this return. They failed to keep alive the idea of their resting place. They had not only forgotten the way to their resting place, but they had forgotten the idea of their resting place. Forgetting a resting place can be caused by sin. But it can be caused by many other factors. Remembering the resting place is the point.
There are a few places that are special to us. These places often brought the deepest tranquility and the obvious presence of God that we remember them for the rest of our lives. For me, two of them were at the lakeshore of Geneva Lake and Lake Michigan. There was also my father’s pond at Fillmore, NY. Lake Remick in Phelps, NY. But there were other places as well. There were the dried marshlands of Necedah Wildlife Refuge. There was The Widewaters of the Erie Barge Canal. Several of these places involved Boy Scout camping. There was one place that I will never find again. It was on the shores of Lake Ontario. We had a weekend of camping, and it must have been in the spring or fall. I remember because it was particularly cold and gray on Friday and half a day on Saturday. I remember it because the drizzle and cold made for a quiet experience on the lake. There were few scouts who came out that weekend. The weather was not agreeable. But my dad and I went. It was alone on the shores of the lake, and other than a few seagulls, there wasn’t much else. A few rowboats scattered here and there. The water was still, but moving. The wind was a very gentle breeze. The drizzle and fog mixed. It was quiet. It was peaceful. For those few minutes I stood there, life was as complicated as the breeze in my face. Gone was the peer pressure. Gone were the anxieties that all teens face. It was a resting place. I cannot find that again. I don’t know where it might be. Life took over. I got married. Had children and grandchildren. I found my calling. The business of life is what took me away from my resting place.
It is sad that we tend to allow the things of this life, whether simple business or sin, to rob us of the memory of our resting place. There should be a place where we can spend some time with God in quiet rest. The activities of life have not yet begun, or they are done for the day should draw us to that resting place. It is so sad that, like the Israelites, the things of life have robbed us of the memory of finding our resting place. We have forgotten what it was like. It has lost its value. We don’t seek it as we once did. No problem. We can always find a new resting place. But finding that resting place is absolutely necessary, lest we forget that one exists at all.
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