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"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30)

"I'm just tired of it."

That's probably the most consistent comment I've heard these past few weeks. "I'm just tired of this whole COVID thing."

Now for the most part, we've "survived" so far. We've figured out new ways of doing work, of doing school (thanks be to God that it's over though!), of doing church, of doing shopping, even new ways of cutting our hair. Some of those things we've gotten used to now and they're going fine. Some things we may have surprisingly found to be better (no commute!). Some still leave much to be desired (e.g. the haircuts).

But here's the thing: it has all come at a cost.

Some of us have really absorbed the fear of this virus instilled in us from the health authorities from the onset. And, the churning anxieties that result have wounded and crippled us, leaving us clouded by worry and fearful to step out our door. It's no wonder mental health incidence rates have increased.

Of course, processing and settling into changes on this scale takes a lot of energy and mental capacity all on its own. And the changes just keep coming, as do upheavals in society along fault lines of systemic injustice that ask even more from our already scattered and taxed brains.

And, all change involves a loss of some sort. A loss of something good, or at least of something familiar. And every loss needs to be grieved. Which means processing our way through change, also means that our hearts are processing through the grief of loss. Constantly. And that too, takes its toll.

And then there's the loneliness to compound it all: no visits or interactions with people for long stretches; no hugs; social distancing protocols that make us avoid and perhaps even become suspicious of one another; no family get togethers or celebrations; no hang outs with friends; no gathering in prayer and song to accompany our saints who have died in Christ to their earthly resting place. We do get to see faces in boxes on screens, but only a narrow slice of our humanity is communicated through such means. It's disembodied (literally--we don't see people's bodies on Zoom, just their heads), and so it's just not the same.

And we are tired of it. Three months now. And despite easing restrictions, who knows how much longer this journey will last.

But then Jesus says: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ...rest for your souls."

That sounds like the kind of deep rest my bones and heart and mind are longing for right now. A rest that gives peace through whatever troubles we've faced or have yet to face. It's a rest we long for and that only Jesus can give. "Come to me," He says, "and you will find rest for your souls."

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