June 11th, 2025
by Matt Townsend
by Matt Townsend
Most of you didn’t know me as church-planter Matt Townsend. You’ve only known me as Pastor Matt—or just Matt. But there was a version of me, years ago, who carried a very prideful and distorted view of rest.
When Miranda and I moved out here from the Midwest to Greater Philadelphia, I had big dreams. Some were good, God-centered dreams: I wanted to see lives changed, disciples made, churches planted. But others were laced with ego: I wanted to be a well-known pastor, sought-after speaker, podcast guest, regional leader. I craved impact—and if I’m honest—recognition.
By God’s grace, He has been sanctifying that out of me. Through wise mentors, painful suffering, and the ordinary trials of life, He has slowly gospel-ed the self-centeredness out of my ministry dreams. And He’s still doing it.
One of the most humbling ways He’s reshaped me is in this area of rest.
Though I knew better theologically, I lived as if the success of God’s kingdom in Philly rested squarely on my back. I sacrificed sleep, ignored limits, and ran at a pace that I now realize was unsustainable and unhealthy. After we planted the church and started having kids, I wore my 60–80 hour work weeks like a badge of honor. Other church planters and I would almost brag about our exhaustion. If I wasn’t grinding nonstop, I felt like I was failing.
But beneath all that hustle was something far more dangerous than fatigue: it was unbelief.
I never said it out loud, but my life was functionally praying: “God, I’ve got this. I’ll call you if I need backup.” The anxiety, fear, and restlessness that dominated my inner world didn’t come from faith—it came from pride. I wanted to serve God—but in my own strength.
After about seven years of leading, hiring staff, planting an international church, and checking off boxes on my dream list, I hit a wall. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually spent. And I realized: I can’t keep this up without destroying myself or my family.
So I sought biblical counseling. Garret Higby, a biblical counselor, met with me for three months. He listened, let me weep, and helped me see what I couldn’t see on my own: my refusal to rest revealed a deeper refusal to trust.
Rest requires trust. Trust that God will provide when you stop producing. Trust that He’ll carry the mission forward when you cease striving. Trust that He is God and you are not.
That’s what God was teaching Israel when He commanded Sabbath rest:
“Six days you shall labor, but on the seventh day you shall rest; even during the plowing season and harvest you must rest.” – Exodus 34:21
Even in their busiest seasons—when the crops needed harvesting—God said, Rest. Trust Me.
Every seven years, they were commanded to let the land rest—a full year without sowing or harvesting:
“But in the seventh year the land is to have a year of sabbath rest, a sabbath to the Lord. Do not sow your fields or prune your vineyards.” – Leviticus 25:4
Can you imagine the trust required for an agrarian people to let their source of food and income sit untouched for a whole year? That’s not laziness. That’s faith.
And that’s what God is calling us to today. Not to rigid legalism, but to the restful rhythm of grace. Jesus is our true Sabbath:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” – Matthew 11:28
Weekly Sabbath is not a requirement for salvation, but it is a wisdom gift for our formation. To cease, to be still, to acknowledge we are not what holds everything together—that is deeply Christian.
To rest is to say: “God, You are enough. I trust You.”
And for someone like me, whose identity was once tied to performance, recognition, and results, rest became an act of repentance—and an act of worship.
Let me leave you with this:
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength.” – Isaiah 30:15
Brothers and sisters, rest is not weakness. It’s strength. It's trust. It’s the way of Jesus.
So let me ask: What is your refusal to rest saying about your view of God?
And maybe more importantly: What might happen in your soul and in your family if you truly believed that God could run the world without you for a day?
—--
Two books worth checking out on the idea of trust and rest:
When Miranda and I moved out here from the Midwest to Greater Philadelphia, I had big dreams. Some were good, God-centered dreams: I wanted to see lives changed, disciples made, churches planted. But others were laced with ego: I wanted to be a well-known pastor, sought-after speaker, podcast guest, regional leader. I craved impact—and if I’m honest—recognition.
By God’s grace, He has been sanctifying that out of me. Through wise mentors, painful suffering, and the ordinary trials of life, He has slowly gospel-ed the self-centeredness out of my ministry dreams. And He’s still doing it.
One of the most humbling ways He’s reshaped me is in this area of rest.
Though I knew better theologically, I lived as if the success of God’s kingdom in Philly rested squarely on my back. I sacrificed sleep, ignored limits, and ran at a pace that I now realize was unsustainable and unhealthy. After we planted the church and started having kids, I wore my 60–80 hour work weeks like a badge of honor. Other church planters and I would almost brag about our exhaustion. If I wasn’t grinding nonstop, I felt like I was failing.
But beneath all that hustle was something far more dangerous than fatigue: it was unbelief.
I never said it out loud, but my life was functionally praying: “God, I’ve got this. I’ll call you if I need backup.” The anxiety, fear, and restlessness that dominated my inner world didn’t come from faith—it came from pride. I wanted to serve God—but in my own strength.
After about seven years of leading, hiring staff, planting an international church, and checking off boxes on my dream list, I hit a wall. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually spent. And I realized: I can’t keep this up without destroying myself or my family.
So I sought biblical counseling. Garret Higby, a biblical counselor, met with me for three months. He listened, let me weep, and helped me see what I couldn’t see on my own: my refusal to rest revealed a deeper refusal to trust.
Rest requires trust. Trust that God will provide when you stop producing. Trust that He’ll carry the mission forward when you cease striving. Trust that He is God and you are not.
That’s what God was teaching Israel when He commanded Sabbath rest:
“Six days you shall labor, but on the seventh day you shall rest; even during the plowing season and harvest you must rest.” – Exodus 34:21
Even in their busiest seasons—when the crops needed harvesting—God said, Rest. Trust Me.
Every seven years, they were commanded to let the land rest—a full year without sowing or harvesting:
“But in the seventh year the land is to have a year of sabbath rest, a sabbath to the Lord. Do not sow your fields or prune your vineyards.” – Leviticus 25:4
Can you imagine the trust required for an agrarian people to let their source of food and income sit untouched for a whole year? That’s not laziness. That’s faith.
And that’s what God is calling us to today. Not to rigid legalism, but to the restful rhythm of grace. Jesus is our true Sabbath:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” – Matthew 11:28
Weekly Sabbath is not a requirement for salvation, but it is a wisdom gift for our formation. To cease, to be still, to acknowledge we are not what holds everything together—that is deeply Christian.
To rest is to say: “God, You are enough. I trust You.”
And for someone like me, whose identity was once tied to performance, recognition, and results, rest became an act of repentance—and an act of worship.
Let me leave you with this:
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength.” – Isaiah 30:15
Brothers and sisters, rest is not weakness. It’s strength. It's trust. It’s the way of Jesus.
So let me ask: What is your refusal to rest saying about your view of God?
And maybe more importantly: What might happen in your soul and in your family if you truly believed that God could run the world without you for a day?
—--
Two books worth checking out on the idea of trust and rest:
- Leading on Empty - Wayne Cordeiro
- Disappointment with God - Philip Yancey
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