Wholehearted and Finite: Teaching Effectively within a Theology of Limits and Calling, Part 2

This post is the second of a four-part series excerpted from Dr. Leah Zuidema’s article on how God’s good design of limits can help orient our teaching to promote flourishing within our callings and among those we serve. The full article was originally published in Integration, an online journal of faith and learning, on September 5, 2025.

In the first post of this series, Zuidema reminded us of God’s call to rest. In this post, Zuidema explores four key dimensions of God’s call to rest.

1.     Rest is necessary even in the busiest times.

When should we rest? Exodus 34 reveals that rest is not contingent on convenience: “Six days you shall work, but on the seventh day you shall rest; even in plowing time and in harvest time you shall rest” (Exod. 34:21, ESV).

Even during the most demanding seasons—plowing and harvest, when livelihoods are on the line—God calls his people to pause. This reminds us that no amount of urgency exempts us from our need for restoration. Rest is an act of trust, not timing.

2.     Rest is something we are called to protect for others.

Elsewhere in Exodus, we see that rest is about more than individual initiative: it is also about communal care. Sabbath is not just for us; it is for others as well, including the vulnerable.

“Six days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day you shall rest so that your ox and your donkey may have relief and your homeborn slave and the resident alien may be refreshed.” (Exod. 23:12, NRSV)

God insists that we extend rest to others, including animals, servants, and foreigners. Sabbath is not a private luxury. Our rest practices should reflect concern for the wellbeing of others, not just ourselves. We see this concern for others evidenced in the book of Nehemiah, when exiles from Israel returned to the land and, after some chiding from Ezra and a time of public confession, they recommitted to living in obedience to God. Their oaths included this promise—which was grounded in the idea of helping others to observe Sabbath rest:

“… and if the peoples of the land bring in merchandise or any grain on the Sabbath day to sell, we will not buy it from them on the Sabbath or on a holy day.” (Neh. 10:31, NRSV) 

In my family and community, this practice of protecting rest for others leads many of us to avoid going to stores or restaurants on Sunday, and for many faculty members, it means that we avoid scheduling tests on Monday and consider the weekly deadlines for online homework so that students have the freedom to rest on Sundays.

3.     Rest is how we remember that God sanctifies us—we do not sanctify ourselves.

Exodus 31 draws a clear theological line: Sabbath is not about self-improvement; it’s about surrender.

“You shall surely keep my Sabbaths, for this is a sign between me and you throughout your generations, given in order that you may know that I, the Lord, sanctify you.” (Exod. 31:13, NRSV)

God is the one who makes us holy. Sabbath interrupts our attempts to earn, to prove, to strive—reminding us that we are sanctified by grace, not by productivity.

4.     Rest is a covenant reminder of God’s love for us.

Though this next passage sounds severe, its heart is covenantal. God gives Sabbath as a lasting sign of the promises that he makes and keeps in his relationship with his people. The intensity of the language underscores the importance of the gift. Keeping Sabbath is not just obedience; it is participation in a divine rhythm that reflects God’s love, provision, and ongoing presence.

“Six days shall work be done, but the seventh day is a Sabbath of solemn rest, holy to the Lord; whoever does any work on the Sabbath day shall be put to death. Therefore the Israelites shall keep the Sabbath, observing the Sabbath throughout their generations, as a perpetual covenant. It is a sign forever between me and the Israelites that in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day he rested and was refreshed.’” (Exod. 31:15-17, NRSV)

Though this language may seem extreme, it was given in this way for a good reason. The Sabbath command wasn’t about legalism; it was about life. We could compare the Sabbath command to a warning sign on a mountain road: when it says, “stay in your lane,” it’s not being picky; it’s protecting you from the edge of the cliff. The command to rest is like that. It guards us from falling into patterns that lead to spiritual, emotional, and physical harm. It promises us that God’s way is right and true.

When God commands us to rest, he is inviting us to live within the creaturely limits that are part of his good design for our well-being. He is not being harsh or rigid. After all, Jesus healed and forgave on the Sabbath, and in today’s world we are grateful for medical professionals and ministers who take their Sabbaths on days that aren’t Sundays. But that said, God is serious about rightly ordering our work and rest—and about resisting the false gods that drive us to overwork.

Notice how Exodus 23:12 (which we looked at previously for principle 3) is followed by these important words in verse 13:

“Six days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day you shall rest so that your ox and your donkey may have relief and your homeborn slave and the resident alien may be refreshed. Be attentive to all that I have said to you. Do not invoke the names of other gods; do not let them be heard on your lips.” (Exod. 23:12-13, NRSV)

This connection between rest and idolatry is striking. God doesn’t just command rest—he warns us that our inability to rest may point to deeper spiritual issues, going as deep as the worship of false gods.

What might those false gods be? In his book Crazy Busy: A (Mercifully) Short Book about a (Really) Big Problem, Rev. Kevin DeYoung puts it plainly:

[W]e understand deep down that the problem is not just with our schedules or with the world’s complexity—something is not right with us. The chaos is at least partly self-created. The disorder of daily life is a product of disorder in the most innermost places of the heart. Things are not the way they ought to be because we are not the way we are supposed to be. Which means our understanding of busyness must start with the one sin that begets so many of our other sins: pride.

Pride is subtle and shape shifting. There is more of it at work in our hearts than we know, and more of it pulsing through our busyness than we realize. Pride is the villain with a thousand faces.[1]

In his chapter on “The Killer P’s,” DeYoung shows the many faces that pride can take:[2]

1.      Needing to please people
2.      Seeking pats on the back
3.      Overestimating our own performance
4.      Accumulating possessions
5.      Trying to prove myself
6.      Craving pity
7.      Poor planning by refusing to ask for others’ help
8.      Grasping for power
9.      Pursuing perfectionism
10.   Seeking status or position
11.   Striving for prestige

When our pride leads us into restless striving, sabbath-keeping is one way God calls us back to trust. When pride becomes a false god, we need to cast it out. Sabbath-keeping is not merely about rhythm; it is about repentance. It is a practice of reorienting our hearts and lives around God’s provision and grace, in line with these four principles:

1.      Rest is necessary even in the busiest times.
2.      Rest is something we are called to protect for others.
3.      Rest is how we remember that God sanctifies us—we do not sanctify ourselves.
4.      Rest is a covenant reminder of God’s love for us.

To summarize these Scriptural teachings: When we embrace God’s call to rest, we are doing far more than taking a break; we are living into a rhythm that declares our trust in God’s provision, affirms the dignity of others, and reminds us of our identity as God’s sanctified people. Rest reorients us to grace: it reminds us that our worth is not measured by our productivity and that our salvation is not earned but given. In a culture—and often, in an academic world—that prizes constant activity, choosing rest is an act of faith and resistance. It is a covenantal rhythm that shapes us into people who remember God’s grace and provision in our lives.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that all of the passages that I have shared so far are from the Old Testament, and perhaps you are wondering if those calls to rest still apply to us. Sabbath-keeping can seem like one of those Old Testament practices that ended with the ceremonial law—like animal sacrifices. And it’s true: Jesus is now our eternal High Priest (Hebrews 7:26–28). But while the ceremonial law is fulfilled, the creational rhythm of rest remains. God’s design for humanity endures. Colossians 3 reminds us of our ongoing calling as people of God:

[Clothe] yourselves with the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator. (Col. 3:5-10, NRSV)

In this New Testament epistle, we are reminded once again of what we learned in Genesis 1 about the Creator whose image we bear: He rested. So too we, as New Testament people, must rest—not merely as law-keeping, but as image-bearing. Rest is not optional for followers of Christ. It is a witness to the truth that we are creatures, not gods.

In a talk based on his book You’re Only Human, theologian Kelly Kapic helps us name the heart of the issue:

When we think we have a time management problem, we may actually have a theology problem. When we’re constantly trying to do more, we may be trying to earn God’s love—rather than living in response to it. [3]

The lie that we must do more, be more, and carry it all ourselves is seductive. But God calls us to live differently—to embrace our finitude, not as a flaw, but as a gift. Kapic encourages us to praise God for our limits:  for our need for sleep and food, for our reliance on others, for our need for community, and most of all, for our dependence on God.

Of course, living this way raises questions we as educators often carry quietly: “Can I really do it all?” Grading papers, mentoring students, conducting research, attending meetings, caring for family, cultivating friendships—the list goes on. We ask ourselves: “Am I doing enough? Am I good enough?” These are fair questions in a world that constantly tells us we must be productive, impressive, and indispensable. In academia, where performance often feels like identity, the pressure only intensifies.

But Scripture tells a different story. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians:

“Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” For it is not those who commend themselves that are approved but those whom the Lord commends. (2 Cor. 10:17-18, NRSV)

We don’t need to prove our worth. We already have the Lord’s approval. Not because of what we do, but because of who we are: his children, his chosen people who are made in his image and dearly loved.

To know we are made in God’s image is to remember also that we are not God. That was the serpent’s lie to Eve in the garden: “You will be like God.”

But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not die, for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” (Gen. 3:4-5, NRSV)

But Eve couldn’t be like God, and neither can we. We weren’t made to know everything, do everything, or be everything. God made us to depend on him. And that includes us. Our work is meaningful, but we are not the ones holding the world together. Jesus is. In Colossians 1, Paul tells us that Christ holds all things together:

Christ is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross. (Col. 1:15-20, NRSV)

This truth doesn’t diminish our calling; it re-centers it. We are not here to prove our worth, and we are not here to earn love. We are already loved—by the Father who made us, the Son who gave His life for us, and the Spirit who dwells within us and sustains us. That love gives us freedom: to teach with humility, to rest without guilt, and to serve without striving for recognition.

That is what Paul means in Romans 12 when he urges us to offer our bodies as living sacrifices. It is a call not to relentless work, but to worshipful surrender.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. (Rom. 12:1, NIV)

Romans 12 isn’t a call to burnout. Instead, it is a call to live in the freedom of God’s mercy and love, to be faithful in being who he made us to be and calls us to be, while recognizing that He will accomplish His purposes—using our limited, finite selves to bring great glory to him. Romans 12 is an invitation into rhythms of grace.

Editor’s note: The third post in this series will reflect on how this theological vision might intersect with lived experiences.