Rest and relaxation are seen, sometimes, as the privilege of the well-off, or the care-free, or even the lazy. For those of us who have much to do, such a luxury as relaxation is just a far away dream we might attain to one day. But perhaps this is not the right way to view it.

In the Bible, from the very start, rest is built into the logic of the universe by virtue of the fact our creator rested on the seventh day — he did all his work, saw that it was very good and then rested. Paradise is portrayed here and there as a garden, a place of refreshment, and gardens are never enjoyed hurriedly. Some of the most evocative art portraying scenes from the scriptures show little moments — the woman at the well, rest on the flight into Egypt. And our Lord himself would frequently take time away in a quiet place to be by himself and pray to the Father. These are moments of retreat, but not retreat from any hardship or used as an avoidance tactic, but rather a retreat to the source, the place from where our strength comes and might be renewed again.

Many of the saints, too, found solace and renewal in a time of being away, in those desert moments, and in cloistered escapes. St Philip found his on the little loggia on the roof of the Fathers’ house, watching the birds darting around the Roman rooftops, or out in the cool quiet of the catacombs. He also found his recreation in the picnics and walks out into the countryside with his young friends, where food was shared along with words of holy wisdom and songs were struck-up under the stone pines and the cypresses.

If we are to be resilient in a world which will forever add to our to-do lists, and make further demands on our energies, and challenge those most fundamental aspects of our lives, we have to know how and when to return to the source, like a cool spring. Some quiet prayer is always essential, but so too is an escape, some time away with the laptop closed and the phone on silent, and maybe our rosary in our hand too. A quiet walk, a long sit under a tree, and if we are very fortunate, maybe even a time of retreat. Any and all of these can help to remind us that we are not alone, that it does not all depend on us, and that the one on whom it does depend can often be found in the stillness of a place apart, waiting for us.

And it is an anticipation of something greater. The Hebrew word for peace, shalom, refers to peacefulness, yes, but also to wholeness, safety, completeness. At the end of our earthly life, we pray that we will be welcomed into a place of refreshment, light and peace. Eternal rest is our prayer for our departed loved ones, and the desire for a perfect rest ends the Church’s night prayers each day. To anticipate something is, in some sense, to participate in it, and so if we can carve our some rest now, it is a little taste of heaven, and who doesn’t want that?

As the summer vacation begins for many people, perhaps it is a timely reminder not to make our holidays another source of stress, but to build in to them the kind of rest and relaxation that is a sort of retreat. Perhaps we should all try a bit more to use this time to seek the Lord in the quietness, to listen to his quiet promptings in our heart, and to just sit still with God. I don’t think any of us will be sorry if we try.

St Paul famously tells us that our citizenship is of heaven (Phil. 3:20). That doesn’t mean that earthly politics doesn’t matter to us, but it’s not what we place our hope of salvation in. With a general election upon us, today seems like a day to remind ourselves that we belong to Christ’s Kingdom.

Someone once said that, during the course of Jesus’ trial, every political system is tried and found wanting. The religious leaders of the Jewish theocracy, the soldiers of the Roman dictatorship, Herod’s monarchy, the voice of the democratic mob all reject Christ as King. There is no perfect political system. Politics alone will not solve all the problems of the world, as we are warned in Psalm 145: “Put no trust in princes, in the sons of men in whom there is no salvation.”

Not trusting in earthly leaders doesn’t mean having nothing to do with politics. We still have a responsibility to do what we can to co-operate with God in bringing about that prayer we utter so many times a day, “Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” It is our duty to vote in a way that puts God’s will into action. But we don’t honestly think that electing the right candidate at the general election will suddenly change the world and solve all our problems, do we?

There has never been a perfect prime minister. There has never been a perfect monarch. Not even Saintly King Edward the Confessor was perfect. Even religious leaders aren’t exempt. There has never been a perfect pope, and there never will be. The fact that Pius X and John Paul II have been declared saints by the Church does not mean that they never made a single mistake in their lives. No political system, no political or religious leader is perfect, because no human being is perfect. Well, except two — and that’s why only Christ is worthy to be the King of the Universe, and his mother to be Queen of heaven.

When we think that we can achieve perfect happiness for everyone through political action, we are trying to save the world through our own efforts. Like Israel in the Old Testament, we are forgetting that God is our King. And that’s going to lead to trouble.

Both our country and the Church have problems running through them from top to bottom, because they are both made up of fallible human beings. But instead of trying to fix things at the top and expecting the change to trickle down, our starting point for improving things should be ourselves. How can I make Christ King of every aspect of my life? If we all really did that, there wouldn’t be many problems left for politics to solve.

Each morning, the Fathers and Brothers assemble in church before the early Mass, in order to make their meditation. At least to try to meditate, since, as in prayer, things do not always flow easily or spontaneously, especially if there are distractions around us. Usually, one would take a subject or an event from the Gospels, or some other spiritual book, and by staying with it for a while, make it the material of prayer.

A meditation is not itself a prayer. Evelyn Underhill described it as “a sort of technique which leads to prayer, turns our minds and hearts and wills towards God, and so helps our Communion with him.” So once our meditation has led us into some sort of prayer, it has done its job and we can move on and simply continue our conversation with God and our self-offering to him.

Of course, people do things differently. One thing suits one person’s temperament, while another method or system is more helpful to another. The first thing is to want God, and I do believe that the soul that wants God has God. Our meditation on some scene from the Gospel or words of Christ opens up a path and leads us into his presence, and then we are praying. It may not be the sort of rapturous or esoteric experience we were hoping for, perhaps, but since ours is an incarnational religion, we must remain, like our Lord, with feet planted firmly on the ground — in the concrete reality of our lives. For that is where the Lord Jesus comes to meet us.

So take a scene and picture it in your mind’s eye. What’s happening there? Who is present? What does our Lord do or say, and what message may be there for us? What is our response? By thinking about these things, we shall soon find ourselves praying — leaving the meditation behind — talking to God quite simply and from our hearts.

Try taking your Bible and go to Mark 10:17–22. There we read of the encounter of the Rich Young Ruler with our Lord. It starts so beautifully, doesn’t it? You can see Jesus on the road and the boy running to him and kneeling before him, drawn to the Master by that wonderful power of attraction, as iron drawn to a magnet. He recognises that Jesus has the words of Eternal Life, which everyone really longs to hear. And the boy, there on his knees, asks him the price of full life in God and for God. He’s not talking about what happens when he dies. He is thinking of the great consummation, when all the prophecies will be fulfilled in Messiah. The young man has already done all that would make him respectable. Since his youth, he tells our Lord, he has kept all the commandments of the Law. Yet, he remains unsatisfied, feeling that there is yet more to be done. Now, picture our Lord looking at him with love as he tells him the cost of discipleship: the price of friendship with God is an unreserved consecration, if you like, total self-abandonment. “A condition of complete simplicity, costing not less than everything.” (T.S. Eliot) Let go of everything that ties you here, “take up your cross and follow me.”

And so from meditating on the scene, we move on, without fuss, to prayer. What about us? Do we have these interior battles? Have we a sense that we could be doing more for Christ and that he is maybe asking more of us than we are currently giving? Are we merely respectable in our belief and practice? What are the possessions we might have to relinquish in order to be free? Somebody? Ambitions? Interests? Comforts? Anxieties? Self-chosen aims? We should pray for honesty and courage when facing these questions. What shall I do Lord? Take from me all that hinders me in paying the price you are asking of me. Cleanse my heart from all self-serving desires. Let me be content to follow you with an undivided heart. Let me do your work with a joyful and loving heart, going wherever you want me to go, acting always without self-interest, remaining your friend and loyal servant.

The story of the Rich Young Ruler is rather sad. There is no happy ending, at least, not in Mark’s Gospel. But maybe later, when he had matured in faith and understanding, he had run back to the Master a second time, now willing and able to make the sacrifice demanded of him, with a wholehearted act of generosity, believing that he would indeed be richly rewarded in the Eternal Life of the Kingdom.

Like many people, the Fathers and Brothers have greatly enjoyed watching Clarkson’s Farm, on the rare occasions we can gather together in front of the television. That entertaining depiction of the trials and tribulations of farming life gives a glimpse of what goes into producing the meat and vegetables that we take for granted on the shelves of supermarkets and butchers. It also shows the huge amount of knowledge our farmers possess: what is good and what is bad seed, how to prepare the soil, how to plough a field, when to plant, when to harvest, how to breed pigs and wean goats, how to build a dam and repair a wall, and much more besides. Farmers have a different way of looking at things to the rest of us: an old air-raid shelter turns out to be the best place to grow mushrooms, and that bit of rain that is a welcome relief from the heat of summer for most of us can spell disaster for the grain harvest. A farmer can look at piles of manure and see pound signs. Someone who is not a farmer will look at a seed and think that nothing much can come of it, but a farmer knows that with patience and the right conditions, that seed is his livelihood — and that a crop or a tree cannot be judged solely on the size of its seeds.

St Paul tells us to walk by faith and not by sight. Many people will think this is delusion or ignorance, that Christians close their eyes to the reality of this world and live with their heads in the clouds, focussed on some fantastic afterlife where everything will be put right. They accuse us of denying cold hard facts and science in favour of fairytales, trading vision for blindness and deluding ourselves that we have the better deal.

But the thousands upon thousands of hospitals, orphanages, nursing homes, schools, soup kitchens build by Christians over two millennia are hardly the work of men and women who aren’t concerned with the problems of this world. Some of the greatest works of art and music and the most important advances in science have been created by people of faith. And the Christian faith makes for terrible fairytales: forgiving your enemies, confessing your sins, caring for the sick and defending the unborn, taking up your cross, dying to yourself.

To walk by faith is not to close our eyes. We see what everyone sees, and we see more. Like farmers. Or like Antiques Roadshow experts seeing artistry and value in what looks like old junk. Or software programmers making whole virtual worlds out of lines of numbers and symbols. Or a parent forever prizing the paintings and drawings of a child, seeing scribbles and blobs of colour — but seeing more.

So it is with the Blessed Sacrament. The priest speaks the words that Christ spoke and…nothing seems to change. The bread and wine look the same, weigh the same, taste the same. Nothing looks different, yet everything has changed. Faith sees what eyes and scales and microscopes and chemical tests cannot. Jesus Christ is present — body, blood, soul, and divinity.

And so is it with us. We walk by faith when we see the poor as more than a need to be met, or a problem to be solved, but as a privileged encounter with the risen Lord. We walk by faith when we recognise this world as more than something to be used and abused, but also as God’s gift to be treasured, preserved, and shared. We walk by faith when we see ourselves as more than a bundle of desires, more than customers, more than the sum of our failures and pains, but as coheirs with Christ and children of eternity. We walk by faith when we see the smallest acts of kindness and love as the seeds of the kingdom of God; and know that God’s reign comes in power through the seemingly insignificant actions of each one of us.

We see what everyone sees, and so we do not deny evil, but neither do we believe that evil has the final word. We proclaim the beauty of this world and thank God for the wonder of our lives, but we also know that in Christ we are meant for life beyond this. Though we live and move, draw breath and have a pulse, we have already died and been buried with Christ. And that although we will return to dust and be forgotten by men, we hope to live forever in Christ.

None of this is apparent, it is not obvious to the eyes. By faith, we see that we are more, much more, than we appear to be. So is this world, and so is the Kingdom of God.