“Rest for Your Souls”

I’d like you to follow along, if you can, as I read from Matthew chapter 11 and the verses with which we’ve become familiar over these past few weeks as we’ve been trying to work our way through the verbs: “Come …. Take … learn … find.” But let’s read from verse 25.

Matthew 11:25:

“At that time Jesus declared, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’”

Amen.

Father, come and speak to us through your Word, we pray, by the Holy Spirit, so that our gaze may be fixed firmly on Christ and that in hearing his invitation, we may accept and happily follow and trust him. To this end we seek you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Well, let me encourage you to turn so that at least you see where our phrase, “rest for your souls,” comes this morning—the promise that in coming to Jesus, in receiving his invitation, this is what we discover.

I’m not sure that the name Quintus Horatius Flaccus will mean much to very many of us. He’s better known as Horace, and even Horace might not trigger much. I don’t mention him because I know a lot about him; I don’t know much about him, really. I have only one quote from him in my notes and little books that I keep of quotes. I’m not sure how I came upon it, but it’s there. He was, in the time of Augustus, the emperor of Rome, the sort of poet laureate. He was the main lyrical poet of the time. He was a satirist. He wrote plays. And as a result of that, he had, if you like, a school of the poets, or a school of the writers. And it was in that context that he made the statement that goes on along these lines: he said to his students that when they wrote a drama or when they wrote a play, they must refrain from introducing a god—think Roman gods, small g—they must refrain from introducing a god into their narrative unless the plot had got into such a tangle that only a god could unravel it.[1] In other words, he says you should be able to write in such a way that the narrative will hold together without you having to introduce, if you like, divinity into the program.

Now, Horatius was essentially a Stoic with a little touch of Epicureanism built into him. We’re aware of these people, and they’re alive and well today, actually. Essentially, his approach to life was carpe diem. Think Robin Williams and Dead Poets Society. The idea was “You must make the most of the present and give little thought to the future.”

When Paul encountered people whose minds were filled with that kind of philosophical notion, he, of course, took an entirely different approach—the idea that… And incidentally, you don’t have to go back to 65 BC, when Horatius was born. You can come right up until the twentieth century, because you have the same philosophical underpinning in the words of Kris Kristofferson when he writes, “Yesterday is dead and gone, and tomorrow’s out of sight.”[2] In other words, “We don’t have to worry about what was there, and we’re not going to worry about what is there. All I want you to do is help me make it through the night.” And, of course, in that context, if you know the song, it’s an immoral kind of picture, and “I don’t care who’s wrong or right,” he says. “I don’t care. Just you, miss, help me make it through the night.”

Now, when Paul addresses the thinkers in Athens, as I say, who have been influenced by this kind of thinking, he does the exact opposite. He says that God is not someone who is inserted from outside, but God is actually the creator of the universe. And far from not thinking about the future, he says, “You should be thinking about the future. And the reason you should think about the future is because the God who made you and to whom you are accountable, has set a day—a day out in the future, a day that is fixed, a day that will be fair, and a day that is absolutely final. And on that day, he will judge the world by the man he has appointed, and he has given proof—the assurance that this will happen—by raising that man”—namely, the Lord Jesus Christ—“from the dead. Furthermore,” says Paul, “rather than just simply chilling out in the moment, God commands all people everywhere to repent”[3]—to have a change of heart, a change of mind, and a change of direction.

And the response on that occasion was at least threefold. Some were indifferent; they thought what he said was a bit of a joke. Some of them were intrigued; they said they would come back and let him speak some more. And some actually got involved.[4] It’s pretty much the standard response to any kind of teaching of the Bible. I think that’s probably representative of what happens on a routine basis here at Parkside. Some walk out and say, “Well, I’m indifferent to all of that. I’m not sure it has got any relevance to me at all.” Others come back. They say, “I’m intrigued. I haven’t resolved this.” And, of course, there are some who actually get involved. They’ve believed.

Now, I begin in that way because now we’re turning for the fourth and final time to the invitation that Jesus has made and turning our attention to the promise that he makes. It is an amazing promise: “You will find rest for your souls.” Those who come to him, who believe in him, who humble themselves and accept him will find rest for their souls. And as I thought about it during the week, I said to myself, “There’s really just two things to say here. That is to identify, first of all, the divine promise; and then, secondly, to see the way in which that divine promise addresses the human predicament.” Divine promise made to address our human predicament.

So let me take a moment or two to speak about this divine promise. As I say to you regularly (because I say to myself regularly), it is imperative that I view the unfolding story of history through the lens of Scripture rather than trying to make sense of my Bible through the lens of the unfolding drama of history. Since the Enlightenment period particularly, bright people decided that God, if he exists, should at least be reduced from the narrative of history if not removed from it entirely. “So then,” they were going to say, “we can understand the unfolding story of the world without any reference to God.” In other words, they were sort of heeding the warning that Horace gave to his students.

Now, if we’re going to do that, it is very, very important that we at least have an understanding of the storyline that the Bible presents for us. You could spend your whole life working through it—and we don’t have that time, certainly not this morning. And I do this fairly routinely. In fact, you might be almost as good as I am at doing this, because I’ve said it to you so many times over the years. But I want to say again, to remind us of, if you like, the high points.

It is imperative that I view the unfolding story of history through the lens of Scripture.

The storyline of the Bible does not begin with man introducing a god to the proceedings. That’s the notion of Marxism of the nineteenth and twentieth century: God is simply introduced by man to fill in the gaps, to explain the parts that he can’t make sense of and try and fill in for his pathetic existence. No, no. No, no, no. No, the Bible starts with “God created the heavens and the earth.”[5] God made man, male and female.[6] He made men and women to know and to enjoy God as their creator. He made them in such a way—our first parents, Adam and Eve—capable of receiving communication from him and also of enjoying communion with him. They lived together in a place of extreme beauty. They lived in a setting that God had prepared for them, a setting that spoke to the character of God himself. There was nothing wrong. There was nothing broken. There was no trash lying around. Everything was as it should be. After all, he is the creator of the universe—every plant, every creature, all, everything, with a place as established by him. And they live in that environment with a deep consciousness—a God-given consciousness—that they have actually been made by him and made for him.

As the days of creation unfold, the Bible tells us that at the end of the day, he reflected on things, and he said, “And this is good.” Adam was created on day six. And day seven was the day of rest: “He rested … from all … that he had done.”[7] So Adam’s first day was actually the rest day. And into the beauty of that restful situation they are set as per God’s amazing design.

In fact—and I know you think I’m crazy with this, but I said it—if they could have played a song… Say they were having breakfast, and they played a song; Adam says, “Let’s play Louis Armstrong. I mean, it’s a day for Louis Armstrong: ‘I see skies of blue. I see red roses too. I see them bloom for me and you, and I think to myself, “What a wonderful world!”’[8] Eve, this is fantastic! Look at this place!”

Turn the page, and Genesis 3 records that in that restful setting, something happened. Slithering into the garden, representative of the Evil One himself, comes the insinuations and the doubts and the uncertainties, and suddenly, the couple doubt God’s goodness, they reject his wisdom, they rebel against his authority, and they’re banished from the garden.

That’s the story. And that is the explanation that the Bible gives for the entry of sin into the world. Sin enters the world and brings with it the punishment for sin, or the consequence for sin: “In the day that you do what I’m telling you not to do, you will surely die.”[9] Physical death and spiritual death is the result of man’s rebellion against God. That’s what the Bible says.

Now, you’re a thinking person. You say, “Wow! That is so vastly different from contemporary thought.” It’s vastly different from a tremendous amount of thought! Very different from Hinduism or Islam. Very different from Confucianism. Very different from a New Age philosophy. Vastly different! Are you humble enough to believe the Bible? Are you humble enough to take God at his word? Or are you just a post-Enlightenment rationalist, believing that somehow or another, unless you can get your big brain around it, you could never, ever trust God?

Well, you see, that really is the question. They tried to hide from God. It’s funny to think of that, isn’t it? Hiding from God, the Creator! They’re hiding behind a tree. How big a tree was it? “What are you doing? Adam, where are you?”[10] He’s not asking to find out where he is. He knows where he is! He’s saying, “Where are you?” Well, where was he? He was going to find out what Joe Lewis, the great boxer of the earlier generations, said, you know: “You can run, but you can’t hide.” And that’s the story of the Bible.

And the wonderful part of it is this: that the God who comes to seek him out is amazingly gracious. He’s so gracious that despite doubting his goodness, rebelling against authority, and going their own way—despite finding themselves on the outside of the gate—he comes to seek them out. He comes to redeem them, to restore them. He comes, if you like, to give them rest for their souls.

And that’s why the promises of the Bible, when you read them, actually, in relationship to these things, begin also right in that chapter, in Genesis chapter 3. Because it is there that God addresses the serpent, and this is what he says to him: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring,” and one of her offspring, “he [will] bruise your head, and you [will crush] his heel.”[11]

Now, without camping on that, understand this: the promise there is the promise of one to come who will overcome evil and the Evil One and who will triumph over sin and death and hell—the one who is to come. You remember last week, we pondered the fact that John the Baptist was asking the question, “Who are you? Are you the one who is to come?”[12] And when you turn to these verses here in Matthew—all the way through the Gospels, in fact, but here particularly—it says, “At [the] time Jesus declared, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you[’ve] hidden these things from the wise and [the] understanding’”—(“I’m so clever!”)—“‘and revealed them to little children.’” “I’m so clever, but not clever enough—humble enough to recognize that although I’m an accomplished scientist, a successful businessman, an accomplished attorney, an amazing carpenter, I’m crooked inside, and I can’t fix it. In fact, the storyline of my life is unraveling day by day, and I’m beginning to think that maybe I do need God to intervene.”

Now, this Jesus is the one who says, “All things have been handed over to me by my Father,” there in verse 27. What he’s saying is that all power over everything that concerns our souls—all the interest and concern of our souls in time and eternity—is placed in the hands of Jesus. And who is this Jesus? Well, he’s the one we considered last time. He’s “gentle,” and he’s “lowly in heart.” He’s the one who can provide rest for our souls.

Now, if you’re still with me, let me just move forward in this way: The story of the Bible up until Genesis 3 and the fall of man is the story of God’s creative handiwork in all of its pristine beauty. In fact, it is into this rest that the creation is set. From Genesis 3 on, the story of the Bible is the story of restlessness. It’s the story of agitation. I mean, immediately you get from chapter 3 into chapter 4, and you’ve got Adam and Eve arguing with one another, you’ve got a brother killing his brother, and before you go very far, you’ve got manifold chaos that is running hog wild through the whole culture, all from that one moment: “Where’s the rest? Where’s the rest, God?”

And so when Jesus comes to promise rest, this is no marginal thing. This is no superficial thing. Jesus accomplished the rest he promised at a bloody cost to himself. Because Jesus accomplished the rest of those who trust him by entering into the restlessness that is found in another garden. Because it is in the garden of Gethsemane that Jesus is there in all of the restless reality of it. Eventually he’s prepared to say, “Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done,”[13] but he doesn’t get there in a nanosecond. No, he is broken. He’s distraught. He’s overwhelmed. He cries out, “If there was another way,”[14] and so on. It’s the closest you can see in all of the story of Jesus to restlessness.

What is he doing? He enters into the darkness of our restlessness, and then he goes to the cross in order to deal with the source of our restlessness. We’re restless because of our rebellion. In fact, when you think about all the talk of alienation today, whatever the alienation is—nations with one another, husbands and wives, parents and children, employers and employees, union workers and their friends (go wherever you want), the members of the orchestra arguing with one another about who got the best place on the bus and all of that kind of stuff—all that alienation emerges from this great alienation: that our forefathers have rejected his wisdom, have rebelled against his authority, and have been set outside.

But the wonderful story is that there is one who has come in order to deal with that. “There was no other good enough” who could “pay the price of sin; he only could unlock the door of heav’n and let us in”[15]—that we can’t actually access God on our own time or on our own basis. Why? Well, because the promise is to deal with our predicament. So let me say something concerning the human predicament.

This is no superficial thing. Jesus accomplished the rest he promised at a bloody cost to himself.

The longer I live my life, the more I realize that becoming a grandfather brings with it all kinds of privileges and responsibilities, joys and sorrows. And without iterating them—because if you’re where I am, then you know them too—and if you are prepared to be honest for a moment, then, like me, you may have to admit that in a way that you never fully anticipated, you start to sound like your grandfather before you; that I remember watching black-and-white TV in the company of my grandfather when shows came on showing people like the Dave Clark Five and the Troggs, The Who, Herman’s Hermits—all, the whole thing—and I remember my grandfather sitting there and going, “If anybody had dressed up like that when I was in the First World War, they would have been removed immediately from the community! There’s something dreadful going on in the world.” Okay. I said, “Grandpa, Grandpa, come on! It’s not that bad.”

Did you see the breakdancing at the Olympics? I’ve got to believe the Australian lady did that as a joke. I hope so! I hope she went out there to say, “This is crazy! Let me show you how crazy this is.” You say, “Wait a minute. You’re starting to sound like a grandpa.” I am a grandpa!

So the temptation is to say, “It’s never been worse than it is right now.” Oh, yes it has! All you need is a little history. Drop in at any point, and you’ll find chaos. Go 600 BC, and God speaks through his prophet, and this is what he says to the people: he says, “Those who … reject me are the like the restless sea, which is never still but [always] churns up [mire] and dirt.”[16] It’s an amazing metaphor: “Those who reject me—who refuse to accept who I am and what I have come to do, who rescind my promise, who reject my invitation, and so on—eventually, they’re just like the tossing of the sea.” The sea, when you see it churning up on the South Coast of England or wherever it might be, it never produces things that people are running out, saying, “Oh, I must get one of those old hubcaps! Oh, I’d love to have one of those old PPE suits! I would love to have some of those syringes!” No, people are going, “I don’t need any of that junk.” Well, it’s a picture, isn’t it? Why is it that our world can churn up such unbelievable filth, decay, disharmony, chaos? Well, he says: “Those who reject me are like the tossing of the sea that churns up mire and dirt.” It churns up that which is the antithesis of all that is true, honorable, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent.

It was true six hundred years before Jesus, and it’s true today. I mean, it’s to be dishonest to acknowledge anything other. You may not accept the thesis of where the origin of this is to be found. You may be distanced from that. I understand that. But at least you must give consideration to it. You remember when they had the thing in The Times many years ago—Times of London that was—at a similar point in history where it seemed to be a tipping point, and they ran a column, “What is wrong with the world today?” And they had all kinds of answers that came. The shortest came from G. K. Chesterton. He wrote back to the editor of The Times, “Dear sir: What is wrong with the world today? I am. Yours sincerely, G. K. Chesterton.”[17] He got it: men and women whose lives are compulsive and restless and self-reliant and filled with frustration.

And God speaks through the prophet to that kind of individual. This is what he says: “Listen to my word, you scoffers. Here is a solid foundation, a stone, a tested stone. You’re rootless. You’re tossed back and forth. You’ve got no basis of stability. You’re looking for stability in a shaky world. You’re looking for purity in a dirty world. You’re looking for security in a cardboard world. Here,” he says, “here’s a stone. Here’s a foundation stone.”[18] It’s a prophecy, obviously, of Jesus. “Place your trust in this and you won’t have to keep scurrying around.” Yet here we are: never satisfied, never grateful, never relaxed.

And he uses another metaphor. This is what he says: “The bed is too short to stretch oneself on, and the blankets are too narrow to cover you.”[19] What’s that line? “Yeah, but at least we stayed at a Holiday Inn last night,” or whatever it might be. I’m sure it’s very nice. I can’t remember. But I do remember having to stay in people’s houses when I was a student, and you would be sent to preach someplace, and two old spinsters had to look after you. It was a terrifying experience. And often you’re in a tiny, little room up a tiny, little stair in a tiny, little bed. And I’m not a big person, but I can remember sitting in there with a one-bar electric fire and going, “Man, I could use a blanket. I could use something.” You try to pull it this way, you pulled it right off yourself. You tried to make sure that you can go down far enough in the bed to tuck the blankets under your feet so you can get back up quick before they come back out. You go, “This is horrible! This is hopeless! There is no possibility of a rest in this miserable situation!” Yeah!

Itemize the things you covet
As you squander through your life:
Bigger cars, better houses,
Term insurance on your wife.
Tuesday evening with your harlot,
And on Wednesday it’s your charlatan;
Your analyst is high upon your list.

Spending counterfeit incentive,
Wasting precious time and health,
Placing value on the worthless,
And disregarding priceless health,
You can wheel and deal the best of them
And steal it from the rest of them.
You know the score; their ethics are a bore.[20]

In other words, the 1960s and Ray Stevens is saying, “Look at the state of our acquisitive society: people running mad to try somehow or another to get themselves on a bed that will grant them safety, that will grant them rest, and to surround themselves with that which represents security.”

And yet, watch the Olympics. And when it cuts from the Olympics, what does it go to? Some guy’s trying to sell me a mattress. A mattress of all things! Why do I want a mattress? How can you sell so many mattresses? ’Cause people can’t sleep! And when they’re not selling you mattresses, then they’re going to send you drugs. Drugs! All kinds of drugs! You sit there going, “Golly, maybe I have that as well. And I got one of those. I don’t know. I’m going to have to go to the doctor.” It’s so destabilizing. Turn it off, for goodness’ sake!

And then you' listen to National Public Radio this morning, and they say, “No, don’t worry about that. The problem is all of those supplements that you’re taking. They’re destroying your liver. We just found out, and we want to let you know.” There’s another reason for a mattress! “I’m going to have to go to my bed and worry about that. I destroyed my liver. I didn’t touch the drugs. But… Well, I did once, but oh!” What are you going to do?

And down through the corridors of time, Jesus says, “If you would come to me, you can find rest for your souls.” People can’t sleep because of the stultifying reality of the routine of their lives. They wake up during the night worrying about the fact that every day’s the same: “I just keep doing the same thing. I don’t know if I can keep doing the same thing.” Others are tossing and turning because of the fear of the unusual: bereavement, relocation, divorce, unemployment—young people paralyzed by thoughts of climate invading their bedroom, of the ice caps flushing them into oblivion, of war somewhere in the world finally snuffing out all their potential and all their hopes. Where are you going to go? Buffeted when you go to work by language that is full of human deficit—words like emptiness, loneliness, purposelessness, unhappiness, looking and never finding. Courts rendering judgments that are simultaneously legal and immoral. It was a legal judgment that introduced same-sex marriage. It’s immoral. The fact that it’s legal is not the issue. But, of course, it can’t be immoral, because of the great lies that fill the minds of our culture: one, there is no creator God; two, there is no ultimate reality; and three, there is no objective truth. As soon as those things begin to take hold in the minds of those who are the influencers in our culture, you realize how rapid the decay actually is.

To return to Horace—which is to move to the end, go full circle—to return to Horace: actually, the plot is in such a tangle that only God can fix it. Only God can fix it. The words of the prophets echo down through the corridors of time. Those pictures, those metaphors, are just amazing. And yet, you see, if there’s no ultimate morality, if there is no God who made me in his image, I have no identity. I have no majesty. I’m just a collection of whatevers. And people say, “Well, you can’t live like that.” Of course you can’t live like that! “I’m not accountable to anybody. I’m only accountable to myself.” How’s that working for you?

Let me finish. Let me go to my ultimate prophet—contemporary prophet—Paul Simon. Listen to this lament. Listen to this lament for a country that has lost its way. All right?

Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused.
Yes, and I’ve often felt forsaken
And certainly misused.
Oh, but I’m all right. I’m all right.
I’m just weary to my bones. …

I don’t know a soul [that]’s not been battered.
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease.
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
Or driven to its knees.
Oh, but it’s all right. It’s all right,
For we[’ve] lived so well so long.
Still, when I think of the road
We’re traveling on
I wonder what went wrong
I can’t help [but] wonder [what went] wrong.[21]

That was 1973. That’s Nixon and Vietnam. That’s when there’s still a Berlin Wall. That’s another time and another place. But it’s as up to date as the news. What went wrong? And Jesus steps forward, and he sees these fellows coming behind him, and he turns and he says to them, “What are you looking for?”[22] He doesn’t say, “Who are you looking for?” “What are you looking for?”

Let me ask you. Jesus is asking: What are you looking for? It’s as if Jesus is assuming the fact that like the rest of mankind, they’re in pursuit of the thing… The thing! “There’s got to be a thing somewhere that can satisfy my longings, that forms a foundation for the reality of my dreams, that gives me a basis for hoping.”

And what he’s about to say to them in the answer: “You’re not going to find the answer in a thing. You’re going to find the answer in a person. Come. Come to me. Come and see where I live.” “Where do you stay?”[23] they said. What kind of question is that? “Where do you stay?” They just want to be with him. He says, “Come and see.”[24] He’s going to take them all the way through the story, and he’s going to say to them, “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe in me. I’m going to prepare a place for you, and when I go prepare a place for you, you’re going to come and see, and what you see is going last for the rest of your life. You’re going to discover rest for your souls.”[25] “Rest for your souls.”

Basically, what we have to do is to face our predicament and then trust the promise.

Jesus is the voice we need to hear. Jesus is the promise maker, the promise keeper.

Here we are, heading towards November—yet another November. We’re in a place that our founding fathers could never have anticipated or imagined on the Mayflower. But hey, we made it to the moon, you know! That’s a long time ago too. Man on the moon, hell on the earth. Paul Simon:

Oh, we come on the ship they call … Mayflower.
We come on the ship that sailed the moon.
We come in the age’s most uncertain hour
And sing an American tune.

Oh, it’s all right. It’s all right.
You can’t be forever blessed.
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day,
And I’m trying to get some rest.
That’s all: I’m trying to get some rest.[26]

And Jesus says, “Paul, come to me, and you will find rest for your souls.” And so will everyone who is prepared to humble themselves before him, admit the depth of our predicament, and trust the provision that is found in the promise. Then, and only then, will we ever be able to say that it is well with our souls.

That will be our closing song, but a prayer before we arrive there:

Father, thank you that Jesus is the one who makes the appeal. Jesus is the voice we need to hear. Jesus is the promise maker, the promise keeper. He entered into our brokenness, into our law breaking, in order that on the cross he might bear the curse, that he might bear all of the stuff that springs up and springs out and shows how desperately we’re in need of him as a Savior and a Friend and Lord and a King.

I pray that as we ponder these truths, as we go out into the business of the day, that we might, each of us, find ourselves able to affirm the truth of our closing song—and if not today, then, please God, soon. For we remind ourselves that you have set a day, and we head towards that day, either to declare you as Lord or to bow before you in the awareness of the fact that we turned our back on the greatest offer that was ever made in all of history. Meet us where we are, we pray. In Christ’s name. Amen.

[1] Horace, Ars Poetica, lines 191–92.

[2] Kris Kristofferson, “Help Me Make It through the Night” (1970).

[3] Acts 17:30–31 (paraphrased).

[4] See Acts 17:32–34.

[5] Genesis 1:1 (ESV).

[6] Genesis 1:27 (paraphrased).

[7] Genesis 2:2 (ESV).

[8] Bob Thiele and George David Weiss, “What a Wonderful World” (1967). Lyrics lightly altered.

[9] Genesis 2:17 (paraphrased).

[10] Genesis 3:9 (paraphrased).

[11] Genesis 3:15 (ESV).

[12] Matthew 11:3 (paraphrased).

[13] Luke 22:42 (ESV).

[14] Matthew 26:39; Mark 14:35; Luke 22:42 (paraphrased).

[15] Cecil Frances Alexander, “There Is a Green Hill Far Away” (1848).

[16] Isaiah 57:20 (NLT).

[17] G. K. Chesterton, “What Is Wrong?,” letter to the editor, Daily News (London), August 16, 1905. Paraphrased.

[18] Isaiah 28:16 (paraphrased).

[19] Isaiah 28:20 (paraphrased).

[20] Ray Stevens, “Mr. Businessman” (1968). Lyrics lightly altered.

[21] Paul Simon, “American Tune” (1973).

[22] John 1:38 (paraphrased).

[23] John 1:38 (paraphrased).

[24] John 1:39 (paraphrased).

[25] John 14:1–3 (paraphrased).

[26] Simon, “American Tune.”