Even in times of fear, loss, and uncertainty, God’s goodness is not absent—it is our anchor. David declares confidence in God’s goodness not after deliverance, but while still waiting. This Psalm calls us to a faith that sees God’s goodness through the fog of hardship, not just in hindsight.

As this part of Luke wraps up, we get the list of the twelve people Jesus handpicks to be His closest friends and followers—His apostles. Some of the names jump out right away: Peter, James, John. They’re all over the gospel stories and go on to become major leaders in the early church. But then there are others—guys like James, son of Alphaeus—who we honestly don’t hear anything else about, apart from their names. It’s a mix of personalities, backgrounds, and even political views. You’ve got Matthew, a tax collector who worked for the Romans, and then Simon, a Zealot who probably couldn’t stand Rome. That’s a pretty wild combo to put on the same team.

There’s no one type of person Jesus chooses. No spiritual résumé required. Some of these guys had serious doubts, some made huge mistakes, and one of them even betrayed Him. Still, Jesus chose them—flawed, messy, regular people—to be part of His mission. And that’s the reminder tucked into these few verses: Jesus can call anyone, and He’ll use everyone who’s willing to say yes to following Him.

Imagine it: it’s your day off, the sun’s out, there’s a soft breeze, and you’re just walking through a wheat field with Jesus. As you stroll, you casually pick a head of grain, rub it in your hands, and pop it in your mouth—just enjoying the moment and the peace of being with Him. The whole scene just feels like rest.

But not for the Pharisees. They’re watching this peaceful moment and instead of seeing rest, all they see are broken rules. And it’s the same thing in the next scene, when Jesus heals a man on the Sabbath—they’re upset, not amazed. Why? Because somewhere along the way, they lost sight of what the Sabbath was really about.

The Sabbath wasn’t meant to be a burden—it was meant to be a gift. It’s not about control; it’s about letting go. It’s a weekly reminder that we’re not in charge and we don’t have to be. The world keeps turning even when we stop working. Jesus, the Lord of the Sabbath, is our true rest. And He invites us into that rest—not just once a week, but in every part of our lives. Taking a break, pausing, resting—it’s not laziness. It’s trust. It’s us saying, “Jesus, you’ve got this.”