We live in an age enamored by the new.
New technology.
New methods.
New philosophies.
New spiritual voices.
New versions of truth.
Everything must be updated, rebranded, optimized, improved. If something is old, we tend to assume it must be outdated. If something is new, we assume it must be better.
We even have small rituals of renewal in our culture.
Every year, the new Apple phone is released. And people line up for it the way pilgrims once lined up at holy sites. The promise is always the same: this one is better. This one is faster. This one changes everything.
And for a few days, it feels like a kind of technological conversion. A small, modern, born-again experience in your pocket.
The old phone suddenly feels embarrassing.
Outdated.
Slow.
Unworthy of being seen in public.
But within a year, the new phone becomes the old phone.
And the cycle begins again.
Because in our world, new always promises more than it can deliver.
And the strange thing is this: the more new things we gain, the more tired we seem to become.
We have more tools than any generation in history—yet less peace.
More choices—yet more confusion.
More convenience—yet more anxiety.
More entertainment—yet more emptiness.
The soul does not update like software.
The heart does not find rest through upgrades.
And the deepest problems of the human condition have never been solved by novelty.
We are now entering what many people call the age of artificial intelligence. Machines can write, speak, diagnose, compose, and analyze faster than we can. Tasks that once took hours now take seconds. Problems that once required years of training can now be solved with a few keystrokes.
And you would think that with all this new power, all this new efficiency, human beings would finally be at rest.
But we are not.
We are more connected, but less at peace.
More informed, but less certain.
More efficient, but more exhausted.
More entertained, but more empty.
We have built machines that can think faster than we can.
But we have not found a way to quiet the human heart.
Even the great religious traditions of the world are facing this question of what comes next.
The Dalai Lama, the spiritual leader of Tibetan Buddhism, is now an old man. And one of the great questions in the world today is this: Who will replace him?
Traditionally, when a Dalai Lama dies, monks search for a child believed to be his reincarnation. They look for signs, visions, and recognition of sacred objects. It is a process that has gone on for centuries.
But this time, everything is uncertain.
The Dalai Lama himself has said he might not be reincarnated at all.
He might choose a successor before he dies.
He might be reborn outside Tibet.
Meanwhile, the Chinese government insists they will appoint the next Dalai Lama themselves.
So the world is watching, and many expect that when he dies, there may be two Dalai Lamas—one chosen by the monks, and one appointed by the state.
Millions of people are waiting for a new spiritual leader, and no one knows who he will be, where he will come from, or whether the world will even agree on him.
And when I think about that, it feels strangely close to home.
My father once worked in Kalimpong, in the Himalayan region. And during that time, he actually met the Dalai Lama. It wasn’t a grand, ceremonial moment. It was simply one human being meeting another.
But to the people around him, this was not just a man. This was a spiritual figure—someone carrying centuries of expectation, tradition, and hope.
And now, decades later, the world is asking again:
Who will come next?
Who will carry the authority?
Who will guide the people?
And in the middle of a world that is constantly waiting for the next voice, the next leader, the next system, the next answer—God says something very different.
He does not say,
“Wait for the new path.”
He does not say,
“I will reveal a better way later.”
He says:
“Stand in the ways and see,
And ask for the old paths, where the good way is,
And walk in it;
Then you will find rest for your souls.”
—Jeremiah 6:16
---000--- Part 1:
A People Who Were Tired but Would Not Return
*****
Jeremiah spoke these words to a nation that was outwardly religious, but inwardly restless.
They had the temple.
They had the sacrifices.
They had the songs.
They had the ceremonies.
They had the language of faith.
But they did not have rest.
Their lives were full of activity, but empty of peace. Their religion was still in place, but their hearts were far from God.
Instead of returning to Him, they began looking for new solutions.
New alliances.
New political strategies.
New spiritual compromises.
New ways to make life work without fully trusting the Lord.
They were tired—but they did not want the old path.
And that sounds very familiar.
We live in a time of constant movement, constant change, constant updating. We are always adjusting, always improving, always trying something new. But beneath all the newness is a quiet exhaustion.
People are tired today.
Tired of pressure.
Tired of comparison.
Tired of trying to keep up.
Tired of carrying responsibilities without enough margin.
Tired of spiritual expectations that feel heavier than helpful.
Into that exhaustion, God speaks a very simple invitation:
“Stand in the ways and see, and ask for the old paths.”
Step One: Stand in the Ways
God’s first instruction is not to run, not to fix, not to perform, not to prove anything.
He says: Stand.
That is harder than it sounds.
Most of us are uncomfortable with stillness. We prefer activity.
We like the feeling that we are solving something, accomplishing something, improving something.
When we feel spiritual unease, we often respond by doing more.
More church involvement.
More religious activity.
More Bible reading.
More effort to fix ourselves.
But God’s first instruction is not activity.
It is stillness.
“Stand in the ways and see.”
Before choosing a direction, pause long enough to recognize where you are.
Some of us have been running so fast for so long that we have not stopped to ask a very simple question:
Where is this road actually taking me?
Not just financially.
Not just professionally.
But spiritually.
Is this road making me more patient?
More gentle?
More forgiving?
More trusting in Christ?
Or is it making me more anxious?
More defensive?
More exhausted?
God says: Stand.
Not because He wants to slow your life down unnecessarily, but because He wants you to see clearly.
There is a reason the Sabbath comes every week. It is God’s built-in command to stand still.
Six days you run.
Six days you work.
Six days you carry the load.
But then God says:
Stop.
Stand.
Be still long enough to remember who you are, and whose you are.
The Sabbath is not just about what we don’t do. It is about what we finally have space to see.
We see that God is still in control.
We see that the world does not depend on our constant activity.
We see that grace is already at work before we lift a finger.
Standing is not laziness.
Standing is clarity.
Without that moment of standing, we often choose the wrong road simply because we never stopped long enough to notice where we were going.
---000--- Part 2:
Ask for the Old Paths
*****
After God tells His people to stand, He gives the second instruction:
“Ask for the old paths, where the good way is.”
That sounds simple, but it runs against the instinct of our time.
We are taught to create our own paths.
To define our own truth.
To design our own spiritual journey.
The modern message is very clear:
Don’t follow old paths—find your own.
God says something very different.
He does not say,
“Invent a new one.”
He does not say, “Customize your faith.”
He does not say, “Follow whatever feels right.”
He says: Ask for the old paths.
That word “ask” is important. It implies humility. It implies that the answer is not inside us by default.
It means we recognize that others have walked before us, and that there is wisdom in the way God has led His people through history.
The old paths are not outdated.
They are proven.
They are the paths walked --
By Abraham, who trusted God without knowing where he was going.
By Moses, who chose God’s reproach over the treasures of Egypt.
By David, who failed deeply but returned to God with a broken heart.
By the prophets, who spoke truth when it was unpopular.
By the apostles, who followed Christ even into suffering.
And above all, by Jesus Himself.
The old path is not a set of dusty traditions.
It is a living relationship of trust, obedience, and grace.
It is the path where:
Faith is more important than appearance.
Character is more important than comfort.
Grace is stronger than guilt.
Love is more important than reputation.
The old path is the way of Christ.
The Good Way
Jeremiah calls it “the good way.”
Today, “good” is often defined by comfort or popularity. If something feels right, we call it good. If it is widely accepted, we assume it must be right.
But in Scripture, “good” is not defined by comfort. It is defined by alignment with God.
The good way is the way that leads to life—even if it is difficult.
Jesus described this very plainly. He said that the broad road is easy, crowded, and popular—but it leads to destruction.
The narrow road is harder, less traveled, and often misunderstood—but it leads to life.
The good way is not always the easy way.
But it is always the life-giving way.
There is a difference between what is easy and what is good. And sometimes we trade the good for the easy, only to discover later that the easy road has led us into deeper exhaustion.
God is not trying to make life harder.
He is trying to make life whole.
The old path is good because it is rooted in the character of God Himself.
It is not built on trends, or opinions, or cultural moods. It is built on something stable, something enduring, something true.
That is why it leads to rest.
The Old Path Leads to a Person
When Jeremiah spoke of the old path, he was speaking to people who lived centuries before Christ.
When we read this verse today, we cannot miss where that path ultimately leads.
It leads to Jesus.
He is the fulfillment of the law.
He is the embodiment of grace.
He is the one who walked the path perfectly.
And what did Jesus say?
“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Do you hear the echo?
Jeremiah says:
“Ask for the old paths… and you will find rest for your souls.”
Jesus says:
“Come to Me… and you will find rest for your souls.”
It is the same promise.
The old path is not just a way of life.
It is a way that leads to a Person.
The rest of the soul is not found in a system.
Not in perfect doctrine.
Not in flawless performance.
Not in religious comparison.
It is found in Christ.
The old path is simply this:
Trust Him.
Follow Him.
Walk with Him.
When you do, you discover something surprising.
The path of surrender is lighter than the path of self-reliance.
The path of grace is freer than the path of performance.
The path of Christ is the only one that leads to rest.
---000---
Part 3: Walk in It
*****
After God tells His people to stand, and then to ask, He gives the third instruction:
“Walk in it.”
It is not enough to stand and see.
It is not enough to ask and understand.
At some point, we must walk.
Truth that is admired but not followed does not change the soul.
We may agree with God’s ways. We may respect Christ’s teachings. We may even defend biblical truth in conversation.
But Jeremiah does not say:
Admire the old paths.
Study the old paths.
Debate the old paths.
He says: Walk in it.
Walking implies direction. It implies daily choices. It implies that faith is not just something we think about—it is something we live.
Walking in the old path happens in ordinary moments.
It is what happens on Monday morning.
It is how you speak to your spouse.
How you treat the difficult coworker.
How you respond to disappointment.
How you handle temptation.
How you use your time, your money, and your attention.
The old path is not theoretical.
It is lived.
It is the quiet decision to forgive instead of resent.
To trust instead of control.
To tell the truth instead of protecting your image.
To rest in Christ instead of trying to prove your worth.
Walking in the old path is not about perfection. It is about direction.
It is about choosing, again and again, to move toward Christ rather than away from Him.
The Promise: Rest for Your Souls
Then comes the promise:
“Then you will find rest for your souls.”
Not just rest for your schedule.
Not just rest for your body.
Rest for your soul.
That deep, quiet sense that things are right between you and God.
That your worth is not measured by performance.
That your future is not hanging by a thread.
That you are held, even when life feels uncertain.
Jesus used almost the exact same words:
“Come to Me… and you will find rest for your souls.”
Jeremiah’s old path leads to rest.
Jesus’ invitation leads to rest.
Because the old path ultimately leads to a Person.
The rest of the soul is not found in a system.
Not in perfect religious performance.
Not in comparison with others.
It is found in Christ.
The Sabbath: God’s Weekly Old Path
There is something deeply connected between this verse and the Sabbath.
The Sabbath is one of the oldest paths in human history. It goes all the way back to creation.
Before sin.
Before failure.
Before religion.
God created the world in six days, and on the seventh day, He rested—not because He was tired, but because He wanted to share rest with His creation.
The Sabbath is God’s weekly invitation to the old path.
It is His way of saying:
Stand.
Stop running.
Stop producing.
Stop proving.
Just be with Me.
The Sabbath reminds us that our value is not in what we accomplish, but in whose we are.
It tells us that the world does not depend on our endless activity.
It reminds us that God is still in control.
It invites us to step off the treadmill of performance and into the presence of grace.
Every Sabbath is a quiet protest against the restless spirit of the age.
The world says:
Do more.
Earn more.
Prove more.
Produce more.
The Sabbath says:
Rest.
Receive.
Remember.
Trust.
The Tragedy of Refusal
But the verse ends with a heartbreaking line:
“But they said, ‘We will not walk in it.’”
Rest was offered.
But it was refused.
Sometimes the greatest danger is not ignorance.
It is resistance.
We hear the truth.
We recognize it.
But we quietly say:
Not that way.
I want a different road.
A road with less surrender.
Less humility.
Less dependence.
But the rest of the soul does not live on those roads.
The invitation is simple.
The path is clear.
The promise is sure.
Stand.
Ask.
Walk.
And you will find rest for your soul.
---000---
Conclusion: The Crossroad in the Heart
*****
Each of us, in our own way, is standing at a crossroad today.
Maybe no one else sees it.
Maybe it is quiet, internal, and deeply personal.
But there is a decision somewhere in your heart.
Not a loud decision.
Not a dramatic one.
But a direction.
Will you keep moving on the road you have been traveling?
Or will you pause, ask, and return to the old path?
The truth is, most of life is not lived in big, public choices. It is lived in small, quiet ones.
It is lived in the thoughts you allow to stay in your mind.
In the tone you use with your spouse.
In the patience you show your children or grandchildren.
In the way you handle disappointment.
In the way you respond when life does not go according to plan.
The old path is not about dramatic heroics.
It is about steady trust.
It is the path where grace leads instead of fear.
Where the cross defines power instead of success.
Where weakness is not hidden, but brought into the light and held by Christ.
The world is constantly waiting for the next thing.
The next leader.
The next technology.
The next system.
The next answer.
The next spiritual voice.
But God is not pointing us forward to something uncertain.
He is pointing us back—to something already given.
A path walked by prophets.
A path walked by apostles.
A path walked by ordinary believers who trusted God in kitchens, fields, workshops, classrooms, and hospital rooms.
And above all, a path walked by Christ Himself.
He did not come to show us a clever new philosophy.
He did not come to give us a better system.
He came to give us Himself.
And at the end of His path was a cross.
To the world, the cross looked like failure.
Like weakness.
Like the collapse of hope.
But in the kingdom of God, the cross became the doorway to rest.
Because at the cross, we no longer have to prove ourselves.
At the cross, we no longer carry the weight of our guilt alone.
At the cross, we discover that our salvation does not depend on our strength, but on Christ’s finished work.
And that is where the soul finally exhales.
Jeremiah’s audience heard the invitation, and they said, “We will not walk in it.”
But the invitation still stands.
God is still speaking.
Still inviting.
Still pointing to the old path.
Stand in the ways.
Look honestly at your life.
Ask for the old paths—the good way.
Walk in it.
And you will find rest for your soul.
Not someday.
Not only in heaven.
But even now—quietly, deeply—rest in Christ.
The world will keep chasing the new.
New voices.
New leaders.
New promises.
But the old path is still there.
Christ is still there.
Grace is still there.
The cross is still there.
The Sabbath rest is still there.
And the invitation is still the same:
“Come to Me…
and you will find rest
for your souls.”
