Dr. Boardman was born in Troy, New York, January 9, 1808. He was a brilliant student at Yale graduating first in his class in 1829. He then studied for the ministry in Princeton Theological Seminary. He was ordained and installed the pastor of Tenth Church on November 8, 1833. His hand never came from the plow handle nor did he look back, because he continued his ministry until retirement, May 5, 1876. He served over forty-three years. Henry Augustus Boardman died June 15, 1880.

One-hundred-fifty-eight years ago the minister of Tenth Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia, Rev. Henry A. Boardman, D.D., delivered his New Year sermon, “This is Not Your Rest,” from Micah 2:10. One purpose of the sermon was to encourage his 539 member congregation to remember the passage as a reminder their ultimate hope is eschatological looking to the final rest of heaven. At this time Tenth was located at 12th and Walnut and not at the current 17th and Spruce Streets address.

Dr. Boardman was born in Troy, New York, January 9, 1808. He was a brilliant student at Yale graduating first in his class in 1829. He then studied for the ministry in Princeton Theological Seminary. He was ordained and installed the pastor of Tenth Church on November 8, 1833. His hand never came from the plow handle nor did he look back, because he continued his ministry until retirement, May 5, 1876. He served over forty-three years. Henry Augustus Boardman died June 15, 1880.

The following transcription has been edited to provide a more comfortable text for modern readers. Archaic words have been replaced with terms more common for twenty-first century readers. Some of the punctuation has been modified and in some cases portions of sentences have been recomposed. Sometimes Boardman’s use of pronouns is confusing because as the paragraph develops there are more nouns to which additional pronouns refer. The flaws in the original published sermon may indicate Boardman’s manuscript was rushed to the press for timely distribution to others interested in his comments for the year. An asterisk in brackets [*] has been added by the editor to refer the reader to explanatory notes at the end of the sermon. The Scripture references for specific quotations from the Bible have been added by Presbyterians of the Past.

The sermon’s message is as timely today as it was in 1866 even though it is a very different world with different problems, political conflicts, technologies, hopes and fears, to which are added an abundance of temptations to sin facilitated by a digitally connected world. During Boardman’s lengthy pastorate the congregation surely faced challenges from without and within as Satan sought to destroy Tenth’s ministry, but these trials were worked through as the church continued well beyond his tenure and contributed significantly to building the kingdom of God. As one travels through the tortuous tunnel of life, one’s eyes must be kept on the light of the glory of God and the ultimate rest at its end. Maybe “This is not your rest” from Micah should be kept in mind in 2025 as the faithful Church perseveres through Satan’s buffeting and trials.

For another perspective on rest that predates Dr. Boardman’s by 1500 years see on this site, “The Quest for Rest in Augustine’s Confessions.” The header is a section of “Birds Eye View of Philadelphia,” 1872, from the Library of Congress Digital Collection. The red dot is believed to be the intersection of 12th and Walnut, but there are some discrepancies in the map. The figure on the lower right corner of the intersection appears to be a small church building. The portrait of Boardman is from the biography in Alfred Nevins, Encyclopedia of the Presbyterian Church, 1884. See the sizeable collection of Boardman’s publications available for PDF Download at Log College Press.

“This is not your rest,” Micah 2:10
Henry A. Boardman, January 1866

Having in view the various passages of Scripture which have already been offered to you as “Year Texts,” I find nothing more appropriate for the present New Year than the statement, “this is not your rest.” It is so concise as to be easily remembered, so simple as to carry with it its own exposition, and so practical as to admit of a ready application to all the current experiences of life.

As it stands in the book of Micah, it is part of an admonition or command to the people of God. They had fallen in great disobedience. Their land was filled with iniquity. Yet, they fondly imagined they would be allowed to retain possession of it. Israel had been given them in solemn covenant as a perpetual inheritance and could not be taken from them. Their offended God dispels this illusion. He gives them to understand that the country had been given to them with the condition of their continued faithfulness to Him. This condition they had violated, and thereby forfeited the grant, Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your rest (Micah 2:10). They must relinquish their land, but they would, in fact, have to be driven from it and others would enter in and dwell there.

We are not now concerned with the Hebrews’ eviction from the land. But we are deeply interested in the words addressed to that people—”this is not your rest.” It has a lesson for us all—a lesson which we shall be likely to need every day of this coming year.

Besides what the words express, there are two things they imply. First, that we shall require a rest; and secondly, that there is somewhere a rest for us. On each of these points the Scriptures are, in other passages, very explicit. Nor could the prophet have meant less when he said, if we be allowed at all to thus generalize the sentiment, “this is not your rest.” Why speak to us of a rest unless we require one? And if this be not the rest provided for us, where is it? The latter of these topics may be noticed by and by; the former will interweave itself with the whole discussion of the subject. For the present, let us consider how we may take this text as our motto and carry it, to some good purpose, into the scenes and avocations of the coming year. We shall find, I think, that it is equally good for joy and for sorrow, for adversity and for prosperity.

We may begin with the brighter side of life. It may not at first strike you so, but the prosperous, as also the poor and afflicted, need the lesson, “this is not your rest.” Look around, see if it is not so. Go into these homes of health and plenty, these factories and warehouses into which wealth pours its abundance. What is the reigning spirit there? Allowing for exceptions, is it not, “I shall die in my rest; and I shall multiply my days as the sand” (Job 29:18); “Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; eat, drink, and be merry” (Luke 12:19). The tendency of the prosperous is most often in this direction. Where the result is otherwise, it is because the tide has been turned back by a stronger counter current from without. The prosperous of society show how faint the power of resistance is to the pernicious influence. That it should consume the crowds who avowedly live for this world, is a thing, of course, that is to be expected. They yield to it by choice. It is the only happiness they know, and they have no sense of accountability which interferes with it. But to estimate the force of this injurious opposition we must come into the Church. See how often prosperity breaks down the props and safeguards of a Christian profession of faith. Where will you go, that you do not find a multitude of people who sit down at the Lord’s Supper on the Sabbath, running into every species of entertainment, not excluding the most extravagant, during the week? Where will you go that you do not meet individuals, once active in the church, whose growing piety has blighted as a frost withers a bed of flowers?

Does this prove that the acquisition of wealth is necessarily evil? Does it say that it is wrong to desire prosperity? By no means; within due limitations and in the use of legitimate means, there can be no sin in success and wealth. But it does prove that it is a perilous path to walk in; it is an atmosphere which one must not breathe without using every precaution against the subtle principle that infects it. And, therefore, it is that this Scripture is given you as some slight protection against the dangers of prosperity. It need not and should not be an ungracious memento—a specter to frighten you—a shadow over your innocent festivities. Why should it impair the enjoyment of life, to be reminded of our actual condition here; to keep in view the important truth, which no indifference of ours can make other than a truth, that we are here as sojourners in a strange land. If we do not hear this lesson, there must be something seriously wrong with our characters or activities. And all the more do we need it because it is unwelcome. This is one of the cases where antipathy to the remedy proves the danger of the disease.

Nor let it be supposed that the admonition here set forth is needed only by those who are thoroughly immersed in plans of sudden wealth or amusements. Your tastes may run in other directions; they may be wiser and nobler. You may find your happiness among your books and your paintings. Surrounded by a few choice friends, you readily surrender to others the frivolities of society, the conflicts of politics, and the contests and rewards which divide the great body of even able and cultivated men. This is well as far as it goes. But, even in this tranquil and elevated sphere, you may forget the true ends of life. It may be very needful that as you sit in your well-stocked library, or loiter through your choice gallery, you should recall now and then the admonition, “this is not your rest.” Peradventure, the occasion for this may be quite as urgent with you as with any of the eager crowd who jostle each other along the thoroughfares of business. For these tastes are eminently fascinating. Few persons indulge these attractions without becoming enthusiasts. And an obvious reason for this is that the pleasure they yield is more satisfying than that supplied by most other pursuits. It comes nearer to filling the capacities of the soul—not that it does fill them. When was a scholar, a painter, a sculptor, or a musician, perfectly satisfied? But, as among the customary professions of men, the inherent craving of the mind after some real good is at least better met in these directions than in others. And thus they usually become supreme and controlling. Unless carefully watched, the arts and intellectual pursuits detach the affections from their true object, indispose to serious thought, create a distaste for religious meditation, and repress all interest in the church, the study of the Scriptures, and private devotion. Assuredly, then, the class of men here intended require to have the lesson kept constantly before them, “this is not your rest.”

We now will pass into quite another sphere, where we offer Micah’s Scripture as a sedative to worry.

“Worry!” How wide the sweep of this word! Who can reckon the vast concourse it represents? It were easier to count the hearts which have not some worrisome burden than those which have. The burdens, it is true, are sometimes self-imposed. There are persons who are constitutionally anxious and worry. They must have something to feel distressed about. Their eyes, by some strange defect, have one lens too many and it is always tinted to see everything in a false light. Have you not met these unhappy people full of misgivings, skillful in detecting the dark side of things, suspicious of a latent hot wind mingled with the fresh breath of spring, treating good tidings as the proverbial harbinger of bad, and fearing to rejoice in the mercies of today, lest some trouble may come tomorrow! Poor, unquiet souls, what a toilsome journey they have of it! The path to Bunyan’s celestial city in Pilgrim’s Progress is not overly smooth at best, but to them it is very rugged. Somehow they are attracted to the rough places. They rather choose them, because when they come to a spot where there are no rocks, the air is perfumed with flowers, the living water sparkles in the sunlight, and the melody of the distant harpers seems floating down from the palace of the Great King, they begin to apprehend that they must have wandered out of the road. Nothing will do which savors of present enjoyment.

Now it might seem incongruous to come to disciples like these with the admonition, “this is not your rest.” For do they not know it already? Is it not this very conviction that is spreading such a gloomy hue around them? It is, and it is not, according as the lesson is understood. What they gather from the lesson is, that since this world is not designed to be our permanent residence, therefore we are to make ourselves as uncomfortable here as possible. The true use of it is just the opposite of this. “This is not your rest,” therefore, do not be surprised at the anomalies and difficulties you encounter. Do not exaggerate them. They are frequent enough and serious enough. But life is not made up of these. The good Master we serve has mercifully mingled troubles with our portion that they may keep us mindful of the rest that awaits us, and they help to discipline us in our way. But we miss the benefit of troubles whenever we become blind to the mercies with which He has tempered them. Although our “rest” is not here, yet we have resting places here. There is many a green pasture, and many a spring by the roadside, for the refreshment of weary pilgrims.

“The hill of Zion yields,
A thousand sacred sweets,
Before we reach the heavenly fields,
Or walk the golden streets.”

And if this is not enough to check the rising waters of thoughts of doom, it might be sufficient for you to remember what lies beyond the flood. That you as a Christian have a “rest,” this you do not question. Why not, then, make the best of the inconveniences of the way? Why live in constant fearfulness, when you could trust the Father’s care and be at peace? Have you ever found that your nervous fear of trouble, as a cherished habit of mind, gives you strength for present responsibilities, or makes you fitter for the heavenly rest?

But there are modes of worry, anxious care, which cannot be referred to thoughts of doom, or morbid fear. People who are in no way morbid in their feelings have anxieties about their children, their businesses, their domestic concerns, about public affairs, and about the Church. Do we reprimand this? Do we say, “It is foolish and wrong; you ought to know better!” For how can we avoid all anxiety about these things? We have too much at stake. Our feelings are too deeply involved. We have seen too much of the peril that assails all earthly interests for us to remain at ease. This is not what our Heavenly Father asks of us. At least, He would not have us impassive stones. It was not for inaction that He endowed us with these feelings and tender sympathies. Life fails of its proper discipline when we become petrified, even though we may imagine we are doing service to God. But we need not, in eluding one extreme, go to the other. If we must worry, let it not run into a consuming passion. Let us not treat the source or occasion of it as we might if this world were our permanent abode. Viewed only in this light, there might be cause enough for painful and lasting consideration. But there is another light to fall upon the scene, “this is not your rest.” Do not these words relieve the shadows blurring your situation?

Take, for example, matters of public concern. The course of events both with the State and with the Church may fill you with apprehension.[*] There are periods when no friend of the Church or of the human race can well avoid this—certainly there is but one way of counteracting it. Excluding the doctrine of providence and a retributive hereafter, nothing could reconcile one to the moral chaos which the world presents to the eye. When we think what it might be and what it is; when we compare its governments and peoples in their actual condition with the state they are capable of attaining; when we contrast the relative prevalence throughout the globe of piety, justice, benevolence, and content, on the one hand, and ignorance, oppression, superstition, violence, and suffering, on the other; it is natural to anticipate a future which shall engulf the human race in still deeper darkness and consign it to a more hopeless misery. This, I say, is “natural.” Looking over the scene from any mere earthly standpoint, we can hardly avoid it. For the mysteries which meet the eye are intractable to any human wisdom. There is only one key to them, and it is our own fault if we have not secured it, “this is not your rest.” Here is the solution to this mighty riddle of public concern. This disorder and confusion; this reign of passion and cruelty; the triumphs of evil over virtue, of might over right, of the slow progress of Christianity; the jealousies and divisions within the church—in a word, the whole tide of events so counter to our plans, and apparently so pregnant with evil—why should this fill us with apprehension? Is it not just in keeping with the design of the present life—which is confessedly preparative and transitory—where nothing is completed, nothing stable, nothing so isolated that you can pass a judgment upon it without knowing all that has gone before and all that is to follow? If this were intended as your “rest,” you might well be appalled. But because it is not, you have your remedy against desponding fears. Whatever unpleasant aspect the world may present to you, you know whose hand is on the helm, and how able He is to control the winds and the waves, and how certainly He will bring the ark which bears the hopes of a ruined race into the haven of perfect peace. These tempests of life in government and politics are only helping it on its way. And it is part of their errand to keep us mindful that we are not to seek our rest here.

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