Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19,25-30
“Burdens”
Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church
Mindy Douglas Adams
July 6, 2008
14th Sunday in Ordinary Time
I went on my first hiking trip at age twelve. I was a camper for two weeks at Camp Buc, a Presbyterian wilderness camp in Western North Carolina . In our second week, we set out, about eight campers and four counselors, with plans to hike a portion of the Foothills trail. Our packs we those big, external frame packs they don’t even make any more and they were loaded down with tent parts, sleeping bags, water, clothes and our portion of the food we would eat. I was so excited, with my hiking boots on and my bandana around my head. We waved goodbye to the drop-off van and headed down the trail singing loud camp songs. That was Monday.
By the time Wednesday rolled around, I thought I was going to die. My boots now rubbed some very painful blisters. My bandana was a feeble attempt to cover my dirty hair. My sleeping bag was soggy, my water was running low and my muscles ached with every step. The pack that had been so light when we left camp seemed to be laden with rocks and bricks and weighed heavily upon my exhausted 80 pound body. I was close to tears as we hiked the final miles to meet the van which would take us home. I was no longer singing and I was trying not whine “how much further” at the counselors too many times. I put my head down and focused on taking one step at a time.
Then he appeared beside me. Greg, one of our counselors. A tall, strong graduate student. And he took my pack from me and carried it the last two miles. He had run ahead with his own pack, left it at the trail head, and come back for my pack and for one of the other girls’ packs. I could not believe it. I suddenly knew I would make it. I was still exhausted, but he had taken the weight from my shoulders and I knew I would make it.
My burden was heavy that day and my relief was indescribable when it was lifted from me. My story seems insignificant, though, compared to other tales I have heard of physical burdens lifted, but it is the story I experienced first-hand and the one I know best. Perhaps you all have similar stories of your own to tell. Of burdens lifted. Most likely very few of those stories would have to do with literal physical burdens like my own, but the feelings of other non-physical burdens are so similar – of desperation, of near exhaustion, of despair that the end might never be in sight, and then . . . of relief flowing over you like a wave of emotion when the burden is finally lifted from your shoulders. This is a feeling we have all had at one time or another and so when we hear the words of Jesus from today’s passage, “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavily burdened, and I will give you rest,” we, almost every one of us, sigh deeply and can feel the relief sweeping over us as we melt into the arms of Jesus. This passage speaks to humankind universally.
The great 20th century theologian Paul Tillich, in his book The Shaking of the Foundations, shares a story of his early encounter with this passage:
When I was of the age to receive confirmation and full membership in the Church [he writes], I was told to choose a passage from the Bible as the expression of my personal approach to the Biblical message and to the Christian Church. Every confirmee was obliged to do so, and to recite the passage before the congregation. When I chose the words, "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden", I was asked with a kind of astonishment and even irony why I had chosen that particular passage. For I was living under happy conditions, and, being only fifteen years old, was without any apparent labor and burden. I could not answer at that time; I felt a little embarrassed, but basically right. And I was right, indeed; every child is right in responding immediately to those words; every adult is right in responding to them in all periods of his life, and under all the conditions of his internal and external history. These words of Jesus are universal, and fit every human being and every human situation. They are simple; they grasp the heart of the primitive as well as that of the profound . . . . Our task in the face of words like these is obvious: we must point to the ground of their power over our souls; we must explain why, in their emotional force, the force of an ultimate truth is involved; and we must attempt to view our human situation in their light.
It is easy enough, I think, to point to the power these words of Jesus have over our souls. They have such emotional force because they speak to us so directly. We have all carried burdens. We have all desperately sought relief from those burdens. My own hiking experience at age twelve has become for me a metaphor for the way we humans encounter such burdens in life. These burdens are, more-often-than-not, emotional, mental and psychological burdens that weigh so heavily upon us that we cannot seem to take one more step forward. They are burdens placed upon us by accidents of nature or by our own missteps. They are burdens we didn’t ask for and are not equipped to carry. You know them. You have carried them.
They are burdens of disease, when the diagnosis is handed down along with a treatment plan and an uncertain future and the promise of physical pain and emotional confusion.
They are burdens of divorce or broken relationships or betrayal, when all that you have done is not enough and the dreams are shattered and the emotional pain is almost unbearable.
They are burdens of unemployment or staying in a job that makes you miserable in order to avoid unemployment.
They are burdens of mental illness, and of not being understood or helped in the way you need to be helped.
They are burdens of being a caregiver, burdens of being a parent to a wayward or confused teen;
They are burdens of addiction or of feeling trapped in any way.
They are burdens of self-doubt, of feeling never quite good enough.
They are also burdens of the world – burdens of war and pain and poverty and suffering and things seemingly beyond our control.
Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest,” and as we hear these words, we ache for them to be true. We long for such relief and so we strain toward the words, hoping, hoping. . .
Then we hear what Jesus says next, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me.” Suddenly we realize that rest for Jesus doesn’t mean a lounge chair and a strawberry smoothie. Instead of a hammock, jokes Tom Long, he offers a yoke. If you are like me, the word yoke conjures up an image of a cross bar with two u-shaped contraptions used to hold work-oxen as they pull a plow. Not exactly the first thing I think of when promised rest! But you see, in Judaism a yoke was a way of understanding a faithful person’s relationship to the Law. A faithful person was yoked to the Law and therefore served the law with obedience. Just like two oxen yoked together, a person of faith yoked to the Law of God was sure to go in the right direction – the direction of obedience to the law. But as Jesus continues it becomes clear that there is something very different about his yoke! For he says, “I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
For the people listening to Jesus, this was a major transition from the way they had always lived. They had lived yoked to the law, constantly seeking to follow it letter by letter, constantly making sacrificial offerings when they fell short, living bound to that yoke that pulled them along mercilessly, that make them feel either proud for their ability to keep it or ashamed for the way they fell short. Jesus well knew that rest for our restless souls would never come from our own repeated efforts (and failures) to keep the laws that religion had imposed upon us, rather it would come when we were freed from the laws of religion, free to love God and one another because we are children of God and sisters and brothers in faith.
Paul Tillich again,
The yoke of Jesus is easy in itself, because it is above the law, and replaces the toiling and laboring with rest in our souls. . . . He calls it a yoke, He means that it comes from above and grasps us with saving force; he calls it easy, He means that it is not a matter of our acting and striving, but rather that it is given before anything we can do. It is being, power, reality, conquering the anxiety and despair, the fear and the restlessness of our existence. It is here, amongst us, in the midst of our personal tragedy, and the tragedy of history. . . . Suddenly we are grasped by a peace which is above reason; that is, above our theoretical seeking for the true, and above our practical striving for the good. The true – namely the truth of our life and of our existence – has grasped us. The good, the ultimate good . . . in itself, has grasped us. We have not become more moral or more saintly; we still belong to a world which is subject to evil and self-destruction. But the good of life is in us [yoked to us], uniting us with the good of everything, giving us the blessed experience of [God’s love and peace] (brackets mine).
It is not surprising really that Matthew follows this passage with two stories of encounters between Jesus and the Pharisees. The first encounter happened when his hungry disciples plucked heads of grain to eat. Seemed innocent enough, but alas, it was the Sabbath day and the Pharisees, who were yoked to the law, condemned their action, for it was not lawful to pick grain on the Sabbath. But the disciples were no longer yoked to the law, they were yoked to Jesus, who reminded the Pharisees of his words, “I desire mercy and not sacrifice.”
The second encounter with the Pharisees happened when, on that same Sabbath, Jesus healed a man with a withered hand, saying, “It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath” and infuriating the Pharisees, who viewed his action to be in direct opposition to their holy law. The Pharisees remained yoked to the law, captives to their own striving. The followers of Jesus wore a different yoke, one of peace and forgiveness and humility and rest and love of God and others which far surpassed love of the law.
It’s about freedom, really. Freedom from the weight of the world that we have too often accepted because we thought it was our due – our payment for the privilege of being human. But Jesus sets us straight and calls us to throw off the burden of the law that enslaves us, the burden of societal or religious rules that entraps us, and join up with his yoke – which is light, and freeing and redemptive, and hopeful.
And don’t let me or anyone else lead you to believe that anything is required of you before you are yoked to Jesus. Tillich writes,
“Forget all Christian doctrines, forget your own certainties and your own doubts, when you hear the call of Jesus. Forget all Christian morals, your achievements and your failures, when you come to Him. Nothing is demanded of you, no idea of God, and no goodness in yourselves, not your being religious, not your being Christian, not your being wise, and not your being moral. But what is demanded is only your being open and willing to accept what is given to you . . . the new being of love and justice and truth, as it is manifest in Him whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light.”
The call of Jesus is for you and for me and for all who are ready to hear and to respond:
“Come to me, all you who are weary,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest.”
In him, may we all find rest for our weary souls. May we all find rest.
Amen.
Copyright 2008: Mindy Douglas Adams
