Burdens

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

July 5, 2020

Next Saturday my family and I were supposed to be in Minnesota. July 11 was the date we set to have a celebration of my dad’s life with extended family and friends. Afterward, we were supposed to inter his ashes at Fort Snelling in St. Paul, with military honors for his service during the Korean War. 

Our reason for planning this celebration next week, even though we had a small service right after he died last fall, was because our family is pretty spread out geographically. Having a celebration of life this summer would give everyone a chance to plan and be there. The person in our family who is the farthest away is my sister, Jill, in Athens, Greece. She could not get home last fall for the first service, so this celebration of life would be her chance to be there. Jill had her ticket. She should have arrived a week ago. We had made all the plans we thought we needed to make. But we will not be gathering in Minnesota next Saturday, because what we had not planned for was a pandemic. Jill’s flight to the States was cancelled, just as so many flights from Europe to the States have been cancelled. Even if it would not have been, we were afraid for her traveling. She has Multiple Sclerosis, and long flights on at least two planes and having to negotiate multiple airports could be deadly for her. And if she had gotten here, would she have been able to go back, considering the European Union has now restricted flights from the United States? 

We have postponed my dad’s service indefinitely. Maybe we will be able to have it next spring; maybe next summer, who knows? We’ll just have to wait and see.  

I know that in the bigger picture of problems and losses caused by the pandemic, our having to postpone this service is not a tragedy. I know that in comparison with what so many other families are going through, the losses people have experienced – loss of loved ones, loss of job, loss of health – this loss, my family’s loss, is just a small drop in the bucket of grief felt the world over. But it is a loss for us, and it adds to the burden of grief we already feel.

The burden of grief. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure that I would have described grief as a burden before, but when I read again these familiar verses from Matthew’s gospel, that was the burden that came to mind. I saw grief as one of the many burdens to which Jesus referred. 

We often want to take these last verses, 28 through 30, and focus on them solely. They offer comfort and rest and a gentleness that is soothing to troubled soul. But they are set in a larger context, and it is helpful to wrap our minds around what is happening. 

At the beginning of this chapter, Jesus receives a message from John the Baptizer in prison: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” 

I will not try to parse out why John asks Jesus this question, which I have always found confusing, considering who John was and to whom he pointed. But the question does not seem to upset or throw Jesus off. After sending the messengers back with his answer, that the proof of his identity can be seen in the blind receiving their sight, etc. Jesus goes on to praise John. No one born of women has arisen greater than John the Baptist. However, right after his praise of John, Jesus points his fingers at the crowds around him. These are the first verses in our part of the story.

This generation, he said, is like children sitting in the marketplace, complaining, whining. We played the lute for you and you did not dance. We wailed and you did not mourn. You complained that John was ascetic. He did not eat. He did not drink, and you claimed he had a demon. The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say, look he’s a drunkard! Look, he eats with sinners. There was no pleasing you! There was no making you happy! 

        “Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.” 

That last sentence seems to make no sense, as though it was just added onto the end randomly, unless you look at the verses that are left out of our reading. Jesus turns his ire on the cities where most of his great deeds were done. Yet even where Jesus showed himself to be the Son of Man, the Son of God, those cities, those peoples still did not repent. They did not believe. There was wisdom, but there was no understanding. 

And then we come to the rest of our story. And I admit that I cringe somewhat when I read verses 25 through 27. The things of God have been hidden from the wise and the intelligent, and instead revealed to infants. Who are these infants? Later, Jesus will welcome children despite the objections of his disciples and others. Later, he will claim that the kingdom of heaven belongs to the little ones such as those children. Infants will know the truth, but the wise and intelligent cannot see it. They just don’t get it. And when I read these words, I cringe, because faith seeking knowledge was not just the motto of my seminary, it is the way I try to live my life. I value intellect. I value knowledge. I believe God has given us brains and minds in order for us to use them, and I think verses like this have been taken out of context and used to justify doing the opposite. So I read them and I cringe, because I feel they are speaking to me. 

But I also know something else. I know that faith is not a mind only enterprise. Faith is not an either or between heart and mind, but a both and. Faith encompasses our whole selves. Jesus called those who would hear to believe with their whole selves, heart, body and mind.  

And here’s the thing about our whole selves – they get weighted down, weary and burdened. Grief and loss and worry and anxiety and fear and hopelessness and despair are all burdens. Who has lost sleep because their minds will not turn off, hashing and rehashing whatever troubles or stresses or difficulties are present? I have. Who has felt the burdensome weight of physical illness, whether in yourself or in someone you love? I have. Who has felt the exhaustion of carrying grief or anger or depression? I have. 

These burdens may seem minor in comparison with the burdens of poverty and oppression, and truly those are wearisome burdens indeed. But while living means carrying burdens, these last months seem especially burdensome. I know that the burdens I carry are much less than the burdens others carry. I have not lost sight of that, but that has not prevented the weariness I feel from settling down on me like a blanket. I suspect that some of you feel the same way. 

That is why these words of Jesus feel and are so comforting. But notice that Jesus does not offer to take away our burdens. Jesus does not promise to wave his hand and make them disappear. He just says, “Come to me.” 

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for 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.” 

No, Jesus does not offer to take away our burdens; in fact, he offers to add a yoke to our necks. At first, this might seem like an offer that I could easily refuse. I’m already burdened and weighed down and weary, and you want to put a yoke on my neck?! I don’t think so, Jesus. 

But what about this yoke? I know that a yoke is used for two animals. It binds them together so that heavier loads are easier to pull. But something I did not know, although I’m sure those of you who grew up on farms did, is that when a farmer is training an animal to pull heavy loads, he or she will pair up a young, untrained ox with an older, trained one. Being yoked together the trained ox teach the untrained one. 

The yoke Jesus offers is not to add weight, and it is not just about sharing the load, it is to teach. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me. When the weight of our burdens tempts us to pull away, to walk away, to give up, the yoke that Jesus offers not only takes some of the weight off our shoulders but brings us closer to him. It brings us closer to him, so that we can learn, so that our faith can grow in our minds and in our hearts.  

We need to take on that yoke, because we are carrying heavy burdens, and we are weary. And we need to share our yoke with those who are even more burdened and wearier than we are. Because I don’t think it’s just about Jesus and me, but it is about Jesus and us. It is about us, you and me, and the people beyond these doors, sharing our burdens together. Our faith is not something to be privatized. We all carry heavy burdens. We all grow weary. The question is, can we find a way to yoke not only to Jesus to learn and to grow, but to yoke together, one to another? Can we find a way to share one another’s burdens, to give one another rest, to learn from Jesus and to learn from each other? Can we do this, so one day we can lay these burdens down for good? 

Amen and amen.