The Weight We Carry

"Come to me, all of you who are tired form carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke and put it on you, and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in spirit; and you will find rest.  For the yoke I will give you is easy, and the load I will put on you is light." Matthew 11:28-30

This is not the first time I've preached on this verse. According to my records, I first preached on this verse more than six years ago. It was during Lent, about one month before I left my first call, or church job, in the suburbs of Detroit. I remember that because I preached this verse the day I announced to the congregation that I had taken another call, and would be getting married before I did. Needless to say, a lot has changed in my life since then. As I read this verse, I realized that the weight I carry has changed. I mean that in the most literal sense. Not only has my physical weight changed through these adventures of love, bearing children, and aging, but also the weight I carry has literally changed. Loads of laundry, baskets of toys, bags of groceries, and children - a joey if you're in front, a piggy if you're on my back, and the kids are getting too big for me to do both at the same time.

It's a nice verse. As Alyce McKenzie points out, "let's embroider verse 28 on a pillow because it's so sweet." It's the kind of verse to cross stitch and hang on the wall, alongside Psalm 23 and John 3:16. Because we all have weight to carry. The more connected and interconnected we become to the people and lives around us, when our responsibilities increase and our family becomes more and more dependent on us for their daily needs, like shelter, food, and transportation, our burdens increase. When we take that super-exciting scholarship, based on our past efforts, and find ourselves pushed to live up to the expectations of keeping it, when our future is uncertain, we don't really know what's next, and everyone keeps asking because they really want to know, our burdens increase. When parents and grandparents have invested a lot of money into us, so we could play instruments and participate in sports, our burdens increase. And when we realize that we are aging, and the ones we love are aging, and we must find ways to care for ourselves and them at the same time, and there are no easy answers, our burdens increase.

They come upon us slowly, increasing in weight and pressure, until we can no longer carry them. Like the monks, whether it's the weight of a vow or a promise we made and now must break, or the burden of knowing someone else is in trouble, we cannot avoid packing burdens with us as we travel through life. Our carts grow heavy as we pull our burdens off the shelves. By the time we're finished and ready to check out, we realize how much of the stuff in our shopping carts we really don't need. That vow we made to be friends forever, broken when you have a falling out. Put it in the cart. The promise you made to send your children to college, a promise you can no longer afford. Put it in the cart. The vow you made to love your spouse in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, as long as you both shall live, broken from the weight of living check to check. Put it in the cart. The vow to care for your parents, never to allow them to live in a nursing home, broken because you are not equipped to deal with their dementia and increasingly frail bones. Put it in the cart. The promise made to a business partner, associate, or colleague that you cannot keep because your family needs you more. Put it in the cart. By the time we approach the check out line, we realize we have more than twelve items, not counting the bigger items on the bottom of our cart. We are stuck, left with a heavy bill.

And that doesn't even count our evaluation of other carts. Yes, we all do it, take stock of the carts in front of us and behind us, especially when we know the people pushing them. We feel the disappointment of the friends and mentors who have let us down. We pack their broken promises on top of our already overflowing heap. We are burdened, heavily burdened.

But I'm afraid religion doesn't always help us. Looking for solace and comfort, we gather with other Christians, asking them for help. We look to the Bible, in search of a better way, different answers. We search through our history, looking for the saints and sinners whose lives we can learn from. We are searching, searching for the easy way out, looking for the coupons that will help us afford the overwhelming cost of the items in our cart. If we're not careful, instead of finding the comfort and solace we are looking for, we find a whole new list of vows to be made and expectations to live up to. More stuff gets put in our cart.

I can't think of this passage without thinking of the story of the two monks travelling through the countryside. Their monastery asked them to take vows that included never touching a woman and keeping silence except during meals. As they travelled, they came to a river they would have to cross. A woman also stood at the river, unable to cross by herself. So one monk threw her over his shoulder, carried her across, and set her down. The monks continued on their journey, side by side, in silence. The monks finally reached town, where they sat down for their evening meal. Able to break their silence at long last, the first monk asked the other what was bothering him, "For miles and miles, I felt you were distracted, upset, and growing more and more tense. You sigh a lot, and are obviously troubled. Please, tell me what bothers you so?" "Well," the second monk said, "you broke our vows. I know the woman was in trouble, and I know she couldn't cross on her own, but surely someone else could've helped her along later. But you broke our vows, and I'm deeply troubled by it." "Ah," the first monk replied. "I see. My friend, I carried the woman only across the river, you have been carrying her ever since. Which one of us has broken our vows?"

Perhaps one of the most well-known passages in the Bible, take my yoke upon you, and I will give you rest, this passage is delivered to a crowd gathered in Matthew 11. "After [Jesus] finished instructing his disciples," and he goes out to teach in the disciples’ hometowns. No longer teaching only the disciples themselves, he is now teaching their families, friends, and enemies. His message is to those who know what the scriptures say, who have tried their hardest all their lives to live up to the standards and expectations put before them. Having failed, they are burdened with the weight of all the vows and promises made, vows and promises not fully kept. They are heavily burdened. His message to them is simple, as he preaches to the cities that have seen his miraculous deeds and yet do not believe. Repent! It is not about religion. It is about belief. Believing in Christ, whom God sent to them. He calls to the crowd with an invitation... "Come to me, all you who are heavily burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and I will give you rest."

Can you envision the yoke he is talking about? A yoke, of course, is a bar that crosses behind the shoulders of oxen, donkeys or other beasts of burden, helping them to carry even larger burdens. An easy yoke, as Douglas AH Hare notes, would be one that is comfortable, fit for our shoulders. This falls into the saying, "God won't give us more than we can handle." We are beasts of burden, like oxen, donkeys, and horses, strong enough and designed to carry large and heavy loads, loads we are encouraged to share with Christ.

Yet I find this interpretation of the passage doesn't actually ease my burdens. You see, I don't believe we are created to be beasts of burden. Genesis tells us we are created in the image of God, given dominion over all of creation. The prophets tell us we are called to be a people of justice and mercy. The Psalms call us to worship and pray. So we are not beasts of burden, carrying the yoke of Christ.

So I was intrigued and relieved when I studied this passage again this week.  I read these words from Biblical scholar Alyce M. McKenzie of Southern Methodist University, "The background to this text is found in the Wisdom of Jesus ben Sirach, a book written by a Jewish scribe in around 125 B.C.E. The author invites people to study the law with these words:

Put your necks under her yoke, and let your soul accept her burden. See, I have worked but little and found much rest.

"The yoke of the law" is a common phrase in rabbinic writings. Jesus was not so much criticizing the law itself, but the [scholars and experts] who load people down with burdens hard to bear (Lk 11:46; Mt 23:4)." It didn't change the verse, but it did change my approach to it.

Jesus is talking to those who are burdened by the weight of expectations, vows and promises made to God. Matthew, as you may know, was written to those who believe in God, who are trying to follow God, paying attention to God, and who know the traditions, history and scriptures of their religion. A yoke worn by a person signified their discipleship, that they were led by a specific prophet or teacher. Much like the stole I wear today, it stood for who you followed, not how much weight you could carry.                 

In fact, this passage tells us that the weight of our religion, the weight of our promises, the weight of our vows, indeed, the burdens that we carry will change their form when we follow the Son of God. "Learn from me," Jesus says, "for I am gentle and humble in heart. You will find rest for your souls."

Rest for our souls. Sounds good, doesn't it? Take all of those burdens that you have picked up along the way and put them back on the shelves. Someone very wise once said a burden is a gift you don't have to accept. We are freed from the religious burden of trying to be perfect. Christ is perfect for us. We are freed so we can learn from Christ.

Of course our vows matter! As a minister I have made vows. As a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend I have made vows. I witnessed many of your vows, to your spouses at weddings, to your children at baptism, to your parents who needed your care. So I do take them seriously, as I know you do. I don't believe they are made to be broken. I just think religion is about vows, and Christ is about faith, belief and learning. If we accept the invitation offered to us in Christ, if we take the yoke of discipleship, of learning, and of following, we will know a much better way.  A way of gentleness and humility that demands more than just obedience. It's not about whether or not we follow all the rules of our religion. As the disciples found out, it's about whether or not we are willing to follow Christ, to learn from Christ, to look past the vows and expectations into the heart of the one who calls us.

This is a matter of discipleship and calling. Who will you follow? Are you willing to accept Christ's invitation to be his disciple today? Not his rule keeper, but his disciple, his follower? The weight we carry changes throughout our lives. But the weight doesn't have to become burdens.   Amen.

Melodie Jones Pointon (sermon shared originally in 2016)