Rest for the Weary

Sermon

When was the last time you felt invigorated by something you were working on? I do realize that question might work better for a different audience, a congregation where maybe only a few are retired. (Although if the stories you all tell me are true, you are busier in retirement than you were when you held down a job!)

But when was the last time something you were working on—your job, or your volunteer gig, or raising your family—invigorated, excited, energized you? Hold that question for a little while, and we will come back to it.

In today’s lesson from Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is offering rest to the weary. And weary the people are. They are weary of Rome, the great pagan power that has colonized their Jewish community; Rome, who has taxed them mercilessly; Rome, who created a system in which the powerful became more powerful and the poor became poorer; Rome, where a soldier could demand food, lodging, and clothes from anyone; Rome….

Under the rule of Rome, the chosen people, Jesus’ people, are suffering; at least most of them are. A few have colluded with the powers, but for today, those folks are not our problem. But the average Judean has a diminished life because of the way Rome wields its power against the little guys. Their backs are up against the wall, and they have no recourse.

So, as happens when your back is against the wall, you have few choices. You can give up, bury your head in the sand, not make waves, and endure. You exist, but you don’t really live.

Or you can fight, become the rebel, make fun of the powers that be and maybe even commit small acts of violence against Rome’s agents—soldiers and tax collectors—and let it be known that you won’t go quietly.

Or you can cling to what you have, follow your own laws to the nth degree, determine within your own little sphere what is right and what is wrong, who is right and who is wrong, so as not to draw Rome’s attention to you but to still cling to the shreds of power that you do have.

That might help us understand what’s happening in this text. Everyone around Jesus is hurting—the faithful folks who gather to worship God, the religious authorities, the curious who listen to what Jesus is saying and wonder if this guy is a true prophet or something else.

In their pain, the religious authorities choose the path of doubling down, of following the law to the nth degree. They discredit John the Baptist—the one who invites people to repent, the one who wails and mourns. They discredit Jesus—the one who talks intimately about God as his father, Abba, his dad; Jesus, the one who dances and rejoices. John, they say, has a demon, and Jesus is a drunkard and a glutton. The religious leaders cannot see the good news even though it’s staring them in the face. So great is their pain and sense of powerlessness, they inflict pain on others and abuse their own authority.

Is it so different today? Everywhere we look, people are hurting. It’s hard to find a place on the globe that hasn’t been affected by climate changes. Last week marked the hottest day on earth in recorded history. That is not good news. That means heat domes, and severe tornadoes, hurricane after hurricane, polar vortexes, drought, flood.

Portland has become the poster child for the plague of homelessness, but the truth is, just about every major city in the U.S. is struggling with exorbitantly high housing costs and insufficient affordable housing, and every major city is seeking a genius solution to help get people off the streets. You and I see this every single day. On Friday morning I had dropped Sarah off at work downtown, and on my way home, on the corner of Burnside and Broadway, stood a guy with his pants around his ankles, mooning all of us. I had an immediate response of disgust and sorrow. How did we let this happen? And why don’t people want better for themselves? I’m not proud of my response, but it’s an honest one.

And social media is killing whatever community vibe we once had. Every day I thank my lucky stars that I went to high school and college before there was an internet. Had I not, every foolish thing I did as an adolescent and young adult could have been recorded for eternity. There’s not a lot of grace to be found on Twitter; not a lot of authenticity by Instagram influencers. Honestly, I would leave Facebook if it wasn’t a significant way to keep in touch with parishioners.

In the face of the pain of contemporary society, maybe the same choices face us. We can give up, bury our heads in the sand, and endure. We can exist, but not really live.

Or we can fight, become the rebels, protest and march and write our elected officials and post on social media and put up yard signs and wear T-shirts and let it be known that we won’t go quietly.

Or we can cling to what we have, follow our own laws to the nth degree, determine within our own little spheres what is right and what is wrong, who is right and who is wrong, and cling to the shreds of power that we still have.

Being a follower of Jesus doesn’t always help. We pick up our crosses and follow him and the way is hard and sometimes even lonely. As scholar Emilie Townes says, “The discipleship to which Jesus calls us not only offers us rest but also guarantees us persecution.” (Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 3, p. 214)

Sometimes it feels as though being faithful to God is one more burden, that loving self, neighbor, and God is simply too much. I’ve been helping out my neighbors who are on vacation, who didn’t have time to deal with food that might spoil before they’re back, and as I read expiration date after expiration date and threw out food, I found myself getting more and more resentful. And then I said to myself, “What would Jesus like me to do? Be less judgy and more gracious. But I’m hot and tired and a little grossed out and I hate wasting food and I’d rather wallow in that than be my better self and love my neighbors by cleaning up their kitchen.” Even the most basic acts of discipleship can seem so hard and wearying.

And to that Jesus extends this invitation. “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Eugene Peterson, The Message)

These words are like running through a sprinkler on a summer day. For those who first heard Jesus say these words, it was like finding a deep well in the shade on the hottest of days and taking a long draught of cool water. For those who were so tired of being under the thumb of Rome, for those who found it impossible to keep up with all the rules of the religious authorities, for those who wished for an existence that wasn’t one of poverty, these words were a healing balm.

Jesus invites them into a sort of Sabbath. Not the kind that came from long ago—the ancient Sabbath was a reminder to the people of Israel that they were free, not Pharaoh’s slaves who had to labor every day. No, Jesus is offering a Sabbath from those things that wear away at the soul. Persecution. Oppression. Poverty. Failure. Judgment. Apathy. Powerlessness.

Now note that Jesus doesn’t say he will take all that away. He is too much of a realist for that. No, what he says is to put down that yoke and share his yoke. He will share the burden, and somehow, by his sharing, the burden is lighter.

I’ve thought a lot this week about what that means, that his “yoke is easy” and his “burden is light.” How does that work? How was this good news for those who first heard these words?

Well, I thought, maybe it was about hope. It was the hope that God had not given up on the chosen people. It was the hope that God would keep the divine promises and send a messiah to deliver the people from their oppression. It was the hope that someone really did care about what the little guy was going through. And that seemed… adequate. But I kept getting that nagging feeling that there was something more I was missing.

In following Jesus, we are yoked with him. That means that he shares our work and we share his. If you’ve ever tried, on a daily basis, to love God, neighbor, and self, you know that work is so often not easy. It can feel burdensome. But here’s the thing: we do not bear the burden alone. Yes, we are invited to follow him, to become his disciples, but it’s never just us, and it’s never just “me and Jesus.”

Discipleship is the work of many, not the work of one. Jesus’ words are not to the singular “you” but the plural “y’all.”

Come to me, all y’all who are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give all y’all rest. And then, as Emilie Townes puts it, “…a theology of discipleship pushes us to think more keenly about how we express the lessons we have learned and continue to learn. We do this best in a community of discipleship that challenges us as it tells us the plain truth of our acts and how they affect those around us like ripples on a pond—or something like tidal waves after an earthquake.” (Feasting, p. 216.)

Faith is best practiced in the company of others, others who are like us and others who are not. That’s why we have book groups and Bible studies and the public sharing of our joys and concerns. None of us has this faith thing down; none of us gets a five on the Discipleship Advanced Placement exam; none of us has reason to say nothing during the prayer of confession.

It’s time to come back to the question I asked at the beginning of the sermon. When was the last time something you were working on—your job, or your volunteer gig, or raising your family—invigorated, excited, energized you?

In its ideal sense, the work of discipleship is that which energizes and doesn’t deplete. As one scholar put it, “The easy yoke means having something to do: purpose that demands your all and summons forth your best. It means work that is motivated by a passionate desire to see God’s kingdom realized. …To accept the yoke of the gentle and humble Lord is to embrace the worthy task that puts the soul at east.” (Lance Pape, Feasting on the Word, p. 217)

The kind of discipleship work we do in this Westminster community can be so filled with meaning and have great purpose. You can find that elsewhere, of course, but since we’re here, let’s share the yoke with each other. I hear it’s easy and light.

Thanks be to God.