Sunday, July 9, 2023
/The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
The Rev. Clint Brown
Today I would like to talk about the Gospel reading and its imagery; in particular, two of its images: the somewhat puzzling, even random story about the children playing in the market and, second, Jesus’s imaginative use of the old metaphor of the rabbis – the draft animals’ yoke. At first there would not seem to be any connection between the two, but it will be my purpose to try and discover one and what that might mean for us today.
After an encounter with some messengers sent by John the Baptist, who now sits in prison, the scene opens with Jesus addressing a crowd of curious onlookers. He takes advantage of their curiosity to explain to them the importance of John. John, he says, was a true prophet, like the prophets of old – bold, zealous, absolutely committed to his mission – and, especially in his rough dress and manner of life, representative of a philosophy of life altogether different from that of the self-righteous, self-important, self-serving leaders occupying the corridors of power. And, just like the prophets of old, he has been misunderstood, not only by them, which was to be expected, but even more tragically by the crowds. The situation, he says, strikes him as no different from a group of children at play who pout when they don’t get what they want. We played our flutes, didn’t we, why do you not dance? We wailed our hearts out, why do you not accompany us with a song? John the Baptist had come neither eating nor drinking but with a stern demand for repentance, but most people had thought that too extreme, if not dangerous. And Jesus came eating with tax collectors and sinners and entering into joyous fellowship with others and the Pharisees had thought that an affront to the Law. Why if John’s disciples fasted, did not yours (9:14-17)? A true prophet would know to keep Sabbath and not heal. And now we see Jesus’s point. No matter in what guise God had reached out to this generation, they were obstinately set against it. Neither John with his strictness nor Jesus with his easy manner had danced to their tune or sung their songs. So who could blame Jesus for being just a little frustrated and left to wonder just what could satisfy these people? And, in the final analysis, the answer was that nothing could – nothing could satisfy them because they weren’t looking for correction or further alternatives. They already had the answers they wanted. Jesus rightly perceived what so many of his generation were blind to, that they were destined to topple over under the sheer weight of their indifference and conceit. This is the first image.
The second image Jesus gives is that of a yoke. Now for those of you who are imagining an egg or don’t know precisely what I’m talking about, I will tell you. A yoke is an appliance of animal husbandry. It is the wooden frame placed upon the necks of two draft animals that allows them to pull a heavy load, like a plow or a wagon, in tandem. By yoking the animals together, it maximizes the effect and you get more out of their effort than if they were harnessed separately. Over time it is understandable why this should have become a standard metaphor to illustrate obedience and subordination, and the rabbis spoke of the yoke of the Torah or the yoke of the commandments. Each of these were understood to restrain you and set limits upon your freedom – much like a yoke.
But here Jesus does something quite remarkable. He goes beyond this standard application and introduces paradox. My yoke is “easy;” my burden is “light” (v. 30). Now you may well ask, What yoke is comfortable? What burden is light? A yoke introduces restriction and constraint and this is obnoxious to us, yes, but does it not also enable? Is it not simultaneously a burden and a possibility? And then Jesus goes one step further. No Jewish teacher had ever told a disciple, Take up my yoke, and yet here is Jesus audaciously saying precisely that. He is claiming that he is Torah. He is Revelation. He is the totality of what God wishes to make known of God’s nature, God’s purpose, and what God would have us to do. And if we would take his yoke, we would make the easiest, most satisfying progress in life. This is the second image.
There is a Zen story that tells of two monks walking down a muddy road. They come across a young girl unable to cross a large puddle without ruining her clothes. The first monk offers to carry her across despite the fact that monks are never supposed to have anything to do with women. His companion observes this and is astonished but says nothing about it right away. But finally, at the end of the day, he cannot hold his tongue any longer and prepares to admonish his companion, I want to talk to you about that girl, to which the first monk replies, Dear brother, are you still carrying that girl? I put her down hours ago.
The things we ruminate on, the things we insist on carrying in our minds and hearts, the things we refuse to put down…are really the things that poison us and erode our souls. We dull our senses with television and wonder why we cannot see the beauty that is around us. We hold on to things outside of us instead of concentrating on what is within [and this] keeps us noisy and agitated. We run from experience to experience like children in a candy store and wonder how serenity has eluded us…. Dwelling on inessentials and, worse, filling the minds of others with them distract from the great theme of our lives. We must learn to distinguish between what is real and what is not.[1]
Jesus rightly perceived what so many of, then as now, are blind to, and that is that we are destined to topple over under the sheer weight of our burdens. And that is why Jesus says, if we would make the easiest, most satisfying progress in life, the secret is simple – to be yoked to him. Accepting Christ’s yoke means unburdening ourselves or our false assumptions and misconceptions and accepting his truth. A “Christian,” after all, literally means a “Christ-follower.” You’ve heard of the Great Commission? Here is the Great Invitation. “Come to me,” says Jesus, “and unburden yourself of all your distractions – all your cleverness – all the pain and disappointment of a life lived out of your own resources – and learn my ways. For they are altogether more simple – more satisfying – more true – and you will find rest for your souls.”
Amen.
[1] Joan Chittister, OSB, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century (New York: Crossroad, 1992, 2010), 289.