Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
[Jesus spoke to the crowd saying:] “To what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another,
‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance;
we wailed, and you did not mourn.’
For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.”
At that time Jesus said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.
“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.”
---
Earlier this week, a friend emailed me to invite and encourage me to join her, and others, in filming a short video telling the world why I wear a mask when I’m out in public these days.
My first instinct was answer to the question is that my mask makes me look like a ninja, and ninjas are awesome.
But the real answer is that I wear a mask because I believe it is my moral responsibility to care for my neighbor and to put others’ needs ahead of my own.
For me, at least, the decision is simple. But this seemingly-simple act does not come without difficulty or controversy.
Very quickly, and so very bafflingly, we have found ourselves throwing barbs at one another, tossing sarcastic words across the street, being intentionally uncharitable toward one another…all over the question of a four by six inch piece of cloth.
Mask-wearing has become a sign of division, a symbol of partisanship, and even a source of shame.
It’s not just mask-wearing, of course.
It’s everything right now.
It’s one another’s view of appropriate pandemic behavior, or feelings toward our governments and leaders; it’s race and racial protests and Black Lives Matter; it’s the debate over personal freedoms vs. community responsibilities; it’s climate; it’s education; it’s taxes.
We can take anything and turn it into a source of division and disgust.
And it’s not just the big stuff, either.
It’s also the question of whether or not you get really really excited about the musical Hamilton (especially now that it’s streaming on Disney+)
Or whether you think Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker was an amazing move or a terrible movie
Or whether you think Bach or Prince is the greater musical genius.
Or whether you root for the Bears or Packers or Vikings...or the Brewers or the Cubs or the Twins or the White Sox ...or probably, more important, whether you cheer on the Cyclones or the Hawkeyes (note: I listed ALL OF THESE in strictly alphabetical order, so don’t read anything into who I named first in the lists)!
There’s no end to the list of divisions and differences that we use as excuses to be terrible to one another, through outright words of aggression, or through passive-aggressive words and deeds that might be subtle and sly but are still gross. Like...we really really have gotten good at throwing shade at pretty much anything and anybody.
Jesus speaks, saying, “To what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces, taunting one another, one side calling to the other, ‘We want to play wedding games, why won’t you dance?’ and the other side calling back, “Well, we want to play funeral games, why won’t you pretend to cry?’ At the end of the day, all they done is argue, and everybody’s feelings are hurt, and no one has played any games, and nobody is satisfied.”
Jesus speaks again, saying, “John was in the wilderness, fasting, and you called him demon-possessed; I have come, eating and drinking, with those whom you have rejected or despised, and so you call me a glutton and a drunk. You want it both ways so you can have it neither way, and in the end, you will kill us both.”
This raise a really really important question: For each of us, what is gained at the end of the day, if we refuse John’s message of repentance for our own hearts, and also refuse Jesus’s message of grace for all?
We’d like to pretend that we don’t refuse either message. And yet, isn’t that the definition of spite? The place where we believe we don’t need to change (but everybody else does) and where we believe we deserve grace (but others don’t).
The space of spite is the space of stalemate. We know it all too well. We dig in. We throw barbs. We seek self-preservation at all costs. We finish our days exhausted and dissatisfied, because we haven’t played any games at all, because we couldn’t risk letting somebody else win.
It’s no wonder that Jesus laments in our gospel today. Because he knows that it doesn’t have to be this way. He knows that things doesn’t have to be so hard or so divided or so dissatisfied.
He doesn’t make us guess about this. He tells us outright: “My yoke is easy. My burden is light. It isn’t that hard.”
And what is this yoke he offers? What is the burden he puts upon us?
It’s a really short list. Do justice. Show mercy. Walk humbly. Love. Always love.
Amazingly simple, right?
But I know, I know. Jesus has spent the last chapter of Matthew’s gospel warning the disciples about the difficulties of being his followers, and he’s not wrong. Jesus gives us an easy yoke and a light burden and somehow the work is yet so so hard.
Not because Jesus wants it to be hard. And not because because he makes it hard for us.
It’s hard because we make it that way. We make the life of justice, mercy, and love difficult for ourselves and for one another.
And by “we,” I mean...humans. All of us. It’s the brokenness of human nature. The definition of human sinfulness. These simple things are made so difficult because of that inward curve, as Martin Luther describes it, that always gravitates toward our own interests and self-preservation, rather than the interests and care of others.
Trust me. This is nothing new.
Should we go back to Genesis, to Cain and Abel, to that question tossed so cavalierly in God’s face, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Friends, the answer is “yes.” It has always been “yes.” Simple.
How about the lawyer, who asks Jesus, “What is the greatest commandment?” and when Jesus says, “Love God, and love your neighbor (simple!),” response with the counter questions, “And...who is my neighbor?”
It’s not like he doesn’t already know the answer. Jesus has already preached a bunch about how our neighbor in poverty is our neighbor. And our neighbor in mourning is our neighbor. And our neighbor in captivity is our neighbor. And our neighbor who is persecuted is our neighbor. And our enemy is also our neighbor. So...on the question of who is our neighbor? Preeetttty much everybody. That’s about as simple as you can get.
Or how about the rich young ruler who boasts to Jesus about how he has kept all the commandments...mostly...except maybe those commandments that would demand him to unburden himself of his wealth and give generously to the poor...and yet he still asks Jesus, as if he doesn’t know, “What (else) must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Spoiler alert: Jesus says, go show real justice and mercy to the poor. Yep. Simple yet again.
And the truth is, friends, I know that I’m not better than any one of these.
I have a T-shirt (of many awesome T-shirts) that says, “Hold on, let me overthink this.” I wear it to poke fun at my own inclination to over-plan, over-prep, over-analyze, and over-worry about things, especially things of low consequence.
But it also describes how I often do so much work to overthink and overcomplicate the simple ask that Jesus puts on my life.
Jesus says, “Melissa, if you are going to be my follower, let me unburden you from the misplaced concerns of this world, and simply do this: seek justice for those who need it; be merciful to all; let God lead you; and in all things, live by the law of love.”
And then, when I start to fret Jesus says back to me, “Remember: I’ve already taught you that you don’t have to worry about what you will eat or drink or wear, because if God feeds the birds and clothes the lilies, then how much more will God care for you? So why worry about tomorrow, or why worry about what people will think? Seek first the kingdom. That’s all. You’ve got this.”
And sometimes, when I still can’t help myself, and I try to hoard knowledge or when I try to pack up a sack of reasons why I don’t have to be generous or when I try to stockpile a bunch of justifications for why I’m allowed to be selfish or dismissive or reluctant to show love...Jesus comes right back at me yet again and says, “Remember how I sent the disciples out with nothing besides the shirt on their backs and the sandals on their feet? I unburdened them so they could take up my yoke instead...and they in their poverty were perfectly equipped to share the good news of justice, mercy and love. You, too, have all you need to do this work. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be.”
Friends, I understand that our systems and our policies and our laws and our ordinances get twisty and complicated. I am not naive. I understand that getting stuff done in our society either means working your way through the established systems and channels - which can be slow or resistant - or working outside the systems and institutions - which can be risky or disorganized or even impossible.
But the values by which we make our decisions, the values by which Christ calls us to make his mark on this world: these remain simple. Grounded in love and justice. Grounded in deep concern for bearing the burdens of others. And also lifting those burdens.
Because at the very deepest heart of it all, Jesus (and Paul, too), recognize the fundamental truth of our very creation, our very existence. From the moment of creation, we belong to God. And so we we belong to one another.
We are bound in love and in mercy to the God who created all things, and so we are bound together in love and mercy with one another and with creation. That’s just the way it is. So everything we do has an impact that reaches beyond us, our lives bumping into each other like molecules of air colliding and rippling outward through the breeze.
So…what if we remembered this in the way we carried ourselves in this world? What if we saw each person as a child of God whose existence and future are completely bound up in our own?
What if we took each other seriously enough that we couldn’t help but want to seek justice and mercy and love and life and hope for all this created world, simply because it bears the thumbprint of a creative and loving God who delights in all that he has made?
This is the simple yoke of Jesus. And once we truly believe that we are bound to God and to one another, then we can be unburdened.
Unburdened from the need to participate in a culture that throws insults over the fences like children taunting each other in the street. Unburdened from the need to drop our hot takes, or share the conspiracy theories, or respond with snark; unburdened from cancel culture and shaming and assuming the worst about others; unburdened from this business of pretending that a mask or anything else is shorthand for a person’s entire belief system.
And instead, the yoke of Jesus frees us to cultivate a space where we can yet speak truth, and have lively debate over values and philosophies and ideals, and still have the crucial conversations, and still express righteous anger, and still name sin and brokenness and injustice…and maybe we could do all of this from a place of justice, mercy, and love.
Friends, Jesus never says that we have to agree on everything. Neither does he say that we have to agree how to get from Point A to Point B. This is why he tells us to love our enemies and to bless those who curse us - because he knows that disagreements and divisions will persist. But we don’t have to be the worst versions of ourselves in the midst of them.
Jesus very simply calls us to cling to the heart of his hopes for the world, the heart of the kingdom values that he brings. He tells us to put justice and mercy, humility and love, at the center of all we do, and at the center of what we want not only for ourselves but for others.
In this way, we follow him, and honor him, and live lives that show praise for the God who created us and all thing.
In this way, we are released from the burdens of this world, and are made prisoners instead of hope for the future, and hope for a world transformed.
This, friends, is what freedom in Christ is all about. This, friends, is what carrying your cross is all about. It’s the simple things. The things that liberate our hearts for the sake of this beautiful world.
The yoke is easy.
The burden is light.
Jesus carries it with you.
And we carry it with each other.
We’ve got this.
Amen.
At that time Jesus said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.
“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.”
---
Earlier this week, a friend emailed me to invite and encourage me to join her, and others, in filming a short video telling the world why I wear a mask when I’m out in public these days.
My first instinct was answer to the question is that my mask makes me look like a ninja, and ninjas are awesome.
But the real answer is that I wear a mask because I believe it is my moral responsibility to care for my neighbor and to put others’ needs ahead of my own.
For me, at least, the decision is simple. But this seemingly-simple act does not come without difficulty or controversy.
Very quickly, and so very bafflingly, we have found ourselves throwing barbs at one another, tossing sarcastic words across the street, being intentionally uncharitable toward one another…all over the question of a four by six inch piece of cloth.
Mask-wearing has become a sign of division, a symbol of partisanship, and even a source of shame.
It’s not just mask-wearing, of course.
It’s everything right now.
It’s one another’s view of appropriate pandemic behavior, or feelings toward our governments and leaders; it’s race and racial protests and Black Lives Matter; it’s the debate over personal freedoms vs. community responsibilities; it’s climate; it’s education; it’s taxes.
We can take anything and turn it into a source of division and disgust.
And it’s not just the big stuff, either.
It’s also the question of whether or not you get really really excited about the musical Hamilton (especially now that it’s streaming on Disney+)
Or whether you think Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker was an amazing move or a terrible movie
Or whether you think Bach or Prince is the greater musical genius.
Or whether you root for the Bears or Packers or Vikings...or the Brewers or the Cubs or the Twins or the White Sox ...or probably, more important, whether you cheer on the Cyclones or the Hawkeyes (note: I listed ALL OF THESE in strictly alphabetical order, so don’t read anything into who I named first in the lists)!
There’s no end to the list of divisions and differences that we use as excuses to be terrible to one another, through outright words of aggression, or through passive-aggressive words and deeds that might be subtle and sly but are still gross. Like...we really really have gotten good at throwing shade at pretty much anything and anybody.
Jesus speaks, saying, “To what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces, taunting one another, one side calling to the other, ‘We want to play wedding games, why won’t you dance?’ and the other side calling back, “Well, we want to play funeral games, why won’t you pretend to cry?’ At the end of the day, all they done is argue, and everybody’s feelings are hurt, and no one has played any games, and nobody is satisfied.”
Jesus speaks again, saying, “John was in the wilderness, fasting, and you called him demon-possessed; I have come, eating and drinking, with those whom you have rejected or despised, and so you call me a glutton and a drunk. You want it both ways so you can have it neither way, and in the end, you will kill us both.”
This raise a really really important question: For each of us, what is gained at the end of the day, if we refuse John’s message of repentance for our own hearts, and also refuse Jesus’s message of grace for all?
We’d like to pretend that we don’t refuse either message. And yet, isn’t that the definition of spite? The place where we believe we don’t need to change (but everybody else does) and where we believe we deserve grace (but others don’t).
The space of spite is the space of stalemate. We know it all too well. We dig in. We throw barbs. We seek self-preservation at all costs. We finish our days exhausted and dissatisfied, because we haven’t played any games at all, because we couldn’t risk letting somebody else win.
It’s no wonder that Jesus laments in our gospel today. Because he knows that it doesn’t have to be this way. He knows that things doesn’t have to be so hard or so divided or so dissatisfied.
He doesn’t make us guess about this. He tells us outright: “My yoke is easy. My burden is light. It isn’t that hard.”
And what is this yoke he offers? What is the burden he puts upon us?
It’s a really short list. Do justice. Show mercy. Walk humbly. Love. Always love.
Amazingly simple, right?
But I know, I know. Jesus has spent the last chapter of Matthew’s gospel warning the disciples about the difficulties of being his followers, and he’s not wrong. Jesus gives us an easy yoke and a light burden and somehow the work is yet so so hard.
Not because Jesus wants it to be hard. And not because because he makes it hard for us.
It’s hard because we make it that way. We make the life of justice, mercy, and love difficult for ourselves and for one another.
And by “we,” I mean...humans. All of us. It’s the brokenness of human nature. The definition of human sinfulness. These simple things are made so difficult because of that inward curve, as Martin Luther describes it, that always gravitates toward our own interests and self-preservation, rather than the interests and care of others.
Trust me. This is nothing new.
Should we go back to Genesis, to Cain and Abel, to that question tossed so cavalierly in God’s face, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Friends, the answer is “yes.” It has always been “yes.” Simple.
How about the lawyer, who asks Jesus, “What is the greatest commandment?” and when Jesus says, “Love God, and love your neighbor (simple!),” response with the counter questions, “And...who is my neighbor?”
It’s not like he doesn’t already know the answer. Jesus has already preached a bunch about how our neighbor in poverty is our neighbor. And our neighbor in mourning is our neighbor. And our neighbor in captivity is our neighbor. And our neighbor who is persecuted is our neighbor. And our enemy is also our neighbor. So...on the question of who is our neighbor? Preeetttty much everybody. That’s about as simple as you can get.
Or how about the rich young ruler who boasts to Jesus about how he has kept all the commandments...mostly...except maybe those commandments that would demand him to unburden himself of his wealth and give generously to the poor...and yet he still asks Jesus, as if he doesn’t know, “What (else) must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Spoiler alert: Jesus says, go show real justice and mercy to the poor. Yep. Simple yet again.
And the truth is, friends, I know that I’m not better than any one of these.
I have a T-shirt (of many awesome T-shirts) that says, “Hold on, let me overthink this.” I wear it to poke fun at my own inclination to over-plan, over-prep, over-analyze, and over-worry about things, especially things of low consequence.
But it also describes how I often do so much work to overthink and overcomplicate the simple ask that Jesus puts on my life.
Jesus says, “Melissa, if you are going to be my follower, let me unburden you from the misplaced concerns of this world, and simply do this: seek justice for those who need it; be merciful to all; let God lead you; and in all things, live by the law of love.”
And then, when I start to fret Jesus says back to me, “Remember: I’ve already taught you that you don’t have to worry about what you will eat or drink or wear, because if God feeds the birds and clothes the lilies, then how much more will God care for you? So why worry about tomorrow, or why worry about what people will think? Seek first the kingdom. That’s all. You’ve got this.”
And sometimes, when I still can’t help myself, and I try to hoard knowledge or when I try to pack up a sack of reasons why I don’t have to be generous or when I try to stockpile a bunch of justifications for why I’m allowed to be selfish or dismissive or reluctant to show love...Jesus comes right back at me yet again and says, “Remember how I sent the disciples out with nothing besides the shirt on their backs and the sandals on their feet? I unburdened them so they could take up my yoke instead...and they in their poverty were perfectly equipped to share the good news of justice, mercy and love. You, too, have all you need to do this work. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be.”
Friends, I understand that our systems and our policies and our laws and our ordinances get twisty and complicated. I am not naive. I understand that getting stuff done in our society either means working your way through the established systems and channels - which can be slow or resistant - or working outside the systems and institutions - which can be risky or disorganized or even impossible.
But the values by which we make our decisions, the values by which Christ calls us to make his mark on this world: these remain simple. Grounded in love and justice. Grounded in deep concern for bearing the burdens of others. And also lifting those burdens.
Because at the very deepest heart of it all, Jesus (and Paul, too), recognize the fundamental truth of our very creation, our very existence. From the moment of creation, we belong to God. And so we we belong to one another.
We are bound in love and in mercy to the God who created all things, and so we are bound together in love and mercy with one another and with creation. That’s just the way it is. So everything we do has an impact that reaches beyond us, our lives bumping into each other like molecules of air colliding and rippling outward through the breeze.
So…what if we remembered this in the way we carried ourselves in this world? What if we saw each person as a child of God whose existence and future are completely bound up in our own?
What if we took each other seriously enough that we couldn’t help but want to seek justice and mercy and love and life and hope for all this created world, simply because it bears the thumbprint of a creative and loving God who delights in all that he has made?
This is the simple yoke of Jesus. And once we truly believe that we are bound to God and to one another, then we can be unburdened.
Unburdened from the need to participate in a culture that throws insults over the fences like children taunting each other in the street. Unburdened from the need to drop our hot takes, or share the conspiracy theories, or respond with snark; unburdened from cancel culture and shaming and assuming the worst about others; unburdened from this business of pretending that a mask or anything else is shorthand for a person’s entire belief system.
And instead, the yoke of Jesus frees us to cultivate a space where we can yet speak truth, and have lively debate over values and philosophies and ideals, and still have the crucial conversations, and still express righteous anger, and still name sin and brokenness and injustice…and maybe we could do all of this from a place of justice, mercy, and love.
Friends, Jesus never says that we have to agree on everything. Neither does he say that we have to agree how to get from Point A to Point B. This is why he tells us to love our enemies and to bless those who curse us - because he knows that disagreements and divisions will persist. But we don’t have to be the worst versions of ourselves in the midst of them.
Jesus very simply calls us to cling to the heart of his hopes for the world, the heart of the kingdom values that he brings. He tells us to put justice and mercy, humility and love, at the center of all we do, and at the center of what we want not only for ourselves but for others.
In this way, we follow him, and honor him, and live lives that show praise for the God who created us and all thing.
In this way, we are released from the burdens of this world, and are made prisoners instead of hope for the future, and hope for a world transformed.
This, friends, is what freedom in Christ is all about. This, friends, is what carrying your cross is all about. It’s the simple things. The things that liberate our hearts for the sake of this beautiful world.
The yoke is easy.
The burden is light.
Jesus carries it with you.
And we carry it with each other.
We’ve got this.
Amen.