July 3, 2011
Pentecost 3, Proper 9, Year A
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
(I ended up not doing my sermon from the pulpit, so it wasn't exactly this, but close enough. With some quiet for reflection after the questions.)
Our Gospel reading for this morning includes the passage commonly known, in the Episcopal Church, anyway, as the “comfortable words.” “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.”
These are beloved words, and they are comfortable words. So reassuring. Such an open invitation. They are words for all of us who have experienced weariness (running from morning ‘til night, striving, schlepping, organizing). They are words for all of us who carry heavy burdens (care of a loved one, painful memories, sickness, fears, heartbreak, yearnings). These are words that promise that Jesus knows what we are undergoing, knows that we need help, knows that we cannot do it alone. And they are words that promise us that Jesus has something to offer us that will give us rest and peace and lighten our load.
So why is it so hard for us to take him up on his offer?
John just headed off to the New Jersey shore where each summer he serves as the priest for a Church up there for 3 weeks in exchange for use of its rectory. Before he leaves, we usually look through the readings for the coming weeks and think about sermon possibilities together. When we read this morning’s Gospel reading, John said, “That last bit used to be part of the service every week in the 1928 prayer book.” The 1928 prayer book was before my time of conscious church going, so I had no independent knowledge and wanted to hear more. “When was it used?” I asked. “I think it was right before the confession,” he said. “Ooh, I like that,” I said. That placement of those comfortable words seemed very helpful to me. An invitation to lay down all our burdens, to place before God all the things we do, or do not do, that separate us from God. Confession as a gift from our gentle and loving God.
So John dug up his old 1928 prayer book to show me. Only he didn’t find those comfortable words quite where he remembered them. Instead, the Confession came first. We were called to “acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed”, and then the priest said the Absolution, and only then would the priest say, “Hear what comfortable words our Saviour Christ saith unto all who truly turn to him. Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.”
In that context, the words don’t feel so comfortable to me. Instead, they feel very conditional. If and only if we have “truly and earnestly repented our sins,” if and only if we “are in love and charity with our neighbors,” if and only if we “intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy ways,” if and only if we have confessed our manifold sins and wickedness and been absolved – then and only then would we receive the benefit of these comfortable words. We had to earn the comfort. Confession was a gauntlet to pass through in order to receive rest rather than something that could help to relieve our burdens and weariness. The Church took words intended to give rest to our souls and made them conditional not upon our weariness but upon our worthiness.
It seems ironic, but it also seems very human. Most of us tend to have trouble laying down our burdens; we have trouble letting go of the things that weigh on us; and we have trouble accepting help.
And so I ask you to think about what is making you weary right now? What are your burdens?
When I start working on a sermon, I try to tart with a sort of lectio divina meditation –to slowly and prayerfully work through the words of whatever passage I’m using. As often happens when I’m praying, I couldn’t even get into a place of prayerful meditation because of all the thoughts and worries and distractions whizzing through my brain. But what hit me at that moment was that all that stuff that wouldn’t stop floating through my head when I tried to settle into God’s presence were the very burdens Jesus was asking me to hand over to him. My to-do list. My fear of having missed things that should be on my to-do list. My feeling that I wasn’t doing enough, or that I wasn’t doing what I was doing well enough. My memories of recent bouts of impatience with my children. My worries about things going on with my family. My guilt about the people with needs that I’m missing in this parish. My concerns about the people and situations on my prayer list that only seems to be getting longer. These were very the anxieties and concerns that Jesus was talking about – they weren’t just making me weary, they were actually keeping me from God.
I began to wonder what was keeping me from handing them over. What keeps us from taking Jesus up on this offer to come to him with all of these things that weigh us down?
I came up with a few possibilities. On one end of the spectrum, I think we often assume that some of our worries are so piddly that God doesn’t have time for them. God has a lot on God’s plate, after all. On the other end, I think sometimes we don’t feel like we deserve the offer Jesus makes; we are broken and flawed and we’ve brought a lot of these problems on ourselves. Then there are all the things we think we can handle ourselves (here we are this weekend celebrating our independence, afterall! A pretty high calling for us Americans.). I suspect we’ve also got our share of things we’ve grown so attached to that they are hard to lay down – maybe we’ve gotten used to the busy-ness and the climbing and the feeling that we are useful and needed and important. Or maybe we’re just scared, unsure of what we’ll have left if we manage to let go of all of this; what will required of us then?
Whatever the reason, it’s probably part of the weariness and burden too. And part of what we need to give up and hand over. So how do we do it? How do we take Jesus up on his invitation?
I think I can answer the negative more easily. I know how not to take Jesus up on his invitation. Not by doing all the right things, by fulfilling some check-list, like the 1928 prayer book seemed to apply. Not by following some set of intricate rules, as the Pharisees promoted and Jesus fought against.
It’s possible that the answer is different for all of us. But for what it’s worth, I’ll share what I did. I wrote down all those things I mentioned earlier that were buzzing through my head. I came up with an exhaustive list of the things that were exhausting me and the anxieties I was carrying. And I’ve turned it into my prayer list. I ask God to be with me in each one of them. I ask for God’s grace and forgiveness and creative spirit to be part of each one of them. I ask for God to help me either let go of them if needed or show me how to take them on with a new spirit.
Would you believe that it is working? As a practical matter, it may not have changed anything on my list, but I no longer feel so overwhelmed or alone. I feel like I can see some of the situations in my life more clearly, through a lens of love and forgiveness. I find myself in small situations remembering to live more fully in the present, to give thanks for what comes my way. I find myself feeling less as if I need to prove myself and more able to accept what I am able to give and forgive myself when I fall short (and also more able to begin offering the same gift of acceptance and forgiveness to those around me). I find I can breathe more easily and that my shoulders aren’t so tense. In those challenging moments, I am more likely to remember to take deep breaths and call on God. I am discovering a new sense of freedom (as compared to that independence I talked about earlier!).
What might that rest that Jesus talks about look like in your life?
Rest doesn’t mean we do nothing and give up all responsibility. It isn’t idleness or an easy life Jesus promises but rest for our souls. Realistically, the truth is that most of the things that burdened us will still be there – we’ll still have work to do, but maybe it will somehow be less onerous, less isolating, less frustrating.
Each one of us is included in Jesus’ offer. The only requirement for receiving Jesus’ rest is that we are weary. The only requirement for picking up Jesus’ light burden is having a burden we want to set down. The only requirement for taking on Jesus’ easy yoke is having a yoke we want to remove.
And so I invite you to listen once again to those beautiful, comfortable words, this time in the modern Message translation: “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.” Amen.
Pentecost 3, Proper 9, Year A
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
(I ended up not doing my sermon from the pulpit, so it wasn't exactly this, but close enough. With some quiet for reflection after the questions.)
Our Gospel reading for this morning includes the passage commonly known, in the Episcopal Church, anyway, as the “comfortable words.” “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.”
These are beloved words, and they are comfortable words. So reassuring. Such an open invitation. They are words for all of us who have experienced weariness (running from morning ‘til night, striving, schlepping, organizing). They are words for all of us who carry heavy burdens (care of a loved one, painful memories, sickness, fears, heartbreak, yearnings). These are words that promise that Jesus knows what we are undergoing, knows that we need help, knows that we cannot do it alone. And they are words that promise us that Jesus has something to offer us that will give us rest and peace and lighten our load.
So why is it so hard for us to take him up on his offer?
John just headed off to the New Jersey shore where each summer he serves as the priest for a Church up there for 3 weeks in exchange for use of its rectory. Before he leaves, we usually look through the readings for the coming weeks and think about sermon possibilities together. When we read this morning’s Gospel reading, John said, “That last bit used to be part of the service every week in the 1928 prayer book.” The 1928 prayer book was before my time of conscious church going, so I had no independent knowledge and wanted to hear more. “When was it used?” I asked. “I think it was right before the confession,” he said. “Ooh, I like that,” I said. That placement of those comfortable words seemed very helpful to me. An invitation to lay down all our burdens, to place before God all the things we do, or do not do, that separate us from God. Confession as a gift from our gentle and loving God.
So John dug up his old 1928 prayer book to show me. Only he didn’t find those comfortable words quite where he remembered them. Instead, the Confession came first. We were called to “acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed”, and then the priest said the Absolution, and only then would the priest say, “Hear what comfortable words our Saviour Christ saith unto all who truly turn to him. Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.”
In that context, the words don’t feel so comfortable to me. Instead, they feel very conditional. If and only if we have “truly and earnestly repented our sins,” if and only if we “are in love and charity with our neighbors,” if and only if we “intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy ways,” if and only if we have confessed our manifold sins and wickedness and been absolved – then and only then would we receive the benefit of these comfortable words. We had to earn the comfort. Confession was a gauntlet to pass through in order to receive rest rather than something that could help to relieve our burdens and weariness. The Church took words intended to give rest to our souls and made them conditional not upon our weariness but upon our worthiness.
It seems ironic, but it also seems very human. Most of us tend to have trouble laying down our burdens; we have trouble letting go of the things that weigh on us; and we have trouble accepting help.
And so I ask you to think about what is making you weary right now? What are your burdens?
When I start working on a sermon, I try to tart with a sort of lectio divina meditation –to slowly and prayerfully work through the words of whatever passage I’m using. As often happens when I’m praying, I couldn’t even get into a place of prayerful meditation because of all the thoughts and worries and distractions whizzing through my brain. But what hit me at that moment was that all that stuff that wouldn’t stop floating through my head when I tried to settle into God’s presence were the very burdens Jesus was asking me to hand over to him. My to-do list. My fear of having missed things that should be on my to-do list. My feeling that I wasn’t doing enough, or that I wasn’t doing what I was doing well enough. My memories of recent bouts of impatience with my children. My worries about things going on with my family. My guilt about the people with needs that I’m missing in this parish. My concerns about the people and situations on my prayer list that only seems to be getting longer. These were very the anxieties and concerns that Jesus was talking about – they weren’t just making me weary, they were actually keeping me from God.
I began to wonder what was keeping me from handing them over. What keeps us from taking Jesus up on this offer to come to him with all of these things that weigh us down?
I came up with a few possibilities. On one end of the spectrum, I think we often assume that some of our worries are so piddly that God doesn’t have time for them. God has a lot on God’s plate, after all. On the other end, I think sometimes we don’t feel like we deserve the offer Jesus makes; we are broken and flawed and we’ve brought a lot of these problems on ourselves. Then there are all the things we think we can handle ourselves (here we are this weekend celebrating our independence, afterall! A pretty high calling for us Americans.). I suspect we’ve also got our share of things we’ve grown so attached to that they are hard to lay down – maybe we’ve gotten used to the busy-ness and the climbing and the feeling that we are useful and needed and important. Or maybe we’re just scared, unsure of what we’ll have left if we manage to let go of all of this; what will required of us then?
Whatever the reason, it’s probably part of the weariness and burden too. And part of what we need to give up and hand over. So how do we do it? How do we take Jesus up on his invitation?
I think I can answer the negative more easily. I know how not to take Jesus up on his invitation. Not by doing all the right things, by fulfilling some check-list, like the 1928 prayer book seemed to apply. Not by following some set of intricate rules, as the Pharisees promoted and Jesus fought against.
It’s possible that the answer is different for all of us. But for what it’s worth, I’ll share what I did. I wrote down all those things I mentioned earlier that were buzzing through my head. I came up with an exhaustive list of the things that were exhausting me and the anxieties I was carrying. And I’ve turned it into my prayer list. I ask God to be with me in each one of them. I ask for God’s grace and forgiveness and creative spirit to be part of each one of them. I ask for God to help me either let go of them if needed or show me how to take them on with a new spirit.
Would you believe that it is working? As a practical matter, it may not have changed anything on my list, but I no longer feel so overwhelmed or alone. I feel like I can see some of the situations in my life more clearly, through a lens of love and forgiveness. I find myself in small situations remembering to live more fully in the present, to give thanks for what comes my way. I find myself feeling less as if I need to prove myself and more able to accept what I am able to give and forgive myself when I fall short (and also more able to begin offering the same gift of acceptance and forgiveness to those around me). I find I can breathe more easily and that my shoulders aren’t so tense. In those challenging moments, I am more likely to remember to take deep breaths and call on God. I am discovering a new sense of freedom (as compared to that independence I talked about earlier!).
What might that rest that Jesus talks about look like in your life?
Rest doesn’t mean we do nothing and give up all responsibility. It isn’t idleness or an easy life Jesus promises but rest for our souls. Realistically, the truth is that most of the things that burdened us will still be there – we’ll still have work to do, but maybe it will somehow be less onerous, less isolating, less frustrating.
Each one of us is included in Jesus’ offer. The only requirement for receiving Jesus’ rest is that we are weary. The only requirement for picking up Jesus’ light burden is having a burden we want to set down. The only requirement for taking on Jesus’ easy yoke is having a yoke we want to remove.
And so I invite you to listen once again to those beautiful, comfortable words, this time in the modern Message translation: “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.” Amen.
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