Oh friends. I am weary. My
family is weary. A lot of people I know are weary. Our nation is weary. And we
are carrying heavy burdens. And our stamina is wearing thin. And the noise
around us and within us keeps shouting, Urgency! Vigilance! Fight, fight,
fight!
Come to me,
Jesus says, and I will give you rest.
OK, Jesus, that sounds
nice, but get real. It will have to wait.
Rest is a luxury reserved
for a less urgent time.
But even if we were not nearing the pinnacle of a ghastly
election season, when is this hypothetical “less urgent” time? When we are not
in the largest refugee crisis since World War II? When there isn’t a standoff
at Standing Rock? When black and brown bodies are no longer getting shot in the
street? When scientists’ words about the polar ice caps and our changing global
climate don’t feel as ominous as they do on this gorgeous, 70-degree Minnesota November
day? How about when things slow down in
our lives, when we aren’t being pulled in a hundred directions a day? Maybe
when Christmas shopping season isn’t encroaching and tax season isn’t around
the corner and the bills slow down their pace and lighten up. Perhaps we’ll have time to rest when there
aren’t people relying on us, and jobs that need to be completed, and anxieties piling
up. Seriously, Christ, nice sentiment, but what able-bodied, sharp-minded grown
up person today can afford to rest?
Oh friends, rest is such a
messed up, problematic concept for us.
We believe rest is
something you have to do when you absolutely cannot keep going, when you’re
forced to stop and catch your breath so you can amp back up again.
We reserve rest for the
sick and utterly depleted, for those recovering from surgery, or fighting
illness. If you rest and are not sick, then clearly you are either lazy and undependable,
or you are weak and needy.
Resting is so
inconvenient. Like eating. Or using the bathroom. It halts our productivity and
stops our momentum. We have to put down our work to do it. If I can’t sneak it in between loads of
laundry, or do it while I am driving, if I can’t accomplish something I’ve been
meaning to complete, or listen to, or read, WHILE I rest, then how does it help
me? It just sets me further behind!
Whom do we most esteem in
our culture? The tireless, the
unstoppable, the fighters that just keep pushing themselves, those that get it
done.
Athlete, trainer and fitness writer, JonathanAngelilli, writes, “From a young age, we’re bombarded with the message that to
be successful, we must work overtime, sacrifice our health, friends, even
happiness and sanity to achieve what we want.
…Dr. Meyer Freidman, the doctor who first identified
the type-A personality trait, calls this western disease "the hurry
sickness."
We never say things like "I bet I can experience
kidney failure before you!" But that’s how many of us behave.”
“[E]xhaustion…is a status symbol in our culture.”
How are you? We ask each
other.
“Busy!” we answer
cheerfully, proudly, exhausted.
We might as well answer,
“Distracted! Pulled in many directions. Unable to focus on or enjoy any one
thing. Off the rails. Weary.”
I met a youth worker last
week who has lupus. He rests. After a youth retreat or trip, he takes a day
off. He said, “I am afraid my illness is seen as a legitimate excuse for rest. I
don’t know how to invite other people to rest without them feeling like it
doesn’t apply to them.”
He has an excuse. His rest
is sanctioned. “Oh he HAS TO rest, or he would get sick.” But we all would. If we did not rest, if we
do not sleep, if we never stop, we will get sick, we will lose our minds, we
will eventually die.
We are a restless nation,
sick and losing our mind.
Our text comes in the
middle of a long rant of Jesus’ about how the people are missing the gift right
in front of them. And we began with the
part where Jesus pauses in talking to the people, and raises his face to the
heavens in one of those mid- argument prayers, like an exasperated mom, he
blocks out the whining for a minute, heaves a dramatic sigh and intones, Oh, 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…
So what do infants get,
that the brilliant and learned don’t grasp?
What is it about young
children, that Jesus says we must become like them to enter the kingdom of
heaven?
Well they don’t do a darn
thing, really.
They don’t contribute
anything to the household economy or pitch in a single helpful thing to the
community around them. I don’t know if you’ve
noticed, but babies don’t feel at all driven to accomplish anything, and they
hardly ever compare themselves to each other, or to their developmental
milestones, to gauge where they are lacking, or take pride in how they are
advancing. Babies are completely
unconcerned about persuading others to think like them, or judging those who
don’t, and they rarely obsess about the future. And they are not especially
known for their composure, poise, dignity, or stellar manners.
To be an infant is to be vulnerably
and simply you.
At the very most core
–babies still seem completely connected to the truth that that we belong to God
and we all belong to each other. What I mean is, infants are known and loved and
cared for, simply because they are. And they are children of
their parents; their identity is from the ones who gave them life. It
would never occur to a baby to imagine you feel anything for them other than
unconditional delight and devotion.
They rest in their
reality: My needs will be met.
I can sleep when I am
tired.
I can eat when I am
hungry.
I can trust.
I can close my eyes
without fear.
I am held.
I belong to these people.
They belong to me.
The world is filled with
beauty, wonder and love.
Jesus doesn’t say, Come to me you who are weary and carrying
heavy burdens, and I will give you extra energy and the strength to power
through. I will give you an edge, a
do-over or a bump up. I will promote your agenda or satisfy your
desires.
Jesus isn’t offering a
strategy to win, or to overcome our humanity and need.
Jesus is inviting us to tell the truth with
our lives, to live how we were made to live. To come back to the reality that
babies still exist in, to return to the natural order of things.
Rest is part
of the cycle of creation itself, hibernation, germination, night, day, winter,
spring. It’s is initiated, (and in fact,
commanded), by the creator of all, who rests, and the Old Testament often
refers to the promise of salvation as “coming into the rest of God.”
Admitting
we need rest is an act of strength and honesty, not weakness. Rest is for the healthy
and the sick; its for the real. It returns us to the truth – that we belong to
God, every one of us, in this together.
Great! So how do we do it?
How do we actually put down what is weighing
on our minds, pressing on our souls, clogging up our lives?
“Take my yoke upon you and
learn from me” Jesus says.
A yoke is a wooden crosspiece that is fastened over
the necks of two animals and attached to the plow or cart that they are to
pull.
“Take my yoke upon you.” This is a straight up trade. Jesus says, I will release you from your work and give
you a different job altogether. I will
unhook you from all the you are dragging around, and connect you up to me, and
what I carry into the world instead.
What are you weary of?
What
heavy burdens are you carrying around?
These are what he will ask you to lay down.
But these are also the things we sometimes think define
us, or think can’t happen without us. These are the things that scream at us: Vigilance! Urgency! Now is NOT the time to stop!
Let’s just remember for a
moment, what is the choice before us, when Jesus is offering a different way.
One way, the way of fear, says life is about self-sufficiency and success, and those around us are
competition, threat and obstacle. It says the powerful matter and the weak don’t,
that having more makes you better, and that all human worth is earned. There is not enough to go around and someone
is always trying to take what’s rightfully yours. You can’t really trust anyone
but yourself, and the goal of life is security and self-preservation at all
costs, so never slow down, never give up, never let go. That’s the yoke we are
most often strapped into, the cart we are most often pulling behind us. Regardless of how we each specifically fill
it – this is the gyst of it for us all.
But the other way, the way of God, says life begins in abundance and gift.
Our God comes into this life with us in weakness and impossibility, and
stands with the poor, the stranger, the abandoned and the overlooked. You are loved already, just as you are, and
you are not meant to be “perfect,” you are meant to be the only you God ever
made, in all your glorious difference, alongside all these others who are
different from you, but also who in it together with you as, sister, brother,
friend. Life is for sharing, there is
enough to go around, and no matter what it looks like at any given moment, it’s
all heading toward connection and wholeness, because God is the one who decides
the end, and it’s already been decided.
This is what Jesus carries, bearing this
is the work that Jesus is inviting us to join him in.
The yoke I was carrying said
We are divided! Hatred is rampant! Lies
are the loudest thing! What if! It screamed those words of worry, that we heard last week, What if! The worst thing happens! What if! pain and suffering…What
if, separation and helplessness… The pressure sat in my stomach like a lead
ball. I couldn’t escape the near panic
of it.
And it brought me to my
knees.
I wanted to take off that yoke, to be
free.
I wanted to step out of that way
of being in the world and pick up a different way of being in the world, I wanted a
different way of participating in life.
I longed for the yoke of
trust, that says, Even if…, even if… all the things I fear happen, and more,
Still.
Still God is God.
Still, abundance and gift.
Still, enough to go around.
Still,
all meant to be shared.
Still, love is the truest, biggest thing.
Still… all
heading toward wholeness and connection, even when I can’t see it.
Still, I
belong to them and they belong to me.
“Coming to Jesus” isn’t a
hypothetical thing.
So this is what I did:
When it feels like I can't
take a deep breath past the pit in my stomach,
when logic and reason
screams Argue! Beg! Make them see!
I sit very still.
I hold the ones I love
before me in my mind. Love mixed with despair. Love mixed with disappointment.
Love mixed with pity.
And I hold them there.
And I'm still.
Still.
Until the despair loosens
its grip.
And the disappointment
diminishes.
And the pity turns to
compassion.
And it's mostly just love
remaining.
I really do trust, when I
let myself trust (i.e., rest) that we all belong to God and we all belong to
each other. And this ancient and eternal truth is what I long most to live
from, live in, live towards.
So I see their faces
before me, those I mostly only love,
and I grieve. And I
forgive. And I seek to understand. And I let go.
And the stillness holds me
here in love.
And now I can begin my day
again.
My yoke is easy and my burden is light! Jesus
says, Come to me. I will give you rest.
Why am I so hesitant to come
when rest is what I need most of all?
Why do I cling to my tormenting, heavy yoke, when I could trade it at
any moment for one that is easy and light?
Why do I choose the way of fear instead of stepping into the way of God,
right here waiting for me in every moment?
When we say we are a Church
that practices Sabbath, that doesn’t just mean we sometimes worship on Saturday
nights instead of Sundays.
Resting shows us the world keeps going without me at the
helm, the fears I’ve been dodging wont consume me if I stand still… God is
still God. Rest is central to our calling and identity as human beings.
Being a congregation that
practices Sabbath means when Jesus says Come
to me, we answer, Yes. OK. We will
come. We will lay down our burdens and our pride; we will admit our weariness,
and we will welcome your rest. We won’t wait until we are sick or dying or out
of our mind. We wont let rest become a last resort, a contingency plan, a
life-saving measure. We will come now. We will begin here. Yours is the way and
work we choose.
I love that in the Jewish
understanding of Sabbath, the day begins at sundown. That means that rather
than rest being a reward for a job well done or a last ditch attempt to recover
from long, hard labor, rest is where it all starts. Rest is where your being
and your belonging begin. In the honesty
of rest, my needs will be met.
I can sleep when I am
tired.
I can eat when I am
hungry.
I can trust.
I can close my eyes
without fear.
I am held.
I belong to these people.
They belong to me.
The world is filled with
beauty and wonder and love.
And when you wake, all
your work and efforts and living flows from this place.
The rest of God:
Salvation.
When things feel most
urgent, most pressing, most despairing, this is not the time to panic, talk faster,
run harder. Strive further.
On the contrary, this is the
time to stop. To be still. To rest.
To “reorient your being to
the one who loves us.” This is what
Sabbath is for.
God’s way is not our way. All
true transformation, healing and newness comes through weakness, futility and
impossibility. Brothers and sisters,
lest we forget: we don’t have a triumph and might faith, we have a death and
resurrection faith.
It’s our job to remind each
other of that.
I invite you now to close
your eyes, and hear the words of Jesus’ invitation to you:
“Are you tired? Worn out? Weighed
down by heaviness? Come to me. Get away with me and you will recover your life.
I will 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 will learn to live freely and
lightly.”
(Mt. 11:28-30 adapted from The Message)
We are learning, beloved,
we are learning.
Amen.
