Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
The
gospels give us precious little information about Jesus’ formative years. We have only the story of him as boy talking with
Temple scholars. We can deduce growing
up he learned about the Scriptures at the synagogue in Bethlehem because when
he becomes a public figure, he is deeply steeped in these holy texts.
Somewhere
along the way, he transforms from dutiful student to crusading reformer, we
don’t know how, when, or why. In short, he
begins to perceive how religious devotion has been boiled down to observing a
list of regulations, overshadowing its great purpose to foster a life-giving
relationship with God and enhance communion with all people. In the process of formulating his own
message, Jesus watches how religious leaders respond to his cousin John’s
ministry and he must know his own is going to be met with resistance also.
The
resistance manifests itself with religious leaders functioning as gatekeepers, controlling
who gets to say what and undermining the achievements of those not part of
their guard. They seek to protect their
status by defending their established traditions. They gain recognition and esteem for their
mastery of its nuances and minutia. And
anyone getting noticed who is beyond their circle is treated as a threat,
marginalized, and discredited.
And
this morning we read of one of the moments in Jesus’ life when he addresses their
gatekeeping in public:
John came neither eating nor drinking, and you say, “He
has a demon”; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say, “Look, a
glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!”
Can you hear the exasperation in his voice? In our day, Jesus might say, “There is no
winning with you guys. I’m damned if I
do and damned if I don’t.”
None of us with something important to share you feel
called to offer delights in resistance.
And we certainly don’t shoulder outright rejection without paying an
internal cost. Frustration, self-doubt,
anger, dejection, these are some of the ways we might react and we can be sure
Jesus, because he is human, is racked with similar emotions as he is attacked,
criticized, and dismissed. We certainly
would understand if he retreated and withdrew into himself saying, “I don’t
need to put up with this stuff.” Like a
turtle pulling into its protective shell, this is an option many of us would
consider.
But not Jesus.
What does he do? He offers a
public prayer:
I thank you, Father, because you have hidden these
things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.
He assesses the situation and focuses on
what is working. From deep in his
spirit, he draws not malice toward those who obstruct, but gratitude for those
who receive. In so doing, he reminds all
of us who set out to follow our calling how detractors always will be close at
hand. And he shows us how to live with
this not by becoming bitter, but by recognizing what is being accomplished. He takes off the yoke of his burdens and
replaces it with the yoke of his blessings.
And this shift in focus allows him to spark a movement which draws us
here today.
Raise your hand if you come here this morning
with thankfulness permeating your spirit.
Now, keep your hand up if you are not dealing with some kind of
challenge in your life… if there is not something troubling you or someone you
love. The truth is, in life we always
live with challenges. They never go
away, only give way to a new one. How is
it even possible you can have a smile on your face, given all you to face?
I am reading a book by Frederick Buechner
called Telling Secrets. Reflecting
on how he has been affected by his father’s suicide and his daughter’s crisis
with anorexia, he describes two rooms in the Tower of London built by William
the Conqueror in the 11th century.
One is a small, stone, Norman chapel where, among other uses, Knights of
the Order of Bath kept an all-night vigil before being anointed by the king. Buechner describes the space this way:
It is very silent, very still… You cannot enter it
without being struck by the feeling of purity and peace it gives. If there is any such thing in this world, it
is a holy place.
He goes on to describe another room
directly below the chapel – a dungeon.
Measuring four feet by four feet wide and only four feet tall, there is
no way to get comfortable in it. Its
heavy oak door, once shut, blocks out all light and ventilation. It affords its prisoner no room to stand, no
light to see, and almost no air to breath.
Buechner writes his soul has both rooms in
it. We all do. And he writes how he responded to the deep
challenges he faced by retreating in the dungeon. He was completely devoid of perspective, of joy,
of freedom. Both a writer and a
Presbyterian minister, he lost touch with his faith, with his relationship with
God, with what it felt like to spend time in the Tower chapel in his soul. And he writes about the things which opened
the dungeon door and allowed him to reemerge.
Reading this, I wondered where these places
are inside me. I didn’t locate them so
much as I identified how I am processing life when I am each one. In the dungeon I am fixated on the darkness
around me. I give crushing weight to my challenges
and frustrations and disappointments. In
the chapel I feel lighter. I find abundant
joy in everything, especially simple things.
My soul is buoyant, floating free on the sea of goodness all around
me. I know I am in the chapel when I am
overcome with a feeling of thankfulness, an awareness of the privilege it is to
live my life in God’s world with all its blessings.
In this morning’s reading, we are given a glimpse
of how Jesus lived with these two rooms in his own soul. We see how he drew on goodness and light
rather than allowing himself to be smothered by imprisoning darkness. And he offers up to us his example:
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.
No matter what burdens you bear, may you always know
the ease and lightness Jesus offers through his witness and indwelling spirit.
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