Matthew 11:25–30

²⁵At that time Jesus declared, "I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children;

²⁶yes, Father, for such was your gracious will.

²⁷All 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.

²⁸Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

²⁹Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

³⁰For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

What does it mean to be a Christian? Look in the media today, and you're likely to walk away thinking that being a Christian is primarily defined by judging or looking down on the sorts of people you consider sinners. Ask someone outside the Church, and you're liable to get a number of ideas about things Christians don't do—don't drink, don't dance, don't get abortions, and they don't love those who do. Even inside the Church, we sometimes view the faith as primarily about doing the right thing or acting the right way.

The truth is that Christianity does have a lot of rules. We have whole books of the Bible full of instructions on how to live and how not to live. Because we know these rules, we live with the knowledge that we need to live up to them. Sometimes we get discouraged when we realize that no matter how hard one tries, he never does live up to the rules. In fact the person who thinks he does live up to them probably is not even a Christian at all. He has fallen from faith. St. Paul makes it quite clear that if you are a believer in Christ you struggle with the reality of your sin, and if this struggle is not in you, you are not to consider yourself a true believer.

But, perhaps our even greater sin is that we condemn and judge others who we think are not living up to all the rules. We get proud and self righteous putting ourselves on a higher level than others, somehow convincing ourselves that we are in some way better than they, or more Christian than they.

But, the truth is that we all know we don't live up to them. We know that we even can't. The apostle Paul in our Epistle this morning knew he couldn't do it either. We also know how to handle that in the Church. We have come up with a pretty good system of handling our sins so that others won't judge us and look down on our faith. We lie! We come on a Sunday morning with the intent of concealing the worst, most sinful, most broken parts of ourselves, because if anyone ever saw those things, they'd never speak to us again. Our children could never play with their children. We'd be outcasts if anyone ever knew the whole truth about us, right?

And once we believe that, then the Christian life becomes little more than an exercise in how well I can hide my sin from you so that I at least keep up the appearance. And because we all keep up the appearances, it perpetuates the lie that being Christians is primarily about being "good people."

So we get into the cycle of "try harder." When we fall short, we often pick ourselves up and brush the dust off. We tell ourselves, "I will do better next time." "My problem is that I didn't try hard enough, but I can do it if I work hard enough at it." We know we didn't live up to what we are supposed to do, so we commit to ourselves, to others, and sometimes even to God to try harder. "I will go to church every week. I will give more to the offering. I will transform my life. And this time I'm serious. This time I'm going to get it right. This time I'll live the way I know I should."

And we do. We get really serious, we try really hard, and we get it right . . . for a while. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty seconds, maybe? And then we fall, and we're right back where we started again. We see the people of Israel do this over and over again in the Bible, and things haven't really changed so much.

In the 1970s, psychologists were keen on examining the effects of different learning scenarios, often using laboratory rats as subjects. In one particularly vicious experiment, researchers electrified a portion of a cage floor. Not surprisingly, the rats quickly learned to evade the shock by jumping to locations where no shock was applied. But when the entire floor was electrified, an interesting phenomenon occurred. The rats attempted to evade the shock a few times, but quickly discovered that there was nowhere they could go to be safe. Rather than keep trying, though, the rats finally settled down and accepted being shocked. They had learned that they were helpless. Even when escape routes were later offered by turning off one portion of the shocking mechanism, the rats had already learned there was no point in trying and failing, and they helplessly refused to move.

The same phenomenon occurs in people when we try something over and over and over and fail. We learn that we're helpless and the obvious answer is to stop trying. The burden is just too heavy, completely debilitating (Mt 11:28–30). Like that rat, we find ourselves helpless. We can't change ourselves. We do things we know we shouldn't, and we don't do things we know we should, and when we can't stop the cycle, we eventually just sit there and take the shock. In the end we come to one of two possible conclusions. Either we conclude that this Christianity or religious stuff is all a lie and we just quit coming to church and believing in Christ, or we conclude that there's something fundamentally broken and wrong with us as individuals. I'm a failure. I just can't do it. I can't bear the weight. (pause here for reflection.)

It is into this reality that Jesus speaks and proclaims, "Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (v 28). For

"My Yoke Is Easy, and My Burden Is Light."

Let's hear that again: "My yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (v 30). The Christian life is not about being a better person, and it never has been. In fact, there's a well-worn Latin phrase we've had in the family of God for a few centuries now, simul justus et peccator, which means "at the same time we are just and a sinner." We are both. We are at one and the same time, at any given moment both righteous and sinful. And there's great freedom in recognizing and owning that reality. We don't have to pretend anymore. We don't have to lie about our real self. We don't have to come to church, or go to work, or visit with our friends while making all the effort to cover up our real selves and keep hidden from them the reality that lies within. That burden, weight, and load is removed and we get to be real, true, honest sinners with a real, true, powerful Savior.

When we fall short and fail, we're not surprised. When our neighbor or friend falls short and fails, we're not surprised. Neither of us is home yet. Nor do we have to invest a ton of time and energy in trying harder. Anything that starts with us is doomed to failure.

The best way to be righteous and good is to stop trying. That burden, that yoke, that trying has all been carried, done for us by Christ. Christ carried the burden of our every shortfall, every time we didn't keep all those rules. Christ wore that yoke of obedience that feels to us like being trapped in a vicious cycle. Christ's perfect obedience, perfect keeping of every law, is given to us, counted as ours. And Christ took the whole burden of the world's sin—yours, mine, everyone's—upon himself when he died on the cross. Your sins are forgiven! The law of God has been fulfilled for you by Christ!

Now we wear that yoke of Christ by believing in him. But see how it feels—how easy!—how little it weighs!—when Christ has carried the load, pulled the weight. "My yoke is easy, and my burden is light." That's why we come here, week after week. Because the truth is that we forget who we are. Many of us are going to walk out the door today and head to lunch, and though we'll all know Christ's words and we'll know his love, we'll still immediately start living as if it all depends on how hard we try. We all have a need to be reminded, week after week.

In case you've forgotten . . . this is who you are: you are beloved. You do not have to pretend anymore. You are beloved, not because of what you've done, can do, or ever will do. You are beloved because you are a creation of the God of the heavens who has marked you with water and Word in Baptism, and who invites you to come with empty hands to his Table of body and blood, bread and wine.

You are beloved, not because you try harder or get it right this time or even because you might get it right next time. You are loved because of what Christ has already done for you. He has died your death. You do not have to pretend any more.

The true yoke, his yoke, is easy. The true burden, his burden, is light. Amen.