July 5, 2020
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
INTRODUCTION
Maybe it is a consequence of this being 4th of July weekend, but as I approached these texts, I approached them with an eye toward freedom: what it looks like in a time of Covid, when we are still somewhat captive in our own homes; what it looks like as we hear more and more about Americans who have not always enjoyed the same freedoms that we have, and in some ways still don't; what it looks like for Lutheran Christians who starts worship each week declaring not our freedom, but rather, that we are “captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.” With this lens, I noticed a few things, and want to ask you some questions to ponder for each reading while you listen (maybe you want to jot them down on your bulletin):
Zechariah speaks to “prisoners of hope.” What sort of prisoner might that be? What does it mean to be a prisoner of hope, and where do we find that hope?
In Romans, Paul talks frankly about his captivity to his own bad decisions and judgment. “What’s wrong with me?” he asks. “I do not do the good I want, but the very evil I do not want is what I do.” Oh buddy, I can relate! Why, oh, why do we struggle so to get out from the burden of our poor choices?
And finally in the Gospel, Jesus will use that same image of a yoke, which last week worked in Jeremiah as a symbol for Babylonia captivity, but turn it into an image of comfort, as he calls upon us to take on his yoke, which is “easy” or light. How does it feel to celebrate freedom, even as we are yoked to Jesus?
Maybe you’ll hear other echoes of freedom in these texts. Listen carefully, to what God is saying to you this day.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.
I wonder how many Americans learned for the very first time this year about what Juneteenth is. Twenty-one years in school, and while I had heard the word “Juneteenth” before, I admit I had no idea what it was, nor did I have any motivation to find out. But this year, I think, and hope, things are different. I hope this year many more Americans know that Juneteenth is the day in 1865 that slaves in Galveston, Texas learned that they were free – two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation had been signed by Abraham Lincoln. Why it took so long for them to find out they were free is up for debate, but once they found out, of course, there was much celebration, and Juneteenth remains an important holiday, especially for those who can trace their lineage back to slaves in America.
Of course, even after they were “free” they weren’t really free. They were free, but not welcomed or trusted. They had their freedom, but no property, possessions or money. They remained enslaved, no longer by shackles, but by poverty and need. They had no generational wealth to pass on to their descendants, and so the cycle continued, and continues even today in different forms.
I’m grateful to know about Juneteenth, and I admit, it has dramatically changed the way I viewed the 4th of July this year. I still love my country, I still donned my red, white and blue, and I even facilitated a little neighborhood parade on my street (properly distanced) and helped my kids decorate their bikes and wagon for the event. But my thinking about freedom was much changed. What is American freedom, when I am now increasingly aware of how different freedom looks for my fellow citizens who are people of color?
As I said in my introduction, I find in today’s texts many points that draw me into thinking about freedom – not American freedom, but our Christian freedom. While the two are sometimes conflated, they are really quite different. American freedom allows us to do, say, and believe whatever we want (with the understanding that some restrictions apply). There is a sense of autonomy about it, of individualism, of personal work ethic: if you want to succeed, and you work hard, you will succeed!
Christian freedom, on the other hand, looks beyond the self. It compels us to use our personal freedoms to serve one another. As Christians (who are also Americans), we believe not so much in the power of the individual, since we are all “captive to sin and cannot to free ourselves,” but rather, in the power of Christ, who has taken away the burden of sin, so that it no longer has such power over us. Because of Christ, our freedom looks instead like the ability to freely love and serve God and neighbor. That is: our freedom is not for us, but for our neighbor.
Today’s text from Romans shows us that, while hopeful, this freedom business is also incredibly difficult – because even as we know what God desires from and for us us, it isn’t so easy to follow through. Paul has spent the first six chapters of Romans outlining the law and how good it is and how much he loves it, but now, in chapter seven, he offers this startling confession: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”
That is the difficulty with freedom, you see. As well-intentioned as we may be, and even as certain as we may be at any given time about the rightness of our decisions, it seems too often that we end up doing the wrong thing. How many times have you said something like, “I shouldn’t say this, or do this… but I’m going to anyway,” because, as Paul says, sin is constantly lurking at the door, just waiting for us in all our freedom to slip up a little bit so that sin can creep in there and take over our better judgment. “I know I shouldn’t, but…” is a constant refrain in our lives.
“I do not understand my own actions,” Paul writes. “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” The first time I heard, really heard these words, I felt an immediate kinship with Paul. He suddenly became a real person to me, not just some writer and scholar from long ago. I realized: he struggled, too. This important man, with many churches named for him, including this one, who wrote so much of what we call the Holy Scriptures – even he struggled with sin, struggled to avoid doing things he knew were the wrong things to do. Turns out, we are all together in this human condition, where we mean well, but end up doing the very thing we know we shouldn’t.
Even as misery enjoys company, though, we cannot stay there – and Paul doesn’t. Just when we start to feel that there is no hope, that our Christian freedom will only get us into trouble because as willing as our hearts may be, our flesh is too darn weak to uphold God’s law… Paul looks outward. “Wretched man that I am!” he exclaims. “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” We are not left on our own. We have the great gift of knowing that Jesus has our backs in this.
Anne Lamott, in her book, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith, reflects on the growth and wisdom she has experienced in her life. She goes on for some pages about everything she has learned and gained through the various trials and stages of her life. She also comments, however, that she is not thrilled with what age and gravity have done to her body. In her wry, raw way, she writes, “Left to my own devices, would I trade all [that I have gained] for firm thighs, fewer wrinkles, a better memory? You bet I would. That is why it’s such a blessing that I am not left to my own devices.” Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!
And this brings us to Jesus’ wonderful words of comfort in our Gospel lesson, which are an assurance that we will never be left to our own devices, left to fend for ourselves, left always to do the right thing with the freedom we have been given, even as sin is lurking close at hand. Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you…” I used to think that taking Jesus’ yoke upon me was something like taking up Jesus’ cross – that is, taking on a burden, perhaps the burden of seeking justice in the world, with us pulling the load and Christ as the driver. But the thing about a yoke is that it is not for one animal. It is for two, two animals who are bound together to walk side-by-side and be a more powerful team than one can be alone. So when Christ bids us take his yoke upon us, he means that we should come and be yoked with him, bound together side-by-side – so that suddenly our personal burden no longer feels quite so heavy, because it is being borne with Christ. Our freedom, which so often leads us to sin, is no longer our downfall, because we make decisions with Christ by our side, bearing some of the weight.
It is not only our personal burdens that are carried in this way. Under Christ’s yoke, we are prepared to bear the burdens of the world, even those we feel so heavily right now. With our God-given freedom for service, and with the strength of Christ and his yoke on our team, we do the hard work that we are called to do: standing up to the oppressor, seeking justice for the needy, showing mercy and compassion to those who are suffering. These are what our Christian freedom compels us to do, and now we are given the promise that we need not bear the burden of those tasks alone.
Freedom is a wonderful, beautiful thing, a gift that has come to us by the grace of God through Jesus Christ. It can also be a burden, as we don’t always use it wisely, for the building up of others, but rather, we use it for our own self-promotion or self-preservation. Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord that we are not left to our own devices in this world, but rather are given the gift of Jesus’ own yoke, and the knowledge of God’s strength in carrying the burden of this world. May we use this gift for the benefit of our neighbor.
Let us pray… We give you thanks, O Lord, for our freedom. But even more we give you thanks that even in that freedom, we are not left to our own devices, but are always accompanied by the gentle, humble yoke of your Son. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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