a sermon on Matthew 11:16-19; 25-30
(singing)
Rest for the weary…
Rest for the weary…
Welcome everyone…
To the love of God.
I first learned the simple song Come Let Us Worship God, by Ray Makeever, at the opening worship service of a Summer Missionary Conference many years ago now. The particular verse I just sang has been lilting its way through my mind all week. Friends, there’s a lot going on in the gospel text from Matthew that I just read. But truthfully, all I could hear this week were Jesus’ words at the end, which feel like the kind of grace that pours itself out as cool water over our parched souls.
“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.”
Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.
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Come to me, all you that are weary and burdened by this pandemic.
If my count is right, it’s been 107 days since Governor Pritzker issued the first stay-at-home order for the state of Illinois. So much of what once grounded our lives and our relationships and our routines became unavailable to us literally overnight. Public health somehow became a partisan political issue and the onslaught of news and information became almost too much to take in. COVID-19 distress became so intense for so many people that the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control issued guidelines for protecting mental health in the midst of the outbreak. The uncertainty about how long this will last and what life will look like on the other side puts us in a constant state of disorienting anxiety. There’s really no way to measure the depth of all that we’ve already lost, nor the complicated feelings of grief that have taken up residency in our spirits as COVID has taken up residency in our world.
Hear the promise of Jesus: Come to me, and I will give you rest.
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Come to me, all you that are weary and burdened by your responsibilities.
Life asks so much of us, even in normal times. We are trying to work full-time and parent full-time all at once and we’re certain we’re not doing either thing very well. We are caring for aging parents who don’t understand why we can’t visit them, or whose frustration over loss of independence comes out sideways in ways that sting. We are supporting family members or friends who are managing significant health issues, or childcare crises, or job losses. We ourselves got laid off, or our gigs were all canceled, and the hustling required to find a way to pay the bills is almost enough to knock us flat. Our country seems to be crumbling around us and we care deeply about civic and community issues. We want to be involved, but then also we feel guilty, because even though we know it’s critically important we can’t fathom how we could possibly take on even one more thing. We can’t keep up with the housework or the laundry or manage to get the oil changed, and seriously? These people in our house need to eat yet one more meal?! Didn’t they just eat, like, hours ago?!
Hear the promise of Jesus: Come to me, and I will give you rest.
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Come to me, all you that are weary and burdened by loneliness.
I have a friend who lives in another state, far away from her family of origin. She’s a young, single professional with a strong social network, and she happens to live alone. The other day she remarked that it has been 92 days since she has physically touched another human being. Some of us know that same kind of loneliness. And some of us are lonely for other reasons. Our marriages are stressed, so we feel lonely in our own homes despite the fact that they’re filled with people. We’re new to a town or church or job or school community that we can’t really get to know because everything’s shut down. We pretty much always feel like we don’t fit in. We struggle to make friends or have trouble being vulnerable with the ones we do have. Our most beloved person has died, or has moved away, or is living with memory loss. We feel alone, and we ache.
Hear the promise of Jesus: Come to me, and I will give you rest.
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Come to me, all you that are weary and burdened by injustice.
Economists and social scientists have begun to refer to the coronavirus not as the “great equalizer,” but as the “great revealer.” Here in the United States and across the world, the sudden stop to the global economy has put the ever-growing gap between rich and poor into stark relief. The realities of access to food – the most basic of human needs – give us just one glimpse into what life is like for people who have been made poor in our current world order. I’ve been in touch recently with several pastoral colleagues who serve Lutheran congregations in poorer parts of the greater metro Chicago area. The food shelves that their congregations host are often completely empty within just a couple of hours of opening because the need for food is so great. One of these colleagues is in deep grief over the fact that most of their church’s food shelf clients right now are actually members of that very same congregation. That congregation is the spiritual home of many Mexican and Central American immigrants who work in food processing plants and other blue-collar jobs in the far west suburbs – plants whose workers have experienced exceedingly high rates of coronavirus infection because of the close physical proximity the work demands. The plants can’t figure out a way to keep people safe and still make money, and the immigrant community is paying with their lives and their livelihoods. Beyond our borders, chief economists at the United Nations’ World Food Program are looking at the impact of the coronavirus and forecasting a global food emergency on a scale that the world has never seen before, estimating that more than 265 million people could be pushed to the brink of starvation by the end of the year.
The promise of Jesus belongs first to such as these: Come to me, and I will give you rest.
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Come to me, all you that are weary and burdened by divisiveness.
Black lives matter vs. blue lives matter vs. all lives matter. Protestors vs. police. Republicans vs. Democrats vs. the Completely Disenfranchised. Teachers vs. parents. Science vs. individual choice. Rich vs. poor. Mask-wearers vs. those who loudly refuse to use them. Open our State proponents vs. those who advocate caution. We receive a constant bombardment of messages fueling the lie that our identities are primarily about belonging to one supposed side of an issue or another, rather than the truth that we first belong to God, and then to each other.
Hear the promise of Jesus: Come to me, and I will give you rest.
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Come to me, all you that are weary and burdened by grief. By shame. By our inability to gather as a full community of faith. By the feeling that you aren’t measuring up. By your sense of powerlessness in the face of so many challenges. By depression. By anxiety. By fear. By hopelessness.
The promise of Jesus is for you, too: Come to me, and I will give you rest.
Bring your weary and burdened souls to Jesus. Lay at his feet the crushing weight of all that you carry, remembering that he knows exactly what it feels like to walk in human skin. And as you lay down your own burdens, don’t forget to look on either side of you. Because when you do, you will see other people just like you – and still others who are not at all like you – who have also come to the feet of Jesus looking for rest and renewal. Notice as they, too, lay down the weight of all they carry. And then watch what happens when all of us, together, suddenly find our arms freed from burden and renewed in strength to be Christ to one another, and to the whole of this weary world. Feel yourself breathing a bit easier as you lean into the strong arms of the communion of saints, and let that breath support songs of life.
I’m going to ask my daughter Kate to join me to close this sermon, because the verse I sang to open this sermon is actually written as a call and response. We invite you to join us in singing.
(singing)
Rest for the weary…
Rest for the weary…
Welcome everyone…
To the love of God.
Amen.
Heidi Torgerson 