Zechariah 9:9-12
Psalm 145:8-14
Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Sermon by Pastor Joel
“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Does this lament from Paul not resonate with all of us, if we can be honest in t
his moment? How often do we decide we will do one thing – be more patient, more sensitive, less angry – and the next day find ourselves raging insensitively to those around us? Our desire to change is strong; and yet our ability to do so requires such effort that, in moments of weakness, we forget ourselves. Some of us wrestle with this failure so deeply inside, that we cannot admit it, or worse, it seeps into other actions. We have failed to be good, to be better – and so we commit another evil and judge – other people, our family members, and ourselves.
For what else is sin, but failure? And what is more human, than failing more often than – and until - we succeed?
So how reassuring it is to hear Paul in his epistle to the Romans being so honest about his own failures and limitations, his own wrongdoings which he admits to knowing are wrong before he does them. Why do I do the things that do, he asks, despite my best intentions?
The conclusion he reaches to this question is an essential component of the gospel – and foundational to our own beliefs as Christians.
But to understand Paul’s words, we need to know a little about Paul, who was not among the 12 disciples and, by most accounts, never met Jesus in person or heard him preach firsthand. And yet his writing laid out a clear definition of what it meant to lead a Christian life, and his interpretation of law and grace are the source of Martin Luther’s words – the article, Luther said, that “upon which the church stands or falls” – that we are justified by grace through faith.
Paul was born Saul of Tarsus around 65 C.E., a Roman who, according to biblical accounts, lived as a Pharisee and persecuted the early followers of Jesus. He was, as the story is told, headed to Damascus to arrest a group of Christians, when he had his epiphany – or rather his epiphany happened to him. En route, he heard the voice of Jesus, calling his name and asking him, according to the book of Acts, “why are you persecuting me.” In the bright light, Paul was blinded. In Damascus, a disciple of Jesus, named Ananias restored his sight, invoking the Holy Spirit. That experience changed Paul forever. He was baptized, became a follower of Jesus, creating a body of work that would guide the church for the next 2000 years. A recent 2025 paper by a classics professor at St. Olaf College has performed a detailed calculation of the distance Paul travelled preaching the gospel – a total of 12,000 kilometres over land, and 8,000 by sea in the second half of his life, preferring to travel by foot than ship, according to Steven Reece, whenever possible. I note this study because aside from the interesting math, it shows us the level of Paul’s commitment. He got into trouble down the road, from critics who suggested he was telling people to ignore the Ten Commandments, and despite warning from friends continued his message of grace over law. His ultimate fate is unclear, but many believe he was executed. He did more than most – including face persecution – and yet, in his words, he still felt the burden of failure.
Paul writes these words in our second lesson not just to grumble about his mistakes and say a prayer to Jesus, but to present his central argument: that when humans are bound by the law, they became too focused on what they do wrong, and, by extension what others do wrong. The law does not make life’s rules, he would argue; when law is given pre-eminence, it rules our lives. And life ruled by law focuses on punishment for transgressions, it creates days either spent avoiding judgement or casting it.
On the other hand, Paul argued, a life gifted with grace focuses on forgiveness and frees us to do good works, to look beyond ourselves. And by doing so, the hope is that we might transgress less.
It’s important to note that Paul holds to his imperfection; he does not say faith makes one perfect, rather that it helps us free own our imperfections so that we may learn from them, and begin again. And again. And again. And again.
And each time, we are offered the unlimited compassion of Jesus. “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest,” Jesus says.
This last line in our gospel this morning is a beautiful message, a reassuring promise. And yet it requires little of us, as Jesus says, but a light burden. “Take my yoke upon you,” Jesus urges, “and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.”
The people he addressed would all have understood what he meant by yoke – which was the harness that allowed two oxen to pull a heavy load, or a person to place on their shoulders to carry two buckets of water. Sometimes, a farmer might even place an older, more experience bull beside a young one, so that the latter might be shown the way.
So, this metaphor carries so much meaning for us. First, a yoke suggests that Jesus walks beside us, not behind us, whipping us into shape. Life’s burdens – those stones we drag behind us - are made lighter because the teachings of Jesus make them lighter, because Jesus helps us pull them along, until we find a way to release them. (And if we never lose those imperfections and regrets – Jesus continues to pull along with us.) Finally, the yoke suggests that Jesus not only shares in the pulling, but will take on more of the burden, when we are weaker, more vulnerable, and less able – just like older, wiser oxen to the young, smaller one.
In this way, that important tenet from Paul, and the message of Jesus, become the yoke itself. An instrument of grace and compassion and kindness, not weighed down by retribution and punishment but lightened by support and forgiveness.
Paul hoped we would remember this for ourselves. But also for others. For we too are called to be the strength that carries another’s yoke when they are burdened by life. And we too are called to practice grace, that puts the law into context, and is never defined by it.
“You will find rest for your souls,” Jesus says. Not to sleep our lives away passively. But rest from the parts of humanity that plague us, so we might send an energized spirit out into the world.
Amen