July 5, 2026
Matthew 11:16–19, 25–30
+ Let’s face
it.
We’re all
kind of weary right now.
We have all
been through a lot
Certainly in
our own personal lives.
Certainly as
a country.
(Happy 250,
by the way!)
Just in
general.
There is just
a kind of weariness that comes from simply being alive.
It’s not
always physical exhaustion, either.
Sometimes—oftentimes—it’s
a spiritual weariness.
Sometimes
it’s just a weariness of trying to get it right.
Trying to be
the right kind of person.
Trying to say
the right thing.
Trying to
believe the right things.
Trying to
live up to the expectations of other people.
Trying to
live up to our own expectations.
And
sometimes—if we are very honest—it is the weariness of trying to live up to
what we think God expects of us.
That, I
think, is the kind of weariness Jesus is talking about today.
But first,
Jesus says something rather strange.
He says the
people of his generation are like children in the marketplace:
We played the
flute for you, and you did not dance;
we wailed,
and you did not mourn.
Of course!
Nothing is
ever quite right.
John the
Baptist came fasting, living ascetically in the wilderness.
And people
said what?
He has a
demon.
Then Jesus
came.
Jesus ate
with people.
He drank
wine.
He sat at
tables with sinners and tax collectors and all the wrong people.
And what did
they say?
Look, he’s a
glutton.
He’s a drunk.
John was too
severe.
Jesus was not
severe enough.
There’s no
winning.
I think we
all get that.
We live in a
world in which everyone seems to have an opinion about how everyone else should
live their lives.
You’re too
much of this.
You’re not
enough of that.
You’re too
religious.
You’re not
religious enough.
You’re too
traditional.
You’re too
liberal, too progressive.
Nothing is
ever quite right.
And if we
spend our lives trying to satisfy every voice calling to us from the
marketplace, guess what?
We’re gonna
get exhausted.
We’re gonna
be. . . weary.
And that is
what Jesus is talking about.
Come to me,
he says. All you who are weary.
Notice what
he’s not saying.
He doesn’t
say, get your act together first.
Be more
religious first.
Figure it all
out out first.
Stop
doubting.
No. He simply
says, Come.
Come to me,
all you who are weary.
Come to me,
all you who are tired of trying to prove yourselves.
Come to me,
all you who have been carrying things you were never meant to carry.
And what
happens if we do?
“I will give
you rest,” he says.
Jesus is not
promising that life will suddenly become easy.
The rest
Jesus offers is something so much deeper.
It is the
rest that comes when we finally understand that we don’t have to earn
the love of God.
We don’t have
to work to get God to love us.
We don’t have
to get everything right.
We don’t have
to prove our own worth.
We don’t have
to carry around every judgment someone has made about us.
We don’t have
to keep punishing ourselves for just being who we are or what what we are.
But, we
should be clear.
We’re not
promised an easy life.
There will be
things we just have to carry in this life.
We don’t get
to have no burdens.
There are
burdens we are actually called to carry.
We are called
to carry one another.
We are called
to carry the needs of the poor.
We are
called, sometimes, to carry a cross.
But the other
stuff?
God never
asked us to carry all those thing.
Like the
burden of shame.
The burden of
perfection.
The burden of
pretending we’re something we’re not.
The burden of
trying to make everyone happy.
The burden of
believing that God is somehow perpetually disappointed in us.
Those are
dangerous burdens, especially if you’re already weary.
Those burdens
will crush us.
What does Jesus
say to us?
Put them
down.
He says
instead, Take up my yoke.
Now, that’s
an interesting turn of images if you ask me.
Put down your
burdens.
But take up
my yoke.
But there’s
something very enlightening about that image.
A burden is
something carried alone.
A yoke
however is something shared.
You’re yoked
to something else.
Jesus doesn’t
promise us a life without difficulties.
He promises
us instead that we will never carry these burdens alone.
Take my yoke
upon you, and learn from me, he says.
Walk with me.
Move with me.
Let me carry
this with you.
For I am
gentle and humble in heart.
That may be
one of the most beautiful things Jesus ever says about himself.
Because by
saying that he is telling us what the heart of God truly is.
The heart of
God is gentle.
The heart of
God is not cruel.
The heart of
God is not waiting for us to fail.
The heart of
God is not expecting us to be. . . perfect.
The heart of
God is gentle.
Jesus says, Listen
to my voice.
I am gentle.
Come to me.
Perhaps today
we need to ask ourselves:
What am I
carrying that God never asked me to carry?
Whose voice
am I listening to?
What am I
still trying to prove?
And to whom?
And what
would happen if I simply came to God as I am?
Not as I
think I should be.
Not as
someone else thinks I should be.
But as I really
am.
Tired.
Weary
Imperfect.
Hopeful.
But still afraid.
Faithful.
But still doubting.
Human.
Come to me,
Jesus says to us.
Not tomorrow.
Not when you’ve
figured it all out.
Not when you’ve
become the person you think you should be.
Now.
Come to me.
And when you
do, bring your weariness.
Bring your
burden.
Bring the
whole complicated truth of who you are.
And when we
do, it is then that we will find our rest.
Amen.
