Month: July 2020

7/26/20 

(Genesis 29:15-28; Ps. 105:1-11,45b; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52)

            You may remember a movie made in the early 1990’s called “Philadelphia”.  It starred Tom Hanks as Andrew Becket, a young lawyer at a prestigious Philadelphia law firm, who is gay, and who has AIDS.  We need to remind ourselves that, back then, an AIDS diagnosis was a death sentence; and, back then, most gay people didn’t openly acknowledge their sexuality because of the prejudice that was still dominant then.

            We quickly learn that Becket is a rising star at the firm, but about a third of the way through the movie he gets fired.  The senior partners – who have been his friends and respected mentors – tell him it’s because of his poor job performance.  But Becket thinks it’s because they’ve discovered that he’s gay, and that he has AIDS. So he takes them to court over it.

            Near the end of the trial, which is very angry and contentious, Becket himself testifies (he’s very sick with the disease by this time); and when his lawyer asks him, Are you a good lawyer, he says, I’m an excellent lawyer.  I love the law.  His lawyer asks him, What do you love about the law, and he answers, Many things. What do I love most about the law? His lawyer nods; and Becket says, That, every now and then – not often, but occasionally – you get to be a part of justice, being done.  It really is a thrill when that happens.

            And the movie cuts to a shot of the three senior partners – the people he’s suing, at the defense table – all looking at Becket, with something approaching love; and with quiet pride – in him.  And it’s clearly because he has just articulated what they all feel about the law.  And all the bitter division between them – anger at the lawsuit, the fear of AIDS,  the homophobia –  for those few seconds, that’s all gone  away; and for that moment they are brothers again.

            This is just one moment in an old movie.  But I think it’s a good illustration of what Jesus calls “the kingdom of heaven.”   

            For the last three weeks we’ve been hearing from Matthew chapter 13, which is the heart of Jesus’ teaching on that subject, which is at the heart of our lives as Christians.

            The first thing we have to do is shake off the idea that “the kingdom of heaven” is the place where God lives, up in the sky somewhere, where hopefully we’ll go after we die, if we obey the rules.  No.  Jesus is talking about the presence of God we experience now, in this life: when what God wants is what happens: where there is love; and peace; and joy; and justice.

            Because the kingdom of heaven is of God, it defies precise definition, but Jesus gives examples to point us in the right direction.  In today’s reading those examples differ widely, but they have two things in common.  First, they’re all similes: the kingdom of heaven is likea mustard seed, likeyeast that a woman mixed with flour, liketreasure hidden in a field.  God is always creating, and what God creates is always new.  So Jesus gives us indications, not definitions, because they would be meaningless: what he wants to do is put us on the lookout, for the kingdom of heaven that’s going to show up in our lives, in ways that are impossible to predict.

            And the second thing these parables have in common is that they each describe the kingdom of heaven by telling a story from life, something with which his hearers are familiar: a tiny mustard seed which grows into a big shrub; a woman using yeast to make bread; a merchant who deals in pearls: very ordinary things.

Jesus is saying that the kingdom of heaven exists in this life, in things that seem so ordinary to us, it’s easy for them to escape our notice; but if we have the ears to hear and the eyes to see, we can find the kingdom of heaven around us all the time.   

            I’m going to flesh this out by commenting briefly now on the first four parables of the kingdom of heaven which we heard today. 

            These four parables really make two pairs.  The first pair is about how, in the kingdom of heaven, little things can have infinitely big effects.  The mustard seed is tiny, but produces a shrub that becomes a tree: a tree that’s big enough to have branches; where birds come and make nests; where birds lay eggs; which hatch new birds; and the cycle repeats itself. So from this one little seed, comes the creation of a world of new life, extending infinitely outward.

            Jesus makes the same point, in different circumstances, in the story of the woman who takes yeast and leavens three measures of flour with it.  To a modern ear this sounds unremarkable.  But in those days a measure of flour was about fifty pounds; so three measures made 150 pounds of dough, enough to make bread for a hundred people.  So that one woman, with that one little bit of yeast, provides nourishment for a great number of people: people who go on in the strength of that nourishment to live their lives: again, one small thing creating new life that extends infinitely out into the world, and the future.

            The second pair of parables is about the kingdom of heaven we feel in the pure gift of the love of God.  It’s a gift which we do not earn, but which God just gives us. Just think about this for a minute: God…loves…us.  It’s the most mind-boggling thing there could possibly be; and it’s a gift for which we would give everything we have.

             This is the experience of the man who finds treasure hidden in a field, and sells everything he has to buy the field, to get that treasure.  This makes him sound kind of sneaky.  But in that time, the people of Israel were under constant threat of invasion, and burying your valuables was a common way of protecting them; and the implication is that the original owner didn’t know the treasure was there, so it wasn’t his to begin with.  So the discovery of it was a pure gift of God, out of the blue: that’s what causes the joy, which happens before he even acquires the field (“in his joy he goes and sells all he has and buys that field…”): the pure gift is the real treasure; for which the man would pay anything.

            And finally, the merchant who deals in pearls finds one that’s greater than any he’s ever seen, so he sells all the pearls he’s already got to buy that one.   The beauty of this pearl is what he’s been looking for all his life; so now none of his other pearls, which he’s spent his life acquiring, matter, and he’ll give them all up for his heart’s desire. That’s the beauty of the kingdom of heaven.

             I’m going to close with a quick story of a little glimpse of the kingdom of heaven I had a while back here at St. John’s.  For many years, every summer, we hosted something called Camp Jonathan.  It was a one-week day camp for young people who have recently experienced the death of someone very close to them (usually a family member), a unique and wonderful program.  One day I was invited to join their opening gathering; I got there a little early, and fell into conversation with a very energetic six-year-old boy. He was playing with two toy helicopters he had brought; I asked him some questions about what they could do, and he showed me how they took off and landed; he also showed me a grenade launcher he’d made with a rolled-up piece of paper and a pipe cleaner.  

            The next day, I was in my office just before lunchtime and that little boy (with one of the teachers) showed up at the door. He had a piece of construction paper in hand, and the teacher said that he wanted to show me his drawing.  So I came out from behind my desk, and the boy held it up so I could see it.  It was not immediately apparent to me what was represented; there were a number of odd, and brightly colored, shapes; so I asked him what it was, and he said, It’s a circus at my church.  I said,  A circus at your church?  And he said, Yes, there’s a circus at my church.  Evidently wherever his family went to church, somewhere around here, a circus had set up its tent and was performing on the grounds.

            Now, I happen to love circuses, I’ve gone to the circus all my life, I’ve told circus stories in sermons.  And the idea of a circus at a church was something that had never occurred to me, but the idea instantly took root in my head (there’s something of the kingdom of heaven in a circus, in the pure delight the circus creates.)

            But of course the most wonderful thing was that it was just as exciting to this little boy, and that he had come down to share that excitement with me, on the basis of our five-minute friendship the day before.  That was a gift of God, out of the blue, unmerited, with some implications that could be infinite (the exhilaration of a circus in a church), and from a very small source.  To me, that has “kingdom of heaven” written all over it.  As we become more aware of the presence of the kingdom of heaven in our lives, we grow in thankfulness, in hope, in joy; and, in the working of the Holy Spirit, all those spread out all around us.  In the words of Andrew Becket, it really is quite a thrill when that happens. Thanks be to God. 

7/19/20

(Genesis 28:10-19a; Ps. 139:1-11, 22-23; Romans 8:12-25; Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43)

            I’m going to preach a regular old sermon today, but first I need to acknowledge with you the fact that we’re in a different place today.  There may be some of you watching this now who are not on our parish email list, or the parish grapevine; so: for you folks: this past week I announced that I will be retiring from St. John’s and from parish ministry at the end of August.

            So if we were all gathered together here in church today for worship, there’d be a different feel in the room (there’s definitely a different feel here now, with just me and Flora and the camera.)  We’re in a period of leave-taking now, you and I. And I’m not going to dwell on it. It’s just necessary to name it; and to remember that the way forward – for us all, you and me -is to keep our minds firmly on what we’re here for, what we’ve always been and always will be here for: to worship our God, and to grow in the knowledge and love of God, and of God’s Son, our Lord Jesus Christ.

            So here’s the sermon.

            This past week I had a new experience: I was the guest on a podcast, called “Better Known.”  It’s hosted by a man who lives in London, who asks people to talk about five things they think should be better known (and one thing that should be less well known.)   He sent me some episodes to listen to in preparation; most of the guests on them were a lot younger than I am, and a lot of the choices they made were completely unknown to me.

            As some of mine would certainly be to them. I talked about a contemporary composer whose music most people don’t know, and an American playwright whose plays were popular in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s but have been largely forgotten.

            But in thinking about this question – what should be better known – what occurred to me first, and instantly, was the Bible. It sells 100 million copies a year, but very few people actually read it.  I think a lot people who go to church don’t read it.  I think that may partly be because they think they already know what’s in it (from having heard parts of it read in church): or, they think, I should know what’s in it – shouldn’t I – so if I act as though I do nobody’ll be the wiser; or they think, I’m already a Christian, I’m down with the program, I don’t need to read it.

            But the Christian life is not a steady state. It’s a life of constantly drawing closer to God: a life of transformation, and liberation.  And the Bible leads us down this path.  The Bible challenges us: it disorients us; confuses us; astonishes us; thrills us; sometimes it outrages us.

            We have a prime example in the passage from the book of Genesis which we heard today.  This reading is one of the cycle of stories about Jacob, whom we know – don’t we? – as one of the most august figures in the Old Testament: father of the twelve tribes of Israel, one of the Big Three whom God always includes when self-identifying (“I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob”.)   And that revered stature seems justified by today’s story, a well-known and beautiful one about Jacob’s ladder: his dream of the ladder set upon earth and reaching to heaven, and angels moving up and down it: a vision of God’s living presence among us.

            And, as we heard today, the Bible tells us that God stands beside Jacob, and makes him the covenant promise of God’s eternal faithfulness: “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”  This is God’s covenant with Jacob and all his descendants (which, in the life of the Spirit, includes you and me.)

            And out of this dream Jacob has both a physical and a spiritual awakening: as we heard, “Jacob woke from his sleep and said, ‘Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!’ “  And Jacob gives God the glory: he creates a memorial for the place, which remained for many centuries one of the most sacred places in the Promised Land.

            Beautiful, inspiring story, right?

            What we don’t get from this story – but what the Bible has firmly established, in the stories we’ve already heard (if we’ve read the Bible) – is that not only has Jacob done nothing to deserve this experience – this dream, this vision that would seem to be reserved only for the greatest of saints, and this association with one of the holiest places on earth – to the contrary, the Bible has shown us in no uncertain terms that Jacob is a thoroughly detestable person: a crook, a con man: someone none of us would want anything to do with in our own lives.

            From the beginning: the Bible tells us that when Jacob is born, his twin brother Esau comes out first – making him the eldest, and therefor the privileged one – but Jacob grabs at his heel, trying to pull him back and get ahead of him.  In the very next story, the Bible tells us how Jacob swindles Esau out of his birthright – his right as eldest son to leadership of the family and a double share of the inheritance.  Jacob trades him a bowl of stew for it (because Esau’s really hungry; Esau’s admittedly not the sharpest knife in the drawer.) And in the story right after that, the Bible tells us how Jacob cons his aged, feeble, half-blind father into thinking he (Jacob) is Esau, and giving him the blessing of a father to his eldest son (which gives him  power over all his brothers, obviously including Esau, and a great destiny.)

            When Esau finds out about this he comes after Jacob to kill him.  And that’s where today’s story begins: “Jacob left Beer-sheba and went toward Haran.” That’s what we heard.  Sounds like a normal day, yes?  No.  Jacob is on the run, he can’t go home, Esau’s on his tail.  And lest we think he was a changed man after his dream, the Bible tells us later on that he cons his father-in-law out of most of his livestock, and runs off with not only that, but also both of his daughters, and his household gods.

            This is the one to whom God says, “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go….”  

            The great Christian writer Frederick Buechner sees two lessons here.  One is that “…even for a dyed-in-the-wool, double-barreled con artist like Jacob there are a few things in this world you can’t get but can only be given, and one of those things is love in general, and another is the love of God in particular.”

            And the other is that, “…luckily for Jacob” – and luckily for us – “God doesn’t love people because of who they are but because of who he is.  It’s on the houseis one way of saying it and it’s by grace is another, just as it was by grace that it was Jacob of all people who became not only the father of the twelve tribes of Israel but the many many times great grandfather of Jesus of Nazareth, and just as it was by grace that Jesus of Nazareth was born into this world at all.”

            This is the kind of place the Bible – and only the Bible – takes us.  This is the world the Bible leads us into: in all its wildly different voices, over so many centuries.  May we always know it better, as the life-giving Word of God that it truly is.

7/12/20

(Genesis 25:19-34; Ps. 119:105-112; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9. 18-23)

            I think the vast majority of people who don’t go to church think they pretty much know already what it is that we do in here and they just don’t buy it.  (And if what we do in here were in fact what they think it is, I doubt any of us would buy it either.)  One friend, whom I’ve known for many years and who’s smart and lives a life of service to others, once earnestly put it to me this way: she said, “Jack, how could you possibly subscribe to a reward and punishment system of thinking?” 

            Well, of course I said I don’t, that’s not what we do.  But the painful truth is that for much of the church, for much of its history, that has been the dominant mindset: rules-based, looking to a specific reward at the end of life.  This is a distortion of what Jesus preached – as someone once put it, Christianity is not an exit strategy for this world – and I think it stems in large part from a simple misunderstanding of something fundamental to the Christian gospel.

            From the beginning of his ministry to the end, Jesus preached essentially one sermon, in many different ways, by word and example: that the kingdom of heaven has “come near”; is “at hand”.  (Matthew uses the term “kingdom of heaven”; other gospels call it the “kingdom of God”; it’s the same thing.)  In Matthew’s gospel the heart of Jesus’ teaching about the kingdom of heaven, mostly by means of parables, is in chapter 13, which today’s gospel reading is from, and which in this lectionary cycle we will hear over the next two weeks.   

              Here’s the misunderstanding.  When Jesus talks about the kingdom of heaven, he’s not talking about the place where we go after we die if we’ve been good, and follow the rules.  No.  Jesus is talking about the life of God that is here on earth and that is available to us, a life of joy and peace and justice, and true communion with each other, which God wants us to have.  This life that God offers us is the only true life – which constantly creates new life, which is in fact eternal – and which most of the time we’re just too stupidly self-absorbed to be aware of.  

            Jesus begins this teaching on the kingdom of heaven with what we heard today, the parable of the sower.   That’s how it’s commonly referred to, but in fact in the parable Jesus barely mentions the sower at all: his focus is on the seed, and the ground that is to receive it, the ground which the seed needs to take root and grow in.  The story Jesus wants to get across is the new life that is constantly being offered the Holy Spirit.   

            Now, in this parable it sounds as though Jesus is talking about four distinct kinds of people who hear the word, kinds of people for whom he is preparing his disciples, people they will encounter as they go out and preach the gospel themselves.  The first three of these are plainly negative examples, the ground that won’t grow the seed, and Jesus appears to be warning the disciples about these people – you’re going to be running across these folks, but don’t be discouraged, just be ready.

            And then the final example is the positive one, the good soil, in which the seed can take root and bear fruit: the one who truly hears and understands the word, so the word can bring about new life in that person: new life that bears fruit – that creates new life itself – a hundredfold, sixtyfold, thirtyfold.  So this is a kind of person, apparently, the disciples can look forward to.

            But I think Jesus is doing something more than all that, in this teaching.  Again, it seems to us that Jesus is talking about the people his disciples will encounter in their ministry, and we will encounter in our lives as Christians: those people, out there.  And that understanding is partially correct.  But I think, in each of these metaphors, Jesus is also talking to the disciples, and to us, about what we need to be aware of , as we prepare ourselves to receive the word.    

            He first speaks of the path: some seeds fall on the path, and they just sit there, and the birds come and pick them off.  This is the metaphor for those who hear the word but don’t understand it, it makes no impression on them, it doesn’t sink in.   A path is a well-trodden way, it’s beaten smooth and hard.  It’s where we know others have been before; it’s where we have been before, and we know where it’s going to take us.  So we don’t have to think about where we are, and where we’re going.  So we don’t think about it.  So we deaden our capacity to be surprised.  We blunt our ability to wonder.  We hedge against the possibility that we might experience  anything new, that we might allow the Holy Spirit really to work in us.  It’s easy, on the path, just to trudge along, oblivious to the new things that are happening right where we are.   In this way we may hear the word, but we don’t understand it; we don’t hear it as the Word, we are numb to its radical invitation.   

            Jesus speaks then of the seed sown on rocky ground, which has only a thin layer of soil, so the plant can’t grow roots. This is the metaphor for the one who hears the word and, Jesus tells us, “immediately receives it with joy” – which is not the same thing as understanding it – but who, just as immediately, withers away when trouble or persecution occurs.

            Roots: the means by which a plant gets sustenance, what it needs to keep it alive and growing.  And roots are underground, so we don’t see them.  This stands for the growth in faith that we are not conscious of, growth which occurs as we cultivate good spiritual practices.  And I’m not just talking about prayer, reading Scripture, the things we do in church.  I’m talking about living the Golden Rule, about being thankful in all circumstances, about letting all we do be done in love.  In trying to live our lives this way we create room for the Holy Spirit to do its work, under our radar.  Jesus knows that trouble is going to occur, our faith is going to be challenged, that’s inevitable, given the broken world we live in, the gulf between ourselves and God. When those times come, the root system is there to give us stability – to keep us in place – and to continue feeding us, just as it always has.   Growing those roots needs continual attention.

            Jesus identifies the seed sown among thorns as the metaphor for the one who hears the word, but it’s choked out by “the cares of the world and the lure of wealth.”  Well, this certainly seems like familiar territory, we’re all well rehearsed in the danger of greed, and so we check it off.

            But think about the cares of the world that are justified, the cares with which we rightly and properly concern ourselves: to provide for ourselves and our families, to care for our children and teach them about what’s important in life, to do well in school, to do a good job, to be honorable and conscientious in our occupations, to do proper honor to the gifts that God gives us.  These are all cares of the world that we should be attending to.

            But they are truly and rightly done only in the awareness of the kingdom of heaven, only as the fruit of the Holy Spirit. It’s easy – I do it all the time – to allow the cares of the world to fill up all our time and attention, to allow them to choke out the Word.  We lose the connection between what we do and how it is that we are truly able to do it. If we allow the cares of the world to crowd out the Spirit, then we can’t attend to those cares with the clarity, and energy, and joy, that they need, and that God intends.  This is the kingdom of heaven: the true source of our life and strength.

            So Jesus is not just talking about them, out there: he’s talking about all of us.   Which means that he’s also including us in the last example: the one who hears and understands and bears fruit, and yields.  And notice the way he puts it: yields in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.  That’s the reverse of the progression we’d expect, from little to great. Because for God, it’s not about quantity: the important thing is how each of us responds truthfully to God’s presence among us.  That’s providing good ground for the seed; which takes root and grows and bears fruit, infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.  That’s the kingdom of heaven.  Thanks be to God.

7/5/20

(Gen. 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67;Ps. 45:11-18; Rom. 7:15-25a; Mt. 11:16-19, 25-30)

                        Our son Harry had a somewhat checkered career in high school (academically and otherwise), but the one thing he was really proud of – and will be all his life – was making the varsity soccer team his senior year.  He was never a starter, only got into about half the games; but his school is known for having one of the best soccer programs in the Northeast; it recruits from all over the country, and internationally; so just making the team was a big deal.  

            Harry had been good at sports since early childhood, but the training regimen, and the self-discipline, required at this level were of a whole different order than what he was used to.  And I’m glad that he had this achievement to be proud of; but I’m much more glad because of what the experience taught him, and which has stayed with him: that is, the value of staying in good physical condition, how it makes your life better; and how to maintain that condition, through exercise and diet.  He can literally feel the benefits, and can feel the cost when he doesn’t keep it up: the cost to his work, and to how he feels about himself.  And I’m glad he learned that when he does keep it up, it gets results.  This experience changed his life forever.

            I think the single most important factor in what changed Harry’s approach – what made him willing to buy into that self-discipline – was the coach.  He  was a young man, not a slave-driver, he didn’t yell; he motivated his players by quietly communicating to them the connection between their personal commitment to the work that was necessary, and the result, which was not defined in wins and losses: it was in knowing their commitment to each other to give their best; and knowing what it felt like when they didn’t, when they failed to honor that.  Once that connection is made, the work isn’t nearly as hard; because it’s a matter of the spirit. 

Jesus says something along the same lines in today’s gospel reading.   (It’s a passage which sounds disjointed and a little obscure, and I’ll try to address that.) But Jesus’ words at the end are (I think) some of the most profoundly moving in the Bible: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest….For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  It’s hard to imagine a human to whom that invitation would not appeal.  Especially these days, with the burdens of the pandemic, and the cultural upheaval  that’s going on all around us, and not just in our community, or our state, or our country, but around the world.

But in Christian experience we learn to trust the words of Jesus.  We know that this is the voice of our good shepherd, whose words are truly timeless, and who speaks to us all across the centuries.  Whatever burdens we are carrying, Jesus says to us – each of us personally – “Come to me, and I will give you rest” – is like a drink of cool water to a parched throat.

            But Jesus immediately follows this promise with an instruction: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me.”  This is the first step in our part of the process: through which Jesus gives usrest.  Some people might react negatively to the image of a yoke, which seems to equate us with so-called “dumb animals” and seems to ask us for mindless submission to forced labor.  But in Jesus’ time, when most people literally earned their bread this way, the farmer and the draft animal in the yoke, pulling the plow, had to work together – each needed the other – to get the work done.  And the yoke was there to give direction and discipline, without which the goal – to create what was needed for the sustenance of life – could not be achieved.  Jesus chose his metaphors pretty well.

            Today’s reading sounds disjointed and obscure because it contains jagged pieces of one unified context.  I’m going to spend a little time giving you that context from Matthew chapter 11, from which today’s reading is drawn, so please bear with me a bit, because it’s necessary in understanding what Jesus says: why his yoke is easy, and his burden is light; how it gives rest and refreshment. 

Jesus is speaking to a world that is in just as much turmoil as ours: first-century Palestine, suffering under the iron-handed occupation of the Roman Empire, and the domination of the religious authorities, who were suffocating the Spirit.   Jesus is speaking to a crowd, and he begins by speaking to them about John the Baptist: John who preached the coming of the Messiah, God’s Chosen One; and the need for repentance – turning in a new direction – as the necessary preparation for that event.  

Jesus is talking about John because, as Matthew tells us at the beginning of chapter 11, John is in prison, has heard about Jesus and his ministry, and has sent some of his own disciples to ask him, Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another? 

When they do ask him this, in chapter 11, Jesus doesn’t answer them with a yes or no.  He says, instead, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news preached to them.  And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”   As he does all the time, Jesus is saying, essentially, the answer to your question involves you.  As he says to his own disciples, Who do you say that I am?  The answer involves you because that’s the only answer that’s going to be meaningful: honest and truthful; and because then we’ll be in a relationship with each other: alive, together; and that’s the whole point. 

As John’s disciples depart, Jesus speaks to the crowd in praise of John (“…among those born of woman no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist…”), but then immediately connects this to his own mission: “…yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”  Jesus has come to proclaim the presence of that kingdom. 

And that’s where we come to the first verses of today’s reading. Jesus talks about children playing games in the marketplace to compare the people’s reaction to John and to himself: make-believe sad games in imitation of John, make-believe happy games in imitation of Jesus.  Jesus tells them, Don’t get wrapped up in such trivialities.  John and I are involved in one mission: God’s mission.  We just have different jobs.  John was the one who came to you to say, Get ready! The axe is headed for the root of the tree; so repent!  Turn in a new direction!  John was hard to take, a doomsayer, because he had to shake you awake.  That was the first part of God’s mission, here, now.

My part (Jesus says) – now that you’re awake – is to tell you the good news: of the peace, and the joy, that are yours, here and now, because of God’s love, for you, which is infinite; and eternal.  That’s what makes my yoke easy, and my burden light.  I am here to show you how that happens in practice. So come to me; and you will find rest for your souls.

God’s presence has to happen through us.  That’s what makes it a yoke: our commitment to live in the awareness of God’s love, God’s mercy, God’s justice: to see where it wants to happen – because it does want to happen – every single day, right around us; and to be part of that, through what we say and what we do.  When we take on that yoke, we see how light it is; how it’s really not a yoke, at all: it is life; and life in abundance.  Thanks be to God.