One of the highlights of our trip to Germany—beyond all of the historical Luther sites and exhibits—was the opportunity to visit the city of Osnabruck. There’s nothing of particular importance for Lutherans about Osnabruck. We visited purely for my own sake. My branch of the Meyer family came from Osnabruck in the late 1840s, you see. And so, visiting the city of my Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Herman Heinrich Meyer and his wife, Anna Catherine, caused me to think. To imagine. A lot has changed in Osnabruck in the past 170 years. But, still I could imagine how they may have walked down some of these same paths, before. I could imagine that one of these ancient churches could have been their congregation, where, perhaps, they exchanged vows. I imagined that one of those baptismal fonts could have been their baptismal font. I imagined that the voices echoing in those cathedrals could have once been their voices.
And then, I began to imagine “why?” Why leave Osnabruck and the Kingdom of Hanover? Why give up everything you know, everyone you love, and venture off across the Atlantic? Why risk so much—why risk your livelihood, your health, your life—to come to a foreign land, to live among people you do not know, to settle in a still-hazardous place? Was it the constant warring within the Fatherland? Was it government seizure of land, which had become common? Was it a religious cause, like CFW Walther and the Saxons? Whatever it was that brought them here, I can’t help but imagine that things must have gotten so bad, so hopeless, so wearisome there; while the prospects of a new life, a better life, a free life—well, that was too good to pass up.
And so they came, at first trying out life in Ohio, until settling on a farm in Southern Indiana in 1856. And then, some 43 years later, my Norwegian side of the family—the Isaaksons—would make a similar decision, a similar journey. Leaving everything behind; leaving behind their hopelessness, their burdens and sufferings, and setting sail for a new life, a better life. A life in America. And as they neared the shores of this land of opportunity, the Isaaksons, like millions of immigrants, beheld Lady Liberty, bearing a torch to light their way. And I imagine the hope, the joy, the excitement, the relief that washed over them in an instant.
It would be still a few more years before a certain, famous poem would be placed at the base of this Colossal statue. But, no doubt the symbolism of the Statue of Liberty conveyed in that poem rang just as true for the Isaaksons, and the Meyers before them, and to the countless immigrants who left their burdens behind. The words which read, in part: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
In our Gospel this morning, Jesus offers a similar sentiment, a similar welcome to the hurting and suffering of this world. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” It’s not simply to immigrants he says this, but to everyone seeking a new life. A free life. He says these words to you and me. And we are so relieved to hear these words.
We are so relieved, because, let’s face it, life is hard. Life is wearisome. Life is full of burdens. From the worries of terrorism on all fronts, to the fears of the cancer coming back with a vengeance. From the troubles of making the mortgage payment on time, to the painful notion some may fear to admit of being greedy, selfish, miserly even. We see burdens of divorce—which affect not just former spouses, but children, extended family, and friends alike. We worry about job security, and what that may mean for our families and livelihood. We have children who are transitioning into becoming caretakers; or, parents who are becoming dependents. We have individuals suffering silently and alone, through fits of anxiety and depression and loneliness. These, and countless other struggles we face, day in and day out. And we look for relief. Some days, we wish we could just leave it all behind us. Start fresh. We look for a new life. A life free of these burdens. And to you, to me, today, our Lord Jesus offers it, freely!
Jesus knows our every weakness. Our every sorrow. Our every pain and burden. He sees you there, lying awake at night, wrestling with your thoughts. He who promised to be “with you always even unto the end of the age,” has been there with every painful decision you’ve had to make. And this Jesus says to you, again, today, “Come.” No matter what you’re going through, He says, “Come.” Whatever it is that has been on your mind, or the worries and fears in your heart, Jesus says, “Come.” “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
But I have to admit, that, as comforting as this is. And as true as it is, that’s not fully what Jesus was talking about in Matthew 11. Yes, Jesus bids us to bring all of our cares and concerns to Him in prayer. But the fullness, the context of our Gospel reading really says nothing about daily life struggles and worries, our finances or health. This doesn’t mean Jesus doesn’t care about you, or that he’s withholding His offer to help. In fact, He’s offering you even more!
You see, we tend to latch onto certain verses that we like. And they’re meaningful, and usually doctrinally sound when taken alone. But, still, nevertheless, they’re sometimes taken a bit out of context. Like this one. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” At first glance, taken with the preceding verses, these words of Jesus seem out of place. So, to understand this, let me tell you about some other immigrants. Refugees from the Middle East.
There were hundreds of thousands, if not a few million men, women, and children. They were the lowest class of society, until they were led by a revolutionary leader—way before any “Arab Spring” occurred. They had even been chased by a powerful army. It was Moses and the Israelites. And once they rid themselves of Pharaoh’s army, they arrived in the wilderness, having left their wearisome life behind, in search of a new life, a free life. And, in Exodus 33, Moses and God are having a conversation. Moses is the intermediary between God and the Israelites. And Moses is looking for assurance that God will be with His people. He says, “Show me Your ways, that I may know You in order to find favor in Your sight.” And so, in response, God gives Moses the Law, the Torah. And with it, He says, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”
From then on, from generation to generation, parents would teach their children, priests would instruct the assemblies of Israelites, and rabbis would teach their students. They would teach them the ways of the Lord. They would teach them the Law of Moses. They would teach them what they called the yoke of the Torah. They did this because they wanted to be in the presence of Yahweh once again. And they convinced themselves that if they just fulfilled the Law; if they just got it right, then the presence of the Lord would go with them, and God would give them rest. But the harder they tried, the harder it got. Because for sinners, the Law is heavy and burdensome—because you can’t get it perfectly right. And especially, if you recognize you’re a sinner, and you’re carrying the yoke of the Torah, the Law, well it just gets heavier and heavier. Because you convince yourself that you have to do penance and make up for your transgressions. But no matter how much good you do, you’re never convinced it’s enough to please God.
See, the Law crushes sinners. This yoke is not easy or light. This yoke is crushing. And if you’ve ever looked at yourself and felt proud of how good you are at keeping the Law of the Lord, look again. If you’ve ever thought how God must be impressed with you, think again. Or, if you’ve ever fallen into the trap of thinking your salvation depended on your own good works, or that as long as your good actions outweigh the bad you’ll get to heaven…well, then, you probably know just how heavy the yoke of the Torah, the Law really is. After all, that’s what Paul was getting at in Romans 7.
Paul, you may know, was formerly a Pharisee. He was all about the Law. And he talks about the struggle that even HE had in upholding the burden of the Law. He says,“For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.” And then he asks, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” THAT’s the yoke of the Law!
And that’s what Martin Luther was concerned with. In an age when death was all around, with short lifespans and plague and terrible medical treatment—Luther feared death, because he feared for his eternity. Probably what drove Luther into the monastery most was the thought of, “What if I died, tonight? Am I good enough? Have I done enough?” In his day and age, the Church was saddled with the yoke of the Law. Forgiveness was uncertain. Grace was not guaranteed. Luther even got to the point of despising God for demanding so much of sinners. Until he discovered the Gospel.
And it’s that Gospel message we hear in Jesus’ words today. In verse 27, He says, “…no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.” Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. You want to know God? You want to be in His presence? You want rest? Well, “…no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. [So] come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Quit wearing yourself out trying to earn salvation. Quit comparing yourself to others, thinking you’re not as bad of a sinner as them. Stop wearing yourself out with the false notion that you can make yourself better. Stop struggling with the yoke of the Law. “[But] Take MY yoke upon you, and learn from ME,” Jesus says. Not from Moses or the prophets, not from the rabbis or priests. Learn from me.
This was revolutionary. No teacher ever spoke this way in the ancient world. Rabbis only spoke of learning from Moses and the Prophets, and of the yoke of the Law. But Jesus says, in effect, “You don’t need Moses. You need me…For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Now, don’t be mistaken. For you and for me His yoke is easy and His burden is light…but for Him, it was the weight of the world. For Jesus, it was the fulfilling of all the Law on our behalf. For Him, it was the crushing weight of the world’s sin—yours and mine—pressing down on Him as He hung there. And like the Statue of Liberty raising her torch high, greeting all who reach our shores, so God in Christ welcomes sinners in a dark world, with arms outstretched on a cross. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled-masses yearning to breathe free…Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Forgiveness—that’s what he’s offering. Grace—that’s what he’s giving. Rest—eternal rest in Him and with Him, that’s what He’s promising. And perfection, to make us fit to be citizens of the Kingdom of God--that's what we get.
And so, we gather, week after week, like refugees leaving behind the burdens of this life. Tempest-tossed by the waves of this world; tempest-tossed by the waters of baptism. We gather as the people of God, huddled masses in these pews. We gather--the wretched refuse of this fallen world--seeking a new life. A free life. An eternal life. And that’s precisely what you get. Because, brothers and sisters in Christ, your sins—whatever they are, whatever you’re wrestling with, whatever guilt burdens you day in and day out—your sins are forgiven in Him! And your new life, your new citizenship has begun. “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”
Come soon, Lord Jesus. Amen.
