The Yoke’s on You
by Fr. Rich Jasper
During the long holiday weekend, I went exploring for a bit in the county I now call home. It is quite rural, with vast expanses of farmland and forest as well as plentiful rivers that flow toward the beloved Chesapeake Bay.
About a half-hour south of Elkton on scenic Route 213 is a tiny burg called Cecilton, where – to my pleasant surprise – a small community of Amish residents now make their home. From what I could find on-line about this anomaly, the community relocated here from Lancaster, Pa., in 1999 when the commercialization and traffic up north got to be too much for them. Cecilton, it is quite clear, will never become another Lancaster.
As I drove through the town’s outskirts Monday afternoon, I watched as Amish farmers worked the fields and younger children busied themselves with various chores. To see farm animals being used for plowing – as opposed to the mighty and monstrous green John Deere tractors – harkens back to times that seem both simpler and yet more difficult, at least from the perspective of accomplishing work.
And yet, the work got done with precision and grace, due in large part to a device that Jesus himself mentions in today’s Gospel: the farmer’s yoke. “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me.”
It is, of course, a foreign concept to most of us, although we non-farmers still have a sense of its ultimate purpose: to direct the horse or other plow-creature to go in the direction they must go according to the designs of the one who steers it. The yoke will turn the animals – especially when working in tandem – or keep them on the straight-away moving at the same pace.
No doubt, Jesus himself made these yoke-devices as a carpenter in his own little town of Nazareth. He knew exactly how to shape them to fit the creatures that would bear the weight of the contraption, and he knew how vital the yoke was to getting the plowing accomplished.
It surprises me, then, that our Lord uses the yoke-analogy to speak to our hearts about rest, and about offering our burdens to him. Here’s why: the yoke is anything but easy and light. Rather, it limits. It is weighty upon the shoulders of the one who bears it. It keeps one from going in whatever direction one may want to go. In a word, the yoke hurts.
And here’s Jesus saying to us: take it upon you and learn from me. To which we say: wait, what?
How can a yoke bring us rest? If anything, it would only seem to make us work harder, and become more exhausted in the process. The whole analogy comes crashing down when you really come to think about it.
Until one considers this: Jesus himself did it first – and his yoke, too, came in the form of a long-beam of wood. His yoke was in the shape of a Cross.
And he willingly carried it. That yoke of the Cross steered Him toward Calvary. It weighed upon him, and nearly crushed him. It cost him his life to bear that yoke of our sinfulness and suffering, and yet he did so without a moment’s hesitation. He did so because it was his Father’s will, and he did so out of love for you and for me.
The yoke of the Cross was the only way to Resurrection and new life, so when he says to us, “Take my yoke and learn from me,” what he is really saying to our hearts is this: don’t fight the wooden beam that you must carry on the journey.
That yoke – that Cross – has much to teach us:
If we don’t fight it, it leads to eternal life with God and all the saints in heaven. That is, after all, the goal of this entire life’s journey.
If we shoulder the yoke, it steers us along the path of holiness. We must never forget that we are called to be saints – each of us – here and now. The yoke of the Cross helps us to die-to-self, and we thus begin to reflect the image and love of the Lord through our own lives and actions.
And that’s the incredible thing: once we absorb and reflect Christ’s love, we become cross-carriers for others. We want to help those whose yoke seems too much of a burden, and we stand beside them and yoke ourselves to their side. From our own yoke which we have or are still carrying, we learn that the work of plowing the field, so to speak, is much easier when someone else helps shoulder the weight.
In my journey as a priest and in my walk as a Christian disciple, I have met so many truly holy people (who would never call themselves such) whose Cross made them witnesses to the truth that when we unite our yoke of suffering to the Lord, He transforms it – always.
He transforms it to save souls, both our own and those of others. He transforms it into light and hopefulness for those around us. And He transforms it from an apparent-devastating ending into beautiful and fruitful beginnings for the world around us:
The parents who lost a child to illness or addiction who donate their child’s organs so that others may gain sight, a new heart, and a fighting chance for a better future. The siblings of a beloved brother who begin a foundation in his honor to help other suicidal teens know that they need not face their depression and anxiety alone. The widow who uses her loneliness to begin volunteering at a senior center or kindergarten classroom.
There are countless ways where the yoke we carry becomes light and rest for others, and in time, for ourselves, too. But there is a catch: we must yoke ourselves to the One who wants to carry it with us and for us. We mustn’t try to shoulder it on our own. Too often, I am afraid we do. I know I have.
Here’s the beauty of it, though: when we willingly say to Christ, “Help me. Use this. Guide me,” He will. The humility in asking Him for help will actually become our greatest strength and gift. It is then – and only then – that we will truly find the rest our weary bodies and minds, hearts and souls crave.
By humbly yoking ourselves to the Cross of Christ – and with complete child-like trust in God’s love -- He ends up carrying it for us and with us. Not only that: He then uses it to transform our lives and that of the world around us. But, we first must offer the beam of our yoke to Him.
Isn’t is such a God-thing to discover that what looks like such a restrictive device actually frees us to love and be loved? Isn’t it just like God to offer to take on our yoke in order to help us become reflections of Him?
When we willingly carry the Cross, we bear the heart of Christ, and we find true rest in Him. There is no greater gift from the One who leads the way through the fields we must harvest, together.
Fr. Rich Jasper