The Yoke’s On You

Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Matthew 11:25-30
September 14, 2003

The other day, I received a call from CBS. Except I thought the caller said CVS, leading me to wonder why I was being called by a drugstore. But it really was “television people,” not “pharmacy people” on the other end of the line. I was being offered an invitation to publicly debate a very hot and divisive topic in the life of Christendom.

The caller didn’t know anything about me or the position I might take. All she knew was that I was “articulate and quotable” (that’s what she said). I am certainly not adverse to appearing on television. But the longer she talked, the clearer I became that the aim of this particular program was not light, but heat. She wanted to rub strong-minded Christians together until sparks flew. Which is not something I need in my life right now. Although there was a time when lighting indiscriminate fires was more professionally appealing than it is at present.

So she said: “You do have opinions on this issue, don’t you?” I told her I did, although they were far from firm and needful of additional prayer and pondering. “But,” I said, “my opinions are not the critical factor here. On this issue, my denomination has clearly spoken. And my bishop has clearly spoken. Which does not necessarily tell me how I must think. But it does tell me how I must act. Which is how I will act….pastorally and professionally….given that I am under orders.”

I don’t think she understood the phrase “under orders.” Nor could I explain it easily. In my profession, it has more to do with the words “pertaining to ordination” than with the words “rendered submissive by arbitrary decree.” I played with the idea of referring to myself as a “good soldier”….or a “company man.” But I thought better of it. Such images paint my superiors as being oppressive (which they have seldom been), while painting me as being submissive (which I have never been). But it soon became clear that she had no interest in building a televised debate around somebody who was likely to say: “At the end of the day, you need to know that I am going to do what I am told to do.”

Which also surprised me, the more I thought about it. For while many have called me a “good soldier” for 39 years in the Methodist battalion of the Lord’s army, I never thought of myself that way….especially in my younger years. Schooled in the ’60s, I thought of myself as a “maverick”….somewhat less than a “rebel” (although I secretly admired the rebels), but certainly more than a “suck-up” (who I viewed with condescension, bordering on disdain). “Maverick” was the right word for me then. Maybe even now. Always pushing. But never bolting.

Still, somewhere along the line I must have signed a truce with ecclesiastical authority, recognizing that in this horse race we call professional ministry, there was a bit in my mouth…. placed there by my denomination. And my job was not so much to fight it, as to run as effectively as possible with it. Which I have. For a long time. With multiple successes. And minimal scars.

All of which came to mind a week ago Thursday when Julie and I broke bread with an emerging American icon, Coach K….Mike Krzyzewski of Duke. Mike is building a legend down in Durham. Two national championships. Multiple final fours. Even more elite eights and sweet sixteens. Good program. Winning program. Clean program. Much envied and often copied program.

Julie knows Mike, having spent four years on the floor at Cameron with him. He, as coach of the Blue Devils. She, as captain of the Dancing Devils. So when Julie heard that Albion College had invited Mike to address its opening convocation….and that her father was going to be on the platform as the designated prayer….she decided she was coming home. Which is how it came to pass that we were his dinner companions as part of an evening that will linger long in both our memories.

Somewhere in the middle of that conversation, the subject turned to recruiting. What kinds of athletes does Duke go after for its basketball program? Which question Mike carefully corrected to read: “What kinds of people does Duke go after for its basketball program?” Apparently, there is one rule he never breaks. “We will never offer a scholarship to any player, no matter how gifted, who has not already demonstrated (in some previous relationship) an ability to respect and submit to authority.” And when he said it, he had that steel-hard look in his eyes that we have all seen on television, suggesting that he meant it. “A demonstrated respect for authority.” It’s the one thing he’s not willing to teach or coach once a kid shows up. It has to be there, or the kid won’t be invited to show up.

You could say it’s a system rich with results. You could also say it’s a system ripe for abuse. Clearly, it runs counter to a lot of current leadership theory. But there is a sense in which it rings true to the gospel.

* * * * *

I can hear her now. The soprano, I mean. She is singing one of the beloved arias from Handel’s Messiah…..slowly….melodically….gliding rather than sprinting over the notes.

Come unto me, ye that labor and are heavy laden

and I will give you rest.

Beautiful offer. Lovely promise. Universal need. When you can’t carry it anymore, let it go. Just let it go. But there’s more.

Take my yoke upon you and learn of me,

for I am gentle and lowly of heart,

and you shall find rest for your souls,

for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

So what is this “yoke” business? I suppose it is an invitation to “get into harness.” “Let me chart the course….set the pace….determine the direction.” Clearly, the offer is promising. But a yoke is constraining.

At least it would seem so. Even though, as a city kid, I know next to nothing about yokes. But people who do tell me that a yoke is simply a wooden brace placed on the shoulders of work animals so that they can be led where the farmer wants them to go. Yoked animals can plow straight lines. Because yoked animals cannot wander off. Which makes sense when the subjects are oxen. But which chafes….even as a metaphor….when the subjects are human beings.

Sixteen hundred weddings later, I have heard every euphemism for the words “ball and chain” that the male imagination can concoct. Every Saturday I stand over in that little hallway with a groom and multiple groomsmen. We wouldn’t be standing there if it weren’t 30 seconds to show time. Inevitably, one of the groomsmen will tell the groom that this is his “last chance to run for it,” and that immediately behind him is “the final door to freedom.” He never does….run for it, I mean. Nor do they really think he is going to….or even wants to. It’s just part of a game they play….a verbal ritual that guys don’t really understand but think they need to enact. Courtship as entrapment….followed by marriage as imprisonment. Twenty years later, that same best man will call up that same groom, suggesting golf some morning or poker some evening…..that is, “if you can convince the little woman to let you out of the house.”

None of which squares with any understanding of a mature, healthy relationship. But we still hear it….this language of inhibition and restraint. Even the words “getting hitched” sound restrictive. The upside of such an arrangement being security and safe sex. The downside being a harness on your autonomy.

Whoa, boy.

Not so fast, boy.

Where do you think you’re going, boy?

Even though studies show that today’s restive and resistive ones (relationally speaking) are just as likely to be female. But I wouldn’t know. That’s because I never get to wait with brides and bridesmaids before weddings. So if girls talk about “running for it” while pointing to an adjacent door as “one last chance for freedom,” somebody else will have to tell me.

Biblically speaking, there are far more interesting stories about wanderers and roamers than about staying-close-to-homers. It should not be any surprise that everybody’s all-time favorite parable concerns a headstrong kid who demands it now….gets it all….takes it far….loses it fast….and comes stumbling home with his esteem around his ankles.

We’re talking “the prodigal son” here….the patron saint of anybody who ever suffered a case of itchy feet. You know the story. You love the story. Local boy makes bad. Father’s love makes good. Older brother makes noise….wondering why the big payoff (spiritually speaking) is given to those who come home, rather than to those who stay home. Which is what a lot of us wonder, too. Not because we begrudge the father’s generosity. Though we do.

Anyway, you know how things stand when the story ends at verse 32. The younger brother is back from the far country, very much on the inside, looking out. The older brother (who never tested the far country) is very much on the outside, looking in. Which makes you wonder who’s really lost and who’s really found. But, at story’s end, the mood inside is festive. Meat being roasted. Merlot being poured. Songs being played. Merriment being made. Finally, along about 3:30 a.m., everybody goes to bed. Including the prodigal, who can’t believe that his homecoming could have gone so smoothly. After all, he didn’t even have to recite his well-rehearsed confession. All he had to do was announce (by showing up): “I’m back.”

So he sleeps in the next morning, finally wandering down to the kitchen along about 10:30. “I’m back,” he announces to the kitchen boy….who embraces him warmly. “I’m back,” he announces to the scullery maid….who kisses him tenderly. Spotting a chef’s hat from behind, he shouts: “Hey, cookie, guess what? I’m back.” Who prepares eggs benedict for him immediately. And on it goes for the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon. “I’m back.” “I’m back.” “Say, I missed you last night, did you notice I’m back?” The endless refrain of repentance and return.

But when, if ever, does he get back in the harness? When, if ever, does he report for work with the rest of the crew at 6:30….a.m.? When, if ever, does he say what he planned to say to his father while still on the road: “Treat me as one of your hired servants.” When, if ever, does the one with the best ring on his finger, the best shoes on his feet and the best robe on his body, allow himself to be fitted for the best yoke on his shoulders?

And while you’re pondering all of that, ask yourself whether you think God ever grows weary of hearing his children telling him they’re back. After all, is God more interested in how high we jumped the night we got salvation, or how straight we walked the next morning, once we came down?

* * * * *

“Take my yoke upon you. Learn of me. For my yoke is easy. And my burden is light.”

So what does Jesus mean by the words “light and easy?” Are we talking “loose,” as in lots of leeway, slack and wiggle room?

Walk with Jesus four days out of seven.
Live the Christian life nine months out of twelve….take summers off.
Receive a 30-day discount rate on the commandments….keep any six out of ten.

No, “easy” does not mean “soft.” The Christian life is anything but soft.

I’ll tell you what easy means. It means “tailored.” The word “easy” in Greek is chrestos, which means “well-fitting.” In Palestine, ox yokes were made of wood. So after initial measurements were taken, a rough cut was made at the shop, followed by an alterations cut that was made at the animal. What Jesus is saying is that “my yoke fits well, because it fits you. The life to which I call you is not a burden to chafe you, so much as a task made to measure for you.” Frankly speaking, I have found it so.

But go back to Coach K (and his desire to populate his program solely with players who respect his authority completely). Which sounds more autocratic than democratic, doesn’t it? Sure it does. Except for this. Every year Mike bends, adapts (even changes) his system, so as to utilize the gifts of his players. Meaning that he knows who he has and what they can do…and goes with who he has and what they can do. It’s a relatively simple formula.