The Reverend Kristen Burkholder, July 5th, 2026
What’s our instinct when we see someone carrying something too heavy?
Two months ago, I got to find out. I was, with a few other blissed out patrons, perusing the profusion of flowers at Holmes Greenhouse and Florist Shop in East Belfast.
I live in Waldo County, in a tiny town called Morrill, and Holmes is, unfortunately, a quick drive from my house. (I say unfortunately because it just makes it too easy to totally lose my mind buying plants.) … in late May, early June, those of us with “plant problems” quietly and gleefully load our arms with tons of those little pots.
I was transporting my haul to my car, and turned to walk around to the driver’s side, when I suddenly saw a stout, strong, older woman, with a fierce and overwhelmed look on her face, making her way across the parking lot to her car with a giant bag of potting soil.
Now… as any of you know who have carried one of those – they’re about yea-big by yea-big – these bags are heavy, unwieldy, slippery, and if the sun has been beating down on them for any length of time, which it had for us shoppers – HOT.
I was horrified to see her struggling because I knew what it felt like to be in that struggle: a lone person, lurching forward, muscles screaming, with a loosey-goosey weight in my arms that I am determined not to drop.
I think I had my keys in my hand? I dropped them on the ground, and ran towards her. Literally ran. “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, let me help you with that,” I said, and before she could protest I scooped up under the bag with my arms, grabbing that crucial bottom end as the entire bag nearly slipped out of her grasp.
She thanked me, we walked it to her car, and that was that. And that WAS that, and I only share it with you, not because I’m so wonderful, but because I’m not wonderful. I’m usually quite self-absorbed, a sinner saved only by grace, capable of looking right at misery and pretending it’s not there, and in that moment, by the grace of God, something Higher and Greater took over me when I saw her struggle.
This summer we’re spending a lot of time in the gospel of Matthew, and for most of June we listened to Jesus’ instructions to his chosen twelve, ones he trusted, the ones most devoted to his message. Today we move out of Matthew 10, known as the “missional discourse” and into Matthew 11, where we follow Jesus out of the quiet intimacy of fellowship, into the maelstrom of proclamation, as he begins to travel with his message of liberation and healing.
We don’t read about what happens during this time – was it a week? Two weeks? A month? Two months – only Jesus’ response to it all. “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me,” he says after a while, to some disciples of John the Baptist who inquire on his behalf whether or not Jesus is the Messiah.
Jesus chides those who hear him, who want miracles and healings without repentance, and delivers an especially scorching condemnation of cities who experienced most of his deeds of power and continued to live without changing the way they did so.
Most interestingly, in verse 28, after thanking his Father aloud for having bestowed Wisdom on infants (that would be us) rather than the smart people, Jesus switches tone entirely, and speaks the words that many of us love and cling to:
“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Listen to what he says. The promise is not “I will give you rest and all your hard stuff will evaporate.” Or “I will give you rest and you don’t have to do a thing “ “or “I will give you rest. You can ignore anything around you that’s upsetting.”
Jesus knows life is hard. But when we live the world’s way – trying, ever trying, to make things easier, nicer and simpler for ourselves – it actually makes life harder. We continually strive for acquisitions of any kind – be they material, relational or intellectual—that do not answer the heaviness of being alive.
We carry burdens – both literally and figuratively sometimes – that are truly too much bear, even though we try, even while they slip from our grasp.
Jesus knows this because he is one of us and knows what it is like to be in our struggle. And like the quickness of that instinct to help someone with something heavy, he is right there, ready to help us before we even know how to ask Him for help.
What is that help he offers? Jesus calls it a “yoke” and a “burden,” because he knows what he’s asking of us is not care-free passivity. Remember, we just heard in Matthew 10 all those verses in which he warned us of the trouble that comes from following him.
The yoke – accepted from a gentle, mild and loving Lord – is easy, for it is that kind of weight that is more like a good day at the gym or a satisfying session of outdoor work: exertion is required, but bearing the weight demands your all and summons forth your best. It is work towards a certain future in which all of God's dreams will finally come true.
The burden – the deep work of our neverending relationship-building with God -- is light, compared to the Beast of Accomplishment’s gaping maw, consigning us to a life of endless striving, never truly knowing what it means to love others, or be loved by them.
Life is not easy. Pursuit of ease is death, in the end. Accepting life’s difficulty moves from resignation to hopefulness, when we believe Jesus’ work for us is always undergirded by the eternal, endless, beyond all understanding power and love of our Triune God.
Pray with me:
Lord Christ, may we be willing to surrender to you, put all our trust in you, and exchange the burden of our small existence with the joyful burden of whole-hearted service to You, in all we do. Amen.