Sermon Audio: A New Song and the New Creation (Psalm 96)

Last week I had the pleasure of spending five days with twelve fine seminary students, discussing “Creation and New Creation.”  You can find out about the course by reading the course syllabus here.  My goal for the week was lay some deep theological roots for engaging in the practice of creation stewardship. So our course included a range of topics: the Triune Creator, creation ex nihilo, the goodness of creation, general revelation, the image of God, sin, salvation, eschatology, and mission…an ambitious agenda to be sure!  But we were looking at each of these topics in relation to the question of humanity’s role as stewards of creation.  I hope it was successful in setting out creation stewardship as an issue that is deeply connected to core Christian doctrines – not at all a peripheral matter.

At Tyndale we often have summer school instructors preach during our weekly worship gathering, and so I had my first chance to preach in our new chapel on Bayview Avenue. It is an amazing worship space, as you can see from the image below.  My sermon was based on Psalm 96, keeping the themes of my course in mind, and also Tyndale’s transition to our new campus, which is still underway. Listen to the sermon below, or download the file here.

Tyndale Chapel by JDB Sound Photography via flickr

Sermon: How Can I Keep from Singing? Psalm 126 [audio]

I was glad to have a chance to preach at Tyndale’s community chapel a couple of months ago, on Psalm 126.  The sermon is part of a series of “Journey” chapels – a series designed to help our community navigate through a year of transition to our new Bayview campus.  We’ve been looking at one of the Psalms of ascent for each of these chapel services.

I used this wonderful Robert Lowry hymn (written 1860) as a window into the message of the Psalm:

Robert Lowry via wikimediaMy life flows on in endless song;
Above earth’s lamentation
I hear the sweet though far off hymn
That hails a new creation:
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul—
How can I keep from singing?

What though my joys and comforts die?
The Lord my Savior liveth;
What though the darkness gather round!
Songs in the night He giveth:
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that refuge clinging;
Since Christ is Lord of Heav’n and earth,
How can I keep from singing?

I lift mine eyes; the cloud grows thin;
I see the blue above it;
And day by day this pathway smoothes
Since first I learned to love it:
The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
A fountain ever springing:
All things are mine since I am His—
How can I keep from singing?

Here is the audio, or you can download it from this site.

[audio https://ia600703.us.archive.org/30/items/20131119-sermon-my-life-flows-on/2013-11-19_Community_Chapel_James_Pedlar.mp3]

Sermon: A Testimony to Hope

Yesterday I was privileged to give this short sermon at the funeral of my Uncle, who died suddenly last week.   He had left some guidance about what he would like for the service, including the scripture readings: Psalm 31:1-5, Matthew 8:5-13, and Revelation 21:3-7.  

In a different setting I would have taken the time to explain that the Isenheim altarpiece I talk about at the beginning was a favourite painting of Karl Barth, and that it was through Barth that I first encountered the long pointing finger of the Baptist – but I didn’t think it was the time or place for a discussion of Barth.

Isenheim altarpiece via ibiblio

In a small museum in Northeastern France, there is a famous sixteenth-century altarpiece, painted by Matthias Grünewald for the Monastery of St. Anthony in Isenheim.  In the centre of this massive work of art is Jesus Christ, hanging on the cross.  On his right, his mother, Mary, collapses into the arms of the beloved disciple, John, overcome by her grief.  At his feet, Mary Magdalene prays fervently, the jar of perfume ready and waiting to anoint her saviour.  But on his left is John the Baptist, standing out of place and out of time.  Of course John the Baptist was not really at the crucifixion, because he had already died, but the artist decided to include John in this scene. So there he stands, barefoot, with his cloak of camel’s hair, and his long beard; in his left hand, he holds an open book; his mouth is closed; but with his right hand he is pointing to Jesus. And in the painting that outstretched right index finger is disproportionately long; so as you look at the scene your eye is drawn to the long finger of the Baptist, pointing to the Christ.

Some have suggested that this image of John the Baptist is a model of Christian witness.  This arresting figure draws our attention only to point away from himself, to Another.  Though John the Baptist was, by all accounts, a very holy man – the greatest of all the prophets – his message was, “He must increase, I must decrease.”  And that is what Christian witness ought to be.  We do not proclaim ourselves.  We do not claim that we are always right; we do not preach that we are always good; we don’t think we have all the answers.  No – we point to Another, we put our trust in Another.

We are gathered here to remember Robert; Bob – Uncle Bob to some of us.  We celebrate his life.  We remember the person he was; we remember his good character; we give thanks for the wonderful things he did, for the times we spent with him, and the way his life intersected with each of our lives. We rightly praise him for a life given in caring and advocating for neglected people.  He spent his days trying to help people that most of us would probably avoid if we ran into them on the street.  The mentally ill might be the most marginalized of all people in our society today.  Helping these often-overlooked people was his life’s work.  There are many things about Bob that we can admire, and that we would do well emulate.

But as we gather to remember and honour Robert today, we also have questions.  Why did this have to happen?  Why now?  He’s gone too soon.  It’s not fair – it’s not right.  The truth is we don’t have a simple answer for those questions.  But as we struggle to come to grips with this sudden loss, Robert has left us with a gift.  It is not an answer to our questions, but he has left us with a testimony to the hope that was in him – the hope that allowed him to say, “It is well with my soul.”  All of the scripture readings and the hymns for today’s service were chosen by Bob himself, because they were particularly important to him. And as we read these scripture passages, and sing these songs, I think we are hearing Uncle Bob’s witness.  He is pointing us beyond himself, to Another.

“In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust,” says Psalm 31, read to us by Nancy; “…deliver me in thy righteousness…thou art my rock…for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me…into thine hand I commit my spirit.”

This Psalm is about faith and trust. Faith is not some kind of “power” that we have inside of ourselves.  Faith is completely outward-focused; it is fixed on its object; and the value of faith is determined by the object that we put our faith in. If I have faith in something worthless then my faith is worthless.  If I have faith that the Toronto Maple Leafs will win the cup this year, what good is that?  (I’ve used that illustration several times and for some reason it always gets a laugh.)  This faith that the Psalm is talking about is not that kind of wishful thinking, it is a sure trust and confidence in a loving a merciful God – a God to whom you can say, without reserve, “Into thine hand I commit my spirit.”

john the baptist detail isenheim altarpiece via wikipaintings

Rick read to us the second passage that Bob had chosen, about the healing of the Centurion’s servant.  And again, in this story, we see this outward-focused faith.  The centurion says to Jesus, “Lord I am not worthy that thou shouldst come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.”   Now, he could have come to Jesus and said, “Jesus, I think you should heal my servant because I’m a pretty good person; I’m kind to others, I give to charity, I’m honest – I think you owe me one.”  Now that it wouldn’t really be faith, because he’d be trusting in himself.  No, he says, “I am not worthy…but speak the word only.” In other words, “I’m not asking for this because I think I deserve it, I’m asking because I know who you are – you are the great physician; you are loving and merciful, and your word is faithful and true; just speak the word.”  And Jesus says, “Now that’s faith.”

And the final passage that Robert selected was about God’s promises for the future.  “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men…God himself shall be with them…God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying…Behold, I make all things new.”

These are wonderful promises for us today; and these are the words Uncle Bob wanted us to hear, as we gather today to give thanks for his life.  These scriptures that Robert loved are not an answer to all our questions, but they are like that long finger of John the Baptist, pointing us to a loving and merciful God; the crucified God; the man of sorrows; the one who is acquainted with grief; the God who went to the cross – the God who went to hell and back for us, and for Robert. Can anything separate us from the love of this God, from this Saviour, who not only died for us but rose victorious and is now at the right hand of God interceding on our behalf?  We grieve our loss; but we do not grieve as those who have no hope, because the God into whose hands we commit our spirits is the same One who has already paid the price for our sins, won the victory over death, and promised us a future in which he himself will wipe every tear from our eyes.

Sermon: The Tower of Babel

Here’s an excerpt from the sermon I preached a couple weeks ago on Genesis 11:1-9.  This is the passage where I was dealing with the insight from Reno I posted about two weeks ago.  You can read the whole thing here.

This is not a story with a lot of grace in it!  It is primarily a story of judgment.  The people, as a whole, seek to turn away from God and find their security and significance in their own achievements; God responds with a judgment which is complete and decisive. Each of their ambitions and hopes is overturned and their scheme unravels as God intervenes in the situation.  They had planned to build a city with a great tower; in the end they give up building the city, and the tower.   They want to avoid being scattered; but in the end they are scattered.  Lastly, they want to make a name for themselves; in the end, they do get a name, but it is not the great name they wanted; their name is Babel, which means confused.  They are indeed remembered by those who came after them, but they are remembered for their folly, rather than their greatness.

And yet, there is a note of grace in this judgment, and we will only be able to hear it if we clear up a misunderstanding about this story.  Many people make the mistake of thinking that God, in putting a stop to the building of the tower, was trying to protect himself against the ingenuity of the people of Babel. And the wording of the story can leave you with that impression if you don’t read it thoughtfully.  God says, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.”  It sounds as if God is worried, that his reign will be endangered, and that his heavenly home will be invaded if these humans are allowed to go on scheming and building towers up to heaven.  It almost sounds as if God is worried that humans will become like him, able to do anything!

But of course, we know that is not true. God is not threatened by human ingenuity.  Even the greatest of human achievements are no threat to the God who created all things, and continues to preserve and govern all things by the power of his Word.   It wasn’t as if they could have literally built a tower to heaven, snuck in the back door, and robbed God of all his riches!  No, that is silly. God doesn’t confuse the language of the people in order to protect himself, he does it in order to protect them.  It’s not that they are threatening him with this tower; they are threatening themselves; they are threatening their own humanity, by giving themselves over to wholesale corporate corruption and rebellion against God, and gathering all the resources of their society in order to try to degrade themselves and avoid their vocation of scattering across the face of the earth.  When God says “nothing they plan to do will be impossible,” he means “there will be no limit on their capacity for self-destruction.”  Those of you who have children know that sometimes you’ve just got to split them up.  There are times when they just can’t help but bring out the worst in one another.  God’s punishment is, in fact, a way of putting a check on their rebellion, and holding them back from further corrupting themselves.   It is definitely a judgment, but it is an act of mercy-in-judgment.

Read the rest: sermon 120708 GENESIS 11 1 TO 9

Reno on the real threat of Babel

I’ve been using R. R. Reno’s theological commentary on Genesis in my preparations for a sermon on the Tower of Babel this Sunday.  As a kid I remember thinking that God stops the building of the tower because he is somehow threatened by human ambition – as if human beings might have actually reached out from the top of the tower and grabbed God by the ankle, or something like that.   I’m sure that is how many people interpreted the story as children, and it is quite possibly how some still read it.  The confusion of languages, then, would be God’s way of protecting himself against humanity – limiting their ability to scheme together and take heaven by storm.

The story of the expulsion from the Garden is often taken in a similar sense: God sends Adam and Eve away because he’s worried they’ll eat from the tree of life, and therefore they’ll become divine.

Of course, this can’t be the meaning of either text.  Reno succinctly summarizes an orthodox theological interpretation:

“Faced with an accelerating project of prideful ambition on the plains of Shinar, God acts on the same rationale he gave for the expulsion of Adam and Even from the garden of Eden.  The LORD says, “ This is on the beginning of what they will do; and nothing that they propose will be impossible for them” (Gen. 11:6).  We need to be sure readers here. It cannot be the case that human beings can make themselves divine by dint of their efforts, any more than the fruit of the tree of life and sheer deathlessness would give Adam and Even divine life – “like one of us” (3:22).  Nor can God be threatened by human striving, as if he were a vulnerable despot anxious to protect his prerogatives.  No, the temptation of the covenant of the lie is precisely the false promise that worldly abundance is enough to bring rest to human beings.

…Therefore, the danger that God identifies in both the tree of life and the tower of Babel is simple.  It is the limitless human capacity to live according to the covenant of the lie.  However impossible the pure negation of radical evil, we really can say an enduring “no” to the covenant of life. As “slaves of corruption” (2 Pet. 2:19), we have a striking ability, day after day, to give ourselves over to sin.  God intervenes not to protect his power, but in order to protect us from the tenacious power of our own corruption” (R. R. Reno, Genesis, 132).

In other words, the confusion of languages is not God’s way of protecting himself from human beings, but it is his way of protecting human beings from themselves – it mitigates against the social corruption of sin.  It is an act of mercy-in-judgment.

Sermon: The Rest of the Story (Acts 1:1-11)

Below is the audio from a sermon I preached a couple weeks ago at Wesley Chapel in Toronto.  The text is Acts 1:1-11, and the sermon focuses specifically on the disciples’ question in 1:6 and Jesus answer in 1:7-8.

 “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”

“It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

Here is the recording (or download it here):

[audio http://ia601202.us.archive.org/8/items/SermonTheRestOfTheStoryacts1/10Sermon_TheRestOfTheStoryac.mp3]


Sermon: the Kingdom for Beginners

THE KINGDOM FOR BEGINNERS

Matthew 18:1-14

Preached at Wesley Chapel Free Methodist Church, Scarborough, ON

March 11, 2012

Henri Nouwen was a Roman Catholic priest, psychologist, and author, who is considered to be one of the finest spiritual writers of recent memory; his books have impacted millions of Christians around the world.  He was originally from Holland, but came to United States for graduate school and ended up teaching at some of the finest universities in the world: Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard.  But in his early fifties, after 20 years of living a very privileged life as an academic and famous author, Nouwen decided to give it all up and move to Richmond Hill, believe it or not.  Why Richmond Hill?  He came to join the l’Arche community there, called l’Arche Daybreak.

Some of you have probably heard of l’Arche.  It was founded by Canadian Jean Vanier in 1964 as a community for people with intellectual disabilities, or mental handicaps, and has spread around the world to 40 countries.  L’Arche is French for “the ark,” as in Noah’s Ark. L’Arche takes a unique, faith-based approach to providing homes for people with disabilities.  It is not at all like a nursing home. There are no “clients,” there are no “patients,” and there are no “staff.” At l’Arche, the “able” the “disabled” live together in community, in fact they live together in regular houses, and they relate to one another like families more than anything else.  Everyone is treated as a person of equal respect and dignity; they all take responsibility for their household, and they have relationships of mutual support and accountability.  Their households have close to a one-on-one ratio of non-disabled and disabled people.  You might think, that doesn’t sound very efficient!  Do they really need one non-disabled person for each disabled person?  But the point of l’Arche is not to be efficient, but to be a place where everyone is valued as a child of God.

So in 1985 Henri Nouwen left Harvard to move to l’Arche Daybreak in Richmond Hill. He abandoned the most exclusive circles of intellectual life in order to live amongst people who were intellectually disabled.  And, for the rest fo his life, much of his writing focused on how much he learned from these supposedly disabled people.  In his wonderful book, In the Name of Jesus, he says,

“The first thing that struck me when I came to live in a house with mentally handicapped people was that their liking or disliking of me had absolutely nothing to do with any of the many useful things I had done until then.  Since nobody could read my books, the books could not impress anyone, and since most of them never went to school, my twenty years at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard did not provide a significant introduction.”(27)

The fact that he was a Harvard professor meant nothing to these people. He was used to relying on his credentials and his accomplishments to impress everyone, but suddenly he was put into a place where people didn’t care about how many letters he had after his name.  He continues,

“I was suddenly faced with my naked self, open for affirmations and rejections, hugs and punches, smiles and tears, all dependent simply on how I was perceived at the moment.  In a way, it seemed as though I was starting my life all over again.” (28)

In spite of all that he had accomplished, this very accomplished man was learning to become a beginner again.  And he found that, when he humbled himself and became a beginner, he learned a lot about following Jesus.›š

I think of Henri Nouwen’s experience of “starting life all over again” when I read this story in Matthew 18, where Jesus calls the disciples to humble themselves and become like little children…

Read the rest here: Sermon 120311 MATTHEW 18 1 to 14


The faith of the centurion

The story of the healing of the centurion’s servant in Luke 7 ends with a remarkable statement by Jesus: “I tell you, I have not found such great faith even in Israel.”

What was so great about the centurion’s faith?   I think the answer lies in the contrast between the statement of the Jewish elders (vv. 4-5) and that of the centurion himself (vv. 6-8).

This centurion, evidently a generous man and a good citizen, was able to convince some Jewish elders to speak to Jesus on his behalf.  So, as Luke records it.

When they came to Jesus, they pleaded earnestly with him, “This man deserves to have you do this, because he loves our nation and has built our synagogue.”

The Jewish elders were impressed by him.  “Jesus, he is worthy of your attention.  He deserves to have you help him.  He is a good man. He loves God’s people. He gives back to the community. He helped build the synagogue!”  Even in those days I guess making a contribution to a building fund was a good way to win friends and influence people.

Notice that Jesus doesn’t say anything, but he does go with them.

And now the story takes a twist.  Jesus never makes it to the centurion’s house; he is stopped in the street.  And there a new set of messengers approach him – friends of the man.  They deliver a message from the centurion, and it is quite different from the message the centurion himself sent.

“Lord, don’t trouble yourself, for I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. That is why I did not even consider myself worthy to come to you.”

There’s quite a difference between  “Lord, this man deserves to have you do this…”  and “Lord…I do not deserve to have you come under my roof.”  The elders were praising his worth, and he is denying it.  He continues,

“But say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me.  I tell this one, ‘Go’, and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes.  I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”

The centurion, by implication, has just made a very strong confession of faith in Christ. When he says, “But say the word, and my servant will be healed,”  He recognizes that Jesus’ word is as good as his deed; more than that, he knows that Jesus can accomplish whatever he pleases, just by saying the word. The centurion is saying that whatever Jesus says, will come to pass.  Who has that kind of power?  There is only One.

Whenever I read this story and hear the confession of the centurion, I think of Isaiah 55:10-11 –

As the rain and the snow
   come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
   without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
   so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
   It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
   and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. 

“But say the word, and my servant will be healed.”  This is a confession of the divinity of Jesus Christ.  Only God could provide what the centurion was asking for.

What’s interesting about this story is that the centurion says this at a time when the disciples still don’t understand who Jesus is.  They weren’t quite sure what to make of him at this point.  They knew he was special – obviously, they were following him around – but they didn’t realize he was divine.  It is not until two chapters later that Peter declares Jesus to be the Messiah of God.

It is truly amazing that this Roman officer – a pagan – has a better sense of who Jesus is than the religious people.  The Jewish elders haven’t figured it out.  The Pharisees and teachers of the law haven’t figured it out.   It’s this foreigner who has to teach them a lesson in faith.

And so it is very fitting then that Jesus says at this point, “I tell you, I have not found such great faith even in Israel.”  He has been spending all his time with the people of God, and yet none of them have recognized him as the Son of God.  They question him, they argue with him, they reject him…but this non-religious soldier recognizes him and shows great faith in him.

And the greatness of his faith is found precisely in the fact that he trusts not in his own worth, but in the power of God’s Word.

The elders say, “he deserves it”; the man says, “I don’t deserve it, but say the word”;  And Jesus says, “now that’s faith!”

more on moralism, via internet monk

This morning I read this 2005 re-post from Internet Monk – a great piece on how assurance is undermined by contemporary evangelical spirituality.  Part of the issue is the moralism I was on about in my last post:

Much of evangelical preaching today is focused on moralism of various kinds, constantly pointing the Christian to what he/she ought to be doing. Serious preaching on discipleship often directs the Christian to a variety of duties, ministry needs and pressing obligations for any true follower of Jesus. For sensitive consciences, it can seem that the Christian life is about being a “good” person, doing “good” things in a hurting world, imitating Jesus so others can see Jesus in you.

Many contemporary preachers are busy describing the Christian life as a life where the Christian finds his/her destiny and fulfills his/her dreams. Follow the principles for success and purpose, and experience God’s best for your life. But what if you are failing? Suffering? Constantly falling short? Such emphases can undermine assurance when the Christian is told the outcome of the Christian life is practical, real-world results.

I think the sincere and laudable desire to be “relevant” and give “life-applications” is at the root of much of  this moralistic preaching.  We want to give people a “so what” point at the end of the sermon, so we end questions like: “What about you? Are you doing your best with [insert sermon topic]?”

The bottom line of many sermons is “you need to do more.”  Usually the “more” is about one of three things: personal Bible study, personal prayer life, and witnessing to others.   All are important aspects of Christian life, but the problem is that our worship services, and our sermons, are designed to climax at this point of “life application.”  It is the point toward which the rest of the service points.  So the main thing that we are saying each Sunday is, “we need to be doing this or that,” rather than a proclamation of the victory of Christ. Our spirituality is focused too heavily on our state as Christians, and not enough on the constant re-presentation of the saving acts of God.  Making self-examination the foundation will lead us to either despair (if we are honest) or presumption (if we think we really are doing enough!).  Our actions, the things we “do” as Christians, come as a grateful response to God’s prior action “for us and for our salvation.”   Often times it seems that we are putting the cart before the horse by our strong emphasis on what we should be doing.

A Sermon for Weary Worshippers

Matthew 11:28-30

Weary from worship

Anyone who has been involved in worship ministry for an extended period of time can probably understand why   Matthew 11:28 seems like an appropriate text for a sermon on worship – “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  Sometimes worship can make us weary.  We have this nagging feeling in the back of our mind that tells us it shouldn’t be that way – that we should always love worship and we should always be thankful for the privilege of leading others in worship…but inevitably there come seasons in our lives when worshipping God is difficult.  There are times when we leave a Sunday service feeling like we’ve been wandering around a spiritual desert, rather than drinking freely of the water of life. There are times when we are hungry to be fed spiritually, and yet for some reason we can’t seem to find anything nourishing at Church.  Worse yet are the times when we feel nothing – when we are numb to the presence of God and don’t seem to be bothered by it at all.

These dry seasons can come easily when you are a worship leader.  It is not hard to get lost in the details of planning practices, choosing music, coordinating schedules, leading services…the next thing you know you are walking through the church doors on Sunday morning and instead of preparing yourself to encounter the living God you are feeling the urge to run in the other direction. Sometimes the life gets choked out by the pressure of leadership: particularly in free church traditions, where there is not much of a set liturgy, there is a lot of pressure on worship leaders and worship planners to deliver a “good service” each Sunday.  But aside from the external pressures that come along with being a part of any church family, there are ways in which our own approach to worship can turn it into a burden.

Worship is a burden when we see it as a way of earning God’s favour. Sometimes we slip into that mode of thinking where we believe that somehow God might love us more if we were better worshippers or better worship leaders.  That somehow we might build up a credit with God by showing up on Sundays and doing our part.  But we can’t earn God’s favour – not even by our most spiritual and worshipful acts. If we think that we are going to gain God’s approval by the things we do on a Sunday morning we we will end up carrying a burden that is too much to bear.

Worship is also a burden when it is done to win the favour of others. Maybe this one hits closer to home.  One of the dangers of the contemporary worship scene is its potential to create “worship stars” and “worship celebrities.” Even being a “successful” worship leader at your local church can bring a certain amount of status and praise from others.  But this kind of recognition is more of a curse than a blessing!  If worship is done to win the favour of others, it will become a burden that we will only carry in order to gain something for ourselves.

Finally, worship is a burden when it becomes a source of pride. If we start to view ourselves as the “true worshippers,” and draw lines in the sand between ourselves and others – either in our own church or in other churches – our worship will become a burden that will weigh us down spiritually.  If we start to gaze around the sanctuary and see who is lifting their hands, who looks like they are “really into it,” and who does not, pride will start to take over.  The worst part about the burden of prideful worship is that the proud are often too proud to notice the heavy weight that they are carrying.

The weariness of worship in Jesus’ day

In Matthew 11 Jesus is addressing himself to people who were worn out with religious observances.  I think it was quite easy to become weary of worship in Jesus’ day, especially if you weren’t one of the religious elites.   And as far as I can tell there is only one other place in Matthew’s gospel where Jesus talks about “burdens,” and that is in Matthew 23:4 – a passage where he is sharply criticizing the Pharisees for the way they were exploiting their authority over the ordinary people: “They tie up heavy loads and put them on men’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”  He goes on to criticize the Pharisees for the way in which their spirituality had become all about winning the favour of others:  “Everything they do is for men to see…they love the place of honour at banquets and the most important seats in the synagogues; they love to be greeted in the marketplaces and to have men call them ‘Rabbi.’”  Later he talks about how they follow the letter of the law but they have neglected the weightier matters of justice, mercy, and faith.  These religious leaders – we might call them “worship experts” – are the ones who criticize Jesus for healing on the sabbath; they are the ones who are scandalized by the fact that Jesus hung around with tax collectors and sinners. Their worship and spirituality had definitely become a source of pride which weighed them down and prevented them from seeing the truth. For although they sat confidently atop their tall towers of spiritual expertise and looked down upon the amateurish masses of spiritual infants that surrounded them, they could not see that in rejecting Jesus they were rejecting God himself.  In fact, not only did they reject him, but they decided that he was so much of a threat to their power that they needed to eliminate him altogether – their reaction to Jesus was an intense desire to kill him.

These people were pretty serious about their religious observances.  They didn’t mess around.   Now you may be aware that there are 613 commandments in the Old Testament.  We all know that there are 10 big ones, but if you go through the entire Old Testament and count them all there are 613.  And in Jesus day these religious leaders, these worship experts, had added many more commandments.  These extra commandments were meant as a kind of insurance policy – what they were trying to do was to build a “fence around the law” – so that even if you broke one of these “extra” commandments on the fenceline, you still hadn’t stepped across the line of the scriptural command.  So you can imagine, if you lived a life where obedience to hundreds of commandments was central to your spirituality, and if you had to answer to a group of people who were as intense and fanatical as the Pharisees, you would get worn out with spirituality pretty easily.

The “weary” and the “burdened” in Jesus time were those who couldn’t keep up with the strict standards of the religious elites.  They were trying to please God by their observances but they couldn’t seem to colour inside the lines of the page that has been given to them by their authorities; they were trying to please their religious leaders but they couldn’t seem to keep up to the fast pace and the rigid rhythms of the song that the religious leaders were singing.   It was a spiritually exhausting environment – either you did not measure up, and ended up feeling spiritually inadequate, or worse yet, you thought you could keep up, and your spirituality and ended up becomign a source of pride – in which case, you probably wouldn’t be willing to listen to the carpenter from backwater Galilee who told you to repent and believe the good news!

Jesus promises rest to the weary

It is in this context that Jesus makes his famous invitation in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  He offers a solution to the problem of worship weariness which totally subverts the expectations of everyone.

He calls “all who are weary and burdened.”  He doesn’t invite the super spiritual.  He doesn’t invite the religious elites.  He doesn’t invite the worship experts.  He invites the strugglers.  The people who stagger under the weight of religious expectations. The people whose spiritual bank accounts are completely drained.  The people who know that they need to be rescued. The sinners, the tax collectors, the poor, the prostitutes, the “little children” who have no claim on his grace, no claim on his favour, who have no religious status to lean on, but must come  to him with nothing in their hands but their own burdens.

He says to them, “Come to me.”  The solution to their weariness is not more passionate spiritual practices or a kind of religious observance – it is a person.  The solution is Jesus Christ himself.  He says Come to me. Turn to me.  Put your trust in me.  No matter what your burden, I am the solution.  I am the one who can relieve your burdens. I am the one who “gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” [Isa 40.29] I am the one “who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” [Ps 103.5]  This is what the “worship experts” of Jesus’ day could not see – that he was the living God incarnate, and they needed to come to him to be refreshed; to understand that he was the messiah, and that he could break every chain and relieve every burden.  This is what the proud and the wise could not bring themselves to do: to come to Jesus as the one who could relieve their burdens. They were “the wise” whom Jesus refers to in verse 25 – the ones who couldn’t recognize Jesus as messiah and Lord, the ones who thought they had their act together. They thought they were spiritually self-sufficient.  But Jesus said “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”  The ones who are called to come to Jesus are the “little children,” the ones who haven’t made anything of themselves spiritually, the ones who can’t lean on their own accomplishments.

And not only does Jesus call these weary, undeserving little children, but he  immediately goes on to give them a promise: “I will give you rest.”  The rest he promises them is a full and complete relief from the burden trying to earn favour with God and others by getting their spiritual act together.  It’s too late for that.  Jesus has already shown up. They don’t have time to get their spiritual act together. He has crashed down like a meteor onto the religious landscape of first-century Palestine, and disrupted everything.  He has come to them, right into the middle of their messy lives, and now he is standing there promising, “I will give you rest.”  They do not need to earn favour with God by their pious worship – he has promised it to them by his grace. God’s love and favour is theirs in Jesus Christ. It does not matter that they are a spiritual mess; the promise of rest is for them. It is the rest that comes from trusting in Christ to relieve their burdens, and set them free from the prison of spiritual self-sufficiency.  Trusting in Christ’s promise brings uninterrupted rest, because he is the complete Saviour. There is nothing that can be done to add to his faithful work.

The promise of Christ is for you

If you are a weary worshipper, the promise of Christ is for you.  I will give you rest.

If you are a worship leader who is weary and worn down from the week in and week out task of trying to lead people into God’s presence, lean on the promise of Christ.  Do you sometimes feel like you’re not up for the job?  Good!  Christ’s promise of rest is for you.  Do you feel unworthy of the honour of leading the people of God as they enter into his presence?  Excellent!  You should be worried if you don’t feel unworthy.  The promised rest that comes from trusting fully in the merits of Christ is for you.

Not all of us are worship leaders.  Are you a worshipper who feels like you’re not quite devoted enough?  Do you feel like you’re not as spiritual as the person in the next pew?  Do you feel like you are not passionate enough?  Wonderful!  Christ’s promise is for you.  Christ is speaking to you through his word today.

He is saying “I will give you restI will give you rest.  You will not find rest in your own abilities as worship leader.  You will not find rest in your own passion and devotion as a worshipper.  You will not find rest in your love for God, but rather, in God’s love for you.”

You see, we can’t earn the rest that comes from being embraced by the love of God.  Not with our devotion, not with our passion, not with our talents.  And certainly not with our worship.  But we don’t need to earn it!  In our worship we celebtrate the favour we have with God; we have the rest that comes from the completed work of Jesus Christ

That is why worship under the yoke of Christ is a light burden!  If we worship to earn God’s favour – now that would be a heavy burden.  If think we can impress God with these simple songs we sing to him, we will end up crushed under the weight of a burden that our worship is not meant to bear.

But if we start from the fact that we have the promise of Christ, our worship is a light burden.  We worship the God who has already favoured us in Jesus Christ; Christ, who in his perfect earthly life has already accomplished everything he asks of us.  Christ who is the author and perfecter of our faith, who has blazed the trail before us and promised us that we will be conformed to his likeness.  When we begin with the victory that Christ has won for us, our worship is a truly free act of love and gratitude – a free response to God’s decisive action on our behalf in Christ.

What I’m saying is, when we lean on the promises of Christ, the pressure to be perfect worshippers is off. We aren’t perfect.  Not even close. We’re not adequate.  We’re not worthy.  We’re not self-sufficient.  But that doesn’t keep us up at night. We have rest for our souls because the completed work of Christ is the fountain out of which flows our love for God and all of our acts of worship.

The thing that I think so many Christians miss is that, as we make the transformation from “weary” to “restful” we can’t begin by looking inside of ourselves, at to our own spiritual state or our own spiritual resources; if we do that we’ll definitely end up weary and burdened.  Instead we need to begin outside of ourselves, with the promise of Christ and his gospel, a promise that was made before any of us had sung our first “Jesus loves me.” And the wonderful mystery of Christ’s promise is this: as we fix our gaze outside of ourselves and rest fully on the promise of Christ, it is that promise which will change us from the inside out.