“I love you!” You hear these words, and you instinctively know what they mean. The specifics depend on the context: who’s said them and in what circumstances. You may consider why it was said and what motivated the use of the phrase, but what you certainly wouldn’t ponder is your body’s internal physiological and biological reactions: which hormones have been released, how the synapses in your brain and nervous system transmitted the electrical signals from your ears to other parts of your body, how your pulse and blood pressure changed, and so on. In a similar way, the phrase triggers psychological reactions. Science, thanks to discoveries and developments over the last century or so, can describe all these processes in fine detail, but the meaning of love is not among them. Love unquestionably remains a powerful connection desired by all, yet working in mysterious ways.
“Father, […] you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children.” Jesus’ proclamation in today’s gospel seems to suggest that, as Christians, we should always choose articles of faith over scientific discoveries when the latter contradict the former. The apparent irredeemable clash between “science” and “faith” is somehow reinforced by fundamentalist Christian groups that insist on a literal reading of the Bible. But there isn’t really any conflict between Christian and science-based worldviews; they are not competing but complementary forces. While science can offer a highly accurate description of how things work in fine detail, the ultimate purpose of such workings is beyond it. That’s what Christian faith offers: the meaning of life with all its twists and turns.
“Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Jesus’ invitation in the second part of today’s gospel is followed by a rather strange, even contradictory, call to “take my yoke upon you.” A yoke was a wooden beam or frame used to join a pair of draft animals (like oxen) at the neck so they could pull a load. In the Old Testament, it was used metaphorically to describe oppression and slavery, either in the context of God liberating the Israelites from the yoke of their oppressors or as a prediction of hostile oppression as punishment for the Israelites’ unfaithfulness. In such a religious and cultural context, Jesus’ audience must have been confused by his call, “Take my yoke upon you.” The main difference between the Old Testamental and Jesus’ meanings is encapsulated in the verb used by him: “take”. In the traditional sense, a literal yoke was placed on the animals by their driver, and metaphorically on the oppressed by the oppressor, against their will. But Jesus presented it as an offer or an invitation, leaving the decision to those he addressed. Taken up voluntarily, the high demands and requirements of the Gospel have the power to make one’s life easier in line with Jesus’ promise: “You will find rest for your souls.”
The words I’ve just said can be easily misinterpreted as promising a life free of troubles and challenges. Jesus never promised that, and neither should I. What Jesus offers is a deeper meaning to apparently senseless or random events, occurrences and happenings in one’s life. Troubles and challenges are not seen purely as frustrating or irritating obstacles that make life harder for no reason, but as opportunities for reflection, revision, out-of-the-box thinking, or even springboards towards something new in life. We have to remember that the yoke wasn’t put on the draft animals to make them suffer but to better control their movement and evenly share the load. Voluntarily taking up the yoke of the Gospel helps us to find and keep the right direction of travel while making our troubles bearable. The commandments are not limitations on our freedom but safety barriers that prevent us from dangerously skidding off the way. They are also beacons that help us get back on track when we have gone astray.
There’s another important element in Jesus’ invitation: “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me.” I guess most of us try to live up to the standards of the Gospel but fail every now and again; I’m guilty as charged. Repeated failures, despite our best efforts, can be frustrating, and we may start to question either the feasibility of those standards or our ability to meet them. However, over time we learn to apply them to our circumstances. Learning is a process, and failure is an indispensable part of it, much like when we were born unable to walk. It took time, a good number of falls and bloodied knees, to become walkers and runners. Eventually, moving around in an upright position becomes so natural that you don’t even think about it. Whether another failure is terminal depends on you. Keep trying, keep learning, and “you will find rest for your souls.”
