He shall feed his flock like a shepherd;
    and he shall gather the lambs with His arm,
    and carry them in His bosom,
    and shall gently lead those that are with young.

Come unto [Him], all ye that labour and are heavy
    laden, and [He shall] give you rest.
Take [his] yoke upon you, and learn of [Him];
    for [he is] meek and lowly of heart:
    and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

You’ve heard those words before, haven’t you? They’re in the bible. From Isaiah 40 and from Matthew 11. From the Hebrew Bible — the Old Testament we call it — and from the New. From Isaiah the prophet and from Jesus the Messiah. Maybe you’ve heard it there, too… From the Messiah. From Handel’s Messiah…

It’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard. My brother had the whole thing — the Messiah. He played it on the record player every Christmas. So I’d heard it before, this beautiful double aria from that great work. But I didn’t really hear it until 1983. I was twenty-five years old, just out of seminary, and I had two churches, Salt Rock and Mt. Pisgah. And that December all the clergy in the old Huntington district gathered for the annual Christmas Clergy family dinner at the church in Kenova. And that’s where I heard it.

Jane Shepherd sang it for us that night. She had been one of my music teachers at Marshall. And one of Gena’s (our music director’s), too. She was born on Saint Patrick’s Day in Murray, Nebraska – a tiny little town of two-hundred people. And yet, she had one of the most beautiful voices the world has ever heard.

Bishop Grove was with us that evening. He talked about preparing the way… about coming home to God who longs to embrace us and receive us just as we are. And then Mrs. Shepherd sang, “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd…” And “Come unto him all ye that labor and are heavy-laden.” And the words and the music and that beautiful voice did something to me…

It was like the singing of Silent Night on Christmas Eve, when the church is glowing softly with candlelight. But not just with candlelight… There is something more there isn’t there? Have you felt it? There is nothing else like it. That beautiful, warm, holy moment… when God is so near, so very near.

And it happened that night at the Clergy dinner. Bunch of old windbags, preachers, mind you. Plain old, common, ordinary folk. And yet, God was there. God was so real, so close, so full of grace and peace. When it happens it feels like — this may sound a bit odd — it feels like home. Where you belong. Where you are loved and accepted. Not because you’ve earned it. Not because you deserve it. Not because of anything, really. You are loved because you belong. And you belong because you are loved… You’re part of the family. Its home. It’s just home. And you feel it. You know it. It’s where you are most … “at home” with yourself and with others and with God.
Come unto me, said Jesus. Come home. To me. And I will give you rest. It reminded me… It still reminds me…

Every once in a while, when I was a boy, I would walk over to the church. And I’d go in, sit in one of the pews, and I’d look at one of the windows. We called it the Shepherd window. Because there, in stained glass, was a picture of a shepherd. A strong and tender Shepherd, he was. Holding his Shepherd’s crook in one hand and a lamb with the other. The Shepherd’s name was Jesus. And the little lamb… The little lamb looked so safe and so warm and so “at home” in his arms… it made me think that I would be, too. Isn’t that what it says in the song? We sang it this morning when the children came forward. Little ones to him belong… They are weak, but he is strong.

That’s what I saw in the Shepherd window. And… I know it sounds odd, but it made me think of my Grandma Jones. Not that she looked like a shepherd, she didn’t. But it made me think of her because she was strong and tender, too. Oh, everyone knew she was tender. Tender-hearted she was. And gentle and kind. People knew that about her because it showed. They could see it “written all over her face” every time she held a baby in her arms. Or hugged an old friend. Or heard the news that someone in the community was suffering or sick.

But she wasn’t just tender and kind, she was strong. So strong she was. With a different kind of strength. The kind that always made me feel safe and “at home” when I was with her… That all was well. So I followed her. Like a lamb. Like a puppy is more like it.

I spent a lot of time with her when I was a kid. And everywhere she would go, I would go, too. If she went to the garden for a few ears of corn and some big red tomatoes, I’d be right behind her holding the peck basket that would hold them. If she swept the front porch, I’d be there with the dustpan. If she sat down for a cup of coffee, I’d have some, too! (And since they didn’t have hazelnut or French Vanilla, we’d just have Folgers. Mountain-grown, mind you. Straight up. No cream, no sugar.) My mother would protest, “You shouldn’t give him coffee. It will stunt his growth!” Well… maybe it did. Maybe it did. So… I’m glad she let me have it!

Anyway… you get the picture. I followed my grandmother the way a puppy would follow its boy. The way a sheep might follow its shepherd. I went where she went, did what she did and just tagged along with her as long as I could. And whenever she would sit in her rocking chair and read the bible (or from the little Upper Room that was always there with it), I would sit with her and listen as she read the words.
I would even go with her to the well (in the late afternoon) and help her carry the water. She’d hook the bucket on to the chain that was wrapped round the well wheel. And she’d let it drop into the well and fill with water. Then she’d turn the handle and draw the bucket up from the well. And we’d carry it back to the house together… [Water for cooking and cleaning came from inside. From the spigot, mind you. But water for drinking (and even for coffee) came from the well. It was just better, she said. Fresh and cold and clear.]

But, there was one place she’d “go to” that I wouldn’t, and that was to sleep. Every afternoon (early) she’d take a little nap. It seemed like a waste of time to me. So I would pretend to go to sleep. And then, when she was sound asleep, I’d tiptoe away.

She was napping one day and I thought I would surprise her. Do something nice for her. So I tiptoed out of the house and down to the well. And I hooked the bucket onto the chain, lowered it into the water, and turned the handle to crank it back up from the well. And then… well, I started to carry it back to the house. After all, I’d done this with Grandma dozens of times, so I knew what to do. But for some reason, the bucket was heavier that day. I sat it down by the well, put both hands on the handle and lifted it up just as far as I could. And after… oh, maybe two or three steps, I sat it down again. Hard. And water sloshed out of the bucket all over my shoes. Which was good, I thought, “It won’t be as heavy now.” So I tried it again and it was just as heavy. And my grandmother’s house looked farther away than it ever had before. But I was determined to make it. And I did! I made it all of four feet! After which, of course, I had to stop and rest. I was beginning to think, “I can’t do it. I’ll never make. I’m never going to make it all the way home.”

And all of a sudden she was standing there with me. She didn’t say anything, she just held out her hand. She took one side and I took the other, and we carried the water back to the house together…. And when we got there she said, “You know, things are always heavier when you try to carry them all by yourself.” Things are always heavier when you try to carry them all by yourself.

There was another window in the church that said something like that. It was at the front of the church, above the altar and the choir. In that window was another picture of Jesus. He wasn’t holding a shepherd’s staff or cradling a lamb in his arms. In this window he was just standing there… with open arms and open hands. Almost as if he was waiting to receive whatever you would place there (in his hands). And around the edge of the window were those words from Matthew 11… Come to me all you that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. “Oh, come to me, says Jesus. Come to me with your heavy burdens… give them all to me.” Because it’s true. Things are always heavier when you try to carry them alone. Oh, and some things… some things, mind you, are just too heavy for one person to carry.

I remember a story… A young woman tucked a couple of dollars into her little boy’s pocket and sent him to the store on the corner for a loaf of bread. “Get the bread,” she said, “pay Mr. Smith for it (there at the counter), and then come straight home.”
“I will, Mom. I promise.”

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty…. It was just down the street. Less than half a block. But where was he? “He should have been back before now! Where is he?” She was beginning to worry. A few more minutes passed. She was about to panic now. “Something has happened…” The woman grabs her coat and heads through the door. And there he was coming up the front steps to the porch. She wants to send him straight to his room. But she doesn’t. She hugs him. “Where have you been? You promised to come straight home.”

He looks up at her and says, “I was going to, Mom. Honest, I was. But on the way home I saw Freddy, and he was kind of upset because he wrecked his new bike. It was all scratched up. Bent his front wheel. And, Mom, he didn’t know how to fix it… So that’s where I’ve been. I had to help Freddy.”

“I didn’t know you could do that, Johnny. When did you learn how to work on a bicycle?”

“I didn’t, Mom. I was helping him cry.”

You see? Some things are too heavy for one person to carry. But that’s just the thing. You don’t have to. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself. A Shepherd who loves you more than anything in the world is watching and waiting. And just like the picture in the window, he is reaching toward you… Waiting to take your heart and your life and your hurts and your fears and all of your burdens into his hands and carry them with you. His yoke is easy, his burden light. It means that just as my grandmother carried the bulk of the load when we carried the water from the well, Jesus will carry the bulk of what weighs you down and burdens your heart.

That’s what he said to Peter and James and John and the others. To all of the others. Everyone who could hear him… even the Pharisees, mind you. Because they all had something in common. They were tired. They were aching and weary from all the burdens they carried. From all the things that weighed on their hearts.

You know the things… They have names. They do. Names like worry and dread. Names like sickness and debt and family issues. They worried about their families two-thousand years ago, too. And they worried about making a living. They worried about taxes. The taxes were so high they couldn’t afford anything else. Oh, and they carried burdens. Heavy burdens named guilt and shame. And others called, “You’re not good enough,” and “You’re nobody,” and “You are worthless.” Heavy things were these. Far too heavy for one person to carry.

There is a burden called “You have to be perfect.” Have you heard of that one? The Pharisees were weighed down with it. Because that’s what they tried to do. They tried to be perfect. They wanted to be the very people God wanted them to be. So they tried to be righteous. They tried to be perfect. Because if they were, God would love them! [They thought] God’s love was like a reward or a prize or a bonus at work. Something they could earn. Something God would have to give them if they were just good enough.

People still think that, two thousand years later. Don’t let them think that. Don’t give them the impression that that’s how God does things. It’s too heavy. It will weigh them down. It will keep them from knowing just how much God really loves them.

And he does. God loves them. God loves you. Saint Augustine said, “O God, you love each of us as if there were only one of us.” And because he loves us, God became one of us – the Word made flesh. Fully God, fully human. And Jesus, God-with-us, looked at the disciples and the tax-collectors, at the poor and the outcast, at the scribes and the Pharisees and at every one of us and said… Come to me. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, 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.

One more story… Bruce Larson was a pastor in New York. A pastoral counselor, in fact. And over the years, he saw a lot of folks who were weary and aching inside, worn down by the burdens they carried… Worries about relationships and family and health and money. And some of the people who came to him were struggling with faith — trying to know in their hearts and minds if God really is who people say God is.

So he would often ask the person he was counseling to take a walk with him from his office down to the RCA Building on Fifth Avenue. And there, at the entrance, they would see the great statue of Atlas the Titan, who is trying with all his might to hold the world on his shoulders. And you can see in the statue he’s straining all of his muscles. His knees are buckling under its weight. Dr. Larson said he could often see that same stress and strain in the face (and even in the shoulders) of the person who stood gazing at the statue.

Then he would ask them to walk across the street with him. For there, on the other side of Fifth Avenue, is Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. And behind the high altar of that great church is a statue of a boy – a young boy named Jesus. And in the palm of his hand he is holding the world… with no effort.

We can try, like Atlas, to bear “the weight of the world” on our shoulders and carry all the heavy burdens in our lives with our own strength, our own might, our own wisdom and power. Or we can bring our hearts, our lives, and all of our burdens to One who loves us and say, “Here’s my life, Lord. I give you my world. I place it in the palms of your loving hands.”

Someone who loves you is watching and waiting. A strong and tender Shepherd who is ready to walk by your side and give you the rest for your heart and soul that you long for so much.

Do you hear? Jesus is calling your name… Come, he says. Come to me, you who are weary and overburdened, 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 soul. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria
Benen, OblSB