All You Who Are Heavy Burdened
14th Sunday of the Ordinary Time – All You Who Are Heavy Burdened
I think we’re all a bit tired. Two hundred-fifty years is a long time to be at it, after all. Things start to break down. There are daily aches and pains. You wonder if you have the strength to keep going.
There is, of course, a part of you that wants to cling to what once was. The memories of happier times, or so they seemed then. Maybe they really were. Years when parades brought the entire town together; when differences didn’t seem to divide as sharply; when Whitney Houston sang an anthem at a national football game and you got chills feeling what she felt: the land of the free and home of the brave.
Now, there are Dollar Tree and Target aisles filled with American-themed party supplies untouched. No real interest in celebrating our collective birthday. Being tired does that to a people.
“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” These might be some of the most comforting words in all of Scripture. We recite them quite frequently at funerals and the bedside of those preparing to return to the Lord. We cling to these words when we’re sick and suffering, believing that our God sees us and wants to shoulder our burdens.
I think we’re pretty good in doing so when we find ourselves in private, individual moments when the Cross we carry is heavy. “Lord, be with me in my cancer treatment. Father, help me as my child is sick.” It’s good when we do this, and He is always there to lift us up and share the load.
I wonder, though, if it’s time we do this very same thing for our tired nation; to bring this country we love — even if we are disappointed in her at the present moment — to the One who reminds us that He does, in fact, bless the nations whose God is the Lord.
Perhaps as we turn 250, it might be time to revisit the question: are we truly one nation under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all?
All. Not just some. All: the unborn and the Kensington/Baltimore street addicts; teens with Downs Syndrome and the couple next door with the rainbow flag waving from their porch. All. Not just the powerful, the elite, or the political party in power with whom we agree.
In some ways, we’ve forgotten what we’ve been given … what our forefathers and foremothers fought and died for. We’ve forgotten about the “united” part and instead have become isolated, tribal and closed off, suspicious of anyone who doesn’t seem to be in my camp. That thought has been weighing heavy on my heart lately, but I’ve noticed something just in the past few weeks that has offered a ray of hope, from a very unexpected place: World Cup Soccer championships being played on American soil.
It would seem, with all the foreign visitors coming to the States in order to cheer on their home team, they’ve discovered the beauty of what we’ve forgotten. Countless videos now exist of wide-eyed, joyful tourists calling out the blessings we Americans have, and how good the locals have been to those visiting our shores. One Scottish lad put it bluntly: “All my life,” he said, “I’ve been told that Americans are rude, selfish, and pompous. But since I’ve come here, I have found them to be anything but. I just hope they’re not starting to believe the lie themselves.”
I know we don’t talk a lot about nation and religion in homilies these days, but as we celebrate our 250th Anniversary, maybe these Scriptures this weekend can speak to our collective heart, to make sure we fight back and choose not to give into the lie that we are falling apart, too divided, and unmoored from God and one another.
The collective tiredness we feel now does not have to be our destiny, and perhaps now more than ever, the Church can offer a light for these times. Separation of one from the other does not mean silenced. There’s still a place at the table for us:
Firstly, as Christ showed us as he opened his heart to his Father, it is vital that we pray for one another. Jesus’ address to his Father in today’s Gospel follows immediately after he warned the towns of Bethsaida and Chorazin that they had lost their way; that what was given to them as covenantal promise by God was being ignored and destroyed by the very people to whom it was given. Thus, in this moment, Jesus was crying out for the very ones who were falling apart at the seams and saying to his Father: “You gave them to me, and I love them. Let me save them. Let me call them back to their childlike innocence. Let me call them back to the right path.”
If Jesus is doing that for Bethsaida and Chorazin, how could he not do the same for us, and how could we not respond in kind? Why aren’t we praying to God for the politicians and celebrities – even the enemies of America – who have lost their way and want to bring us down? Have we prayed a Rosary for our President? Have we offered a Communion for our state legislature? What about a daily prayer for our media? How can you and I become Christ-like in this moment for those who may have lost their way?
Equally vital to healing and moving forward as explained by Christ: allowing ourselves to be yoked to God. Jesus knew his agricultural audience would clearly understand that the burden placed upon one mule or ox makes it difficult for that beast to carry on its own. But yoke it to another and take the reins in order to steer them properly — the weight is no longer so heavy nor the direction unclear. Isn’t that what Christ did when he took the weight of the Cross upon His shoulders? Didn’t he offer to carry it for us – and alongside us – so that we were never left alone, and that we would always be guided by the Father when our burdens seemed heavy?
When we yoke ourselves to Christ, and He steers, we’re then willing to pick up crosses of others and walk with them; we’re willing to love the least and be a voice for the voiceless; we feed the hungry and shelter the homeless and clothe the naked. In a word, God’s will becomes ours and we become the Christ-presence for others. We walk united, for the love of God yokes us together — as brothers and sisters who live as one people, under the God who makes us truly free.
The battle won’t be easy. Whereas we once fought Redcoats and foreign tyranny, now we fight something even more powerful and insidious: the Evil One who wants to destroy families, faith and country. Satan cheers when we are divided. We will not let him win.
Now is our time to bear arms, and those weapons look like mercy, charity, forgiveness, respect and selfless love for others who may not always think or act as we do. That’s what America has always been known for. Always. Recently, there’s been a bit of a shadow over this collective vision of ours.
As we turn 250, we have a choice: to yoke to God or not? To let Him steer or do it ourselves?
Perhaps it is our mission as the Church in America to show the way again: to light the lamp and scatter the darkness. I, for one, can’t think of a more noble call for all who labor and are heavy-burdened.