My yoke is easy, my burden light

Jul 05, 2014

14th Sunday of Ordinary
Time (Year A)
Readings: Zechariah 9: 9-10;
Romans 8: 9, 11-13.
Gospel: Matthew 11:25-30

Paul is famous for his suspicions about the body. His own words make him suspect. “If you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the spirit you put to death the evil deeds of the body, you will live.” Such texts have opened Paul to the charge that he is anti-body, even Manichaean, in his theology.

We know, however, that Paul’s view is far more nuanced than might at first be suspected. The word sarx, “flesh,” does not indicate the same reality as soma, “body,” the latter word being far more integrative and unifying than the former. But the human body or soma can be jailed in the prison of mere flesh if it is without the liberty of spirit and soul.

Mere flesh, sarx, the debased, sin-ruled body, is earth-bound human existence left to itself. Flesh, in this sense, is dominated by the organic drives for self-maintenance and enhancement, even at the expense of others, until the force of death holds sway.

The rigid rule of these drives makes any thought of spirit, freedom, or love impossible. That is why, in the Letter to the Galatians, chapter 5, Paul describes the law of the flesh as wild sexual irresponsibility, slavery, and violent jealousy.

How Freudian this sounds. Freud, considered passe in some psychiatric circles but the rage in cultural studies, articulated most fully the logic of flesh, or sarx. In The Future of an Illusion, a critique of religious faith, he deemed that our primordial organic desires are incest, cannibalism, and killing.

Even those who, under civilization’s hard constraint, shrink from incest or murder, “do not deny themselves the satisfaction of avarice, their aggressive urges or sexual lusts, and do not hesitate to injure others by lies, fraud, and calumny, so long as they can remain unpunished for it.”

This sounds like the world of sarx in Romans and Galatians.

Freud has nothing on Paul when it comes to unmasking the raw and deadly face of flesh closed in upon itself. Without civic prohibitions, we would “take any one as a sexual object, kill any rival or anyone else who stands in the way, and carry off any of the other’s belongings.”

Freud proposed that science, rather than religion, might save us from ourselves. The voice of intellect, he said, would be heard and, he hoped, obeyed.

Both in his own thought and in subsequent years, however, it would prove to be the other way around.

The tiresome labor of flesh-bound mind is powerless to escape the yoke of blind lust, violence, and avarice. Science, like the flesh that makes it, merely delays the heavy burdensome end of life’s labor. “For the aim of all life is death.”

Paul the psychologist understood this. The life he knew, however, transcended the world of mere flesh. The body inspirited could become a temple of eternal promise. It could sing of love, play in joy, console with gentle compassion, touch with kindness — all those gifts of the Spirit that make the human body revelatory of God.

Unlike Freud’s flesh, in turmoil, condemned to labor and death, Paul’s is transcended by the spirit of Jesus, who invites us:

Come to me, all you who are weary and find life burdensome, and I will refresh you. Take my yoke upon your shoulders and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. Your souls will find rest, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light. -- By Fr John Kavanaugh SJ

Thoughts of the Early Church

I am gentle and humble in heart.
Our Master is always the same, gentle and benevolent. In his constant concern for our salvation, he says explicitly in the gospel just read to us: “Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.”

What great condescension on the part of the Creator! And yet the creature feels no shame! “Come, learn from me.” The Master came to console his fallen servants. This is how Christ treats us. He shows pity when a sinner deserves punishment. When the race that angers him deserves to be annihilated, he addresses the guilty ones in the kindly words: “Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.”

God is humble, and we are proud! The judge is gentle; the criminal arrogant! The potter speaks in lowered voice; the clay discourses in the tones of a king! “Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.” Our master carries a whip not to wound, but to heal us.

Reflect upon his indescribable kindness. Who could fail to love a master who never strikes his servants? Who would not marvel at a judge who beseeches a condemned criminal? Surely the self-abasement of these words must astound you.

I am the Creator and I love my work. I am the sculptor and I care for what I have made.

If I thought of my dignity, I should not rescue fallen humankind. If I failed to treat its incurable sickness with fitting remedies, it would never recover its strength. If I did not console it, it would die. If I did nothing but threaten it, it would perish. This is why I apply the salve of kindness to it where it lies.

Compassionately I bend down very low in order to raise it up. No one standing erect can lift a fallen man without putting a hand down to him.

“Come, learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.” I do not make a show of words; I have left you the proof of my deeds. You can see that I am gentle and humble in heart from what I have become.

Consider my nature, reflect upon my dignity, and marvel at the condescension I have shown you. Think of where I came from, and of where I am as I speak to you.

Heaven is my throne, yet I talk to you standing on the earth! I am glorified on high, but because I am long-suffering I am not angry with you, “for I am gentle and humble in heart.” -- Attributed to John Chrysostom