Fifth Sunday after Trinity
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Readings: Romans 7: 15-25a and Matthew 11: 16-19 and 25-end
If there is one passage in the New Testament that will surely ring bells with every decent person, certainly every Christian, it is the passage we heard from St. Paul’s letter to the Romans. “I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do…Wretched person that I am. Who will deliver me from this body of death?”
How many times have you or I done the very thing we were determined not to do – after some irrational impulse – or some desire for pleasure which our discipline and self-control could not master? Sometimes, of course, we set out in a spirit of spite or mischief knowing very well that we are about to attempt something underhand or unworthy, which we would never dream of doing on what we might call one of our ‘better days’. Sin is a strange kind of separation from ourselves. We find goodness compelling and yet choose to do otherwise. From the time of Socrates, humans have recognised that evil is a sort of madness. To do what we do not want to do is insanity. I’ve heard more than one public figure who has been caught out in some moral failing say that what took place happened ‘in a moment of madness.’ And many great philosophers and thinkers have voiced this tendency to do the opposite of what we want or intend. The poet Ovid: I see and approve the better course, but I follow the worse one. Horace: I pursue the things that have done me harm; I shun the things I believe will do me good.’
St. Paul, I suspect, would not be surprised. He knew only too well that there is a deep conflict within each human being, between what one writer calls a person’s ‘carnality’ and their ‘spirituality.’ When St. Paul wrote, “Who will deliver me from this body of death?”, he was echoing a contemporary belief in Greek thought, that somehow the soul throughout earthly life was burdened by, or shackled to, a dead body. Paul did not go quite as far as the Greek thinkers, but nevertheless regarded his body, or human nature, as being under hostile occupation.
Notice that his inner conflict was something that continued after his conversion. In fact, the whole tone of this passage suggests that the conflict was greater after his commitment to Christ than before. I think this is a difficulty many Christians fail to come to terms with. Many will believe that once they have had a conversion experience, or have been baptised or confirmed, or made some definite Christian commitment, then any internal conflict will wither away. But it is unlikely to be as simple as that.
St. Paul notes how the lower nature sets its desires against the Spirit, while the Spirit fights against it. They are in conflict with one another, so that what you will to do you cannot. The Christian lives in two worlds simultaneously. As people of flesh and blood we are subject to the conditions of mortal life. We are children of Adam, and Paul says that ‘in Adam all die.’ But spiritually, we have passed from death to life, from darkness to light – we have been raised to Christ in newness of life. The day will come when this present order will pass, and God’s new age will be established in glory, and then the tensions between the two ages will be resolved. But as long as we live ‘between the times’ the conflict remains.
Several times in his writings St. Paul likens the Christian life as a race to be run, with perseverance; a battle to be fought. We may rather like to think of the journey as a pilgrimage, with difficult terrain to cross: some days we make good progress and on other days we apparently make no progress; but our intention is all-important: that we journey on to the ultimate goal: God. You’ll know the famous hymn words from ‘Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven.’ – ‘Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven.’ So rather than dwelling on Paul’s lament ‘wretched person that I am’, we should rather think, ‘Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.’
At the end of today’s gospel Jesus offers those re-assuring words which have found their way into our Communion Service from the Book of Common Prayer – the ‘Comfortable Words’: ‘Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; you will find rest for your souls; for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Comfortable words, but they were issued in a particular context. We don’t see too many yokes today, but they would have been a familiar sight in Jesus’ time, fastened round the necks of oxen as they toiled. The ‘yoke’ mentioned here is intended as something positive, not as something restraining; the yoke of discipline which gives a sense of direction.
Some of John the Baptist’s disciples had been sent from John, in prison, to ask Jesus if he really was the Messiah. He told them to let John know what great things Jesus was doing: ‘The blind receive their sight; the deaf hear, the lepers are cleansed, and the poor have good news preached to them.’
But there were many people around who couldn’t see the goodness of either John the Baptist or Jesus. John preached with threats, and Jesus preached while partying, but the onlookers accepted neither approach. I’m sure we all know people who are never satisfied; who are more likely to grumble and groan on the sidelines than join in with joy and delight. So Jesus uses the analogy of groups of children calling out to others who wouldn’t join in their games. A Muslim woman mystic Rabi’a lived a thousand years ago in Baghdad. She was asked by her followers how to achieve the virtue of patience. She simply replied, ‘Stop complaining.’ It took them some time to realise that, much of the time, they were unhappy because they complained, not the other way round.
With the dawn of Jesus the time for rejoicing had come. Something greater than John had arrived – so cheer up! John came to point the way to a glorious new future, but even with Jesus’ personal arrival people still missed the good news of the kingdom. Some were too busy carping and complaining to see it. Jesus sees this as an inability to recognize ‘wisdom proved right.’ And to whom is wisdom revealed? Here comes the shock: to the children, to the simple, to the ignored.
Of course, we can easily despair of living up to Jesus’ standards, to agonise over the conflict within us, but that is very different from being complacent. For those who have accepted who they truly are – children of the Heavenly Father, Jesus promises rest. The true rest that Jesus brings is being certain that we are working in his service, upheld with his love, and forgiven through his mercy. ‘Come to me; for I am gentle and humble in heart; my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’
Thanks be to God, indeed, through Jesus Christ our Lord.