Psalm 46 (New Revised Standard Version, Updated Edition)

Matthew 11: 16-19, 25-30 (New Revised Standard Version, Updated Edition)

Back when Beth was our pastor, my favorite cello teacher, Jaehee Ju, visited Salem Presbyterian. She, my dad, and I played some trios together for the worship service. That day, Jaehee gave me a life lesson I still carry with me today. 

We were playing Schubert’s 23rd Psalm, a particularly difficult piece, and I started making mistakes. I began to panic, thinking, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” In that moment, for my benefit, Jaehee took an audible, relaxed, deep breath next to me. I thought, “Oh yeah! Breathe! I forgot to breathe!” I had been so focused on not messing up that I was holding my breath without realizing it, and, of course, my playing suffered.

I’d gotten so caught up in anxiety about the piece we were playing that I had completely forgotten to breathe. With her reminder, I started breathing again, and my playing recovered instantly.

That's exactly what Jesus is doing in the passage we just heard. He's reminding people to do what they already know how to do, to breathe and to rest: "Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." And in Jesus’ time they had a practice for exactly that — Sabbath keeping.

When I saw this passage was a lectionary reading for today, it reminded me of the need for rest. I bet you could use that reminder, too.

Years ago, I bought a book called 24/6, by Matthew Sleeth. It sat untouched on a bookshelf until I came across this scripture reading. I picked up the book and opened it to a random page, and a passage immediately jumped out at me: “You don't find God when you win the lottery. You find God when you lose your job.”

Sleeth goes on to point out that when things are good, we start believing it's all because of us. Our own hard work, our own skills. God certainly doesn't have anything to do with it.

But Walter Brueggemann — a Presbyterian pastor and author of the book Sabbath as Resistance — pushes this even further. He'd say it's not really the having that's the problem. It's the endless chasing after more and more. It’s that restlessness that causes us to forget God, forget who we are, and what matters most to us. Just like that deep breath kept me from a cello-playing death spiral, Sabbath keeping is how we stop—and remember. 

Sabbath keeping, what Sleeth calls “Stop Day,” isn’t a strict rule to follow to avoid getting in trouble with God. It’s not about currying favor. It’s a gift to us. In Genesis, God’s rest on the seventh day wasn't God needing a nap after all the work of creation. It was God showing us, right at the start of everything, that stopping is holy.

Here's something I never noticed until both Sleeth and Brueggemann pointed it out. The commandment about keeping the Sabbath is the only one that begins with “Remember.” Remember the Sabbath. Of all ten, it’s the only one that assumes we're going to forget. The same way I forgot to breathe.

Brueggemann noticed that when Jesus talks about a "heavy yoke" and offers his own instead — easy, light — he's referring to something specific. In Jesus's world, people were worn down in two ways: by the heavy demands of Rome and by a religious system with a thousand rules for qualifying, measuring up, and being good enough. Doesn’t that sound familiar?

We still carry heavy yokes today — the pressure to produce, to perform, to prove we're enough. And Jesus is still saying to us, "Put it down. Take my yoke instead. It's lighter." It's like that long, slow breath. He is gently reminding us of something we already knew.

Rest isn't something we accomplish. It's a gift we receive.

And now I want to take a few minutes to remember what it’s like to rest, to experience what a gift it is. I got the idea from the Sleeth book. It’s a simple meditation you can use when you get caught up carrying a heavy load. 

Let it serve as your reminder to rest, to breathe, to remember that God is with you always. I’m going to use one sentence from Psalm 46:10. I’ll repeat it a few times, subtracting words as I go, and between each line we’ll have a moment of silence.

To start, I invite you now to close your eyes if that's comfortable for you, and take 3 slow, deep breaths, making your exhale last a little longer than your inhale.  

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am.

Be still and know that.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.

Amen.