I SEE TIRED PEOPLE
A Sermon by Micaela Wood, Minister

July 6, 2008

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Back at the end of the last millennium (which still sounds crazy to say), there was a snazzy little movie called The Sixth Sense – some of you may remember it. The previews showed Haley Joel Osment – creepy-in-the-way-only-young-children-whispering-can-be – saying, “I see dead people.”

When I started my ten-week long hospital chaplaincy internship a few weeks ago, I feared I might be saying “I see dead people” more often than I wanted to. Four weeks of my internship have passed, and I haven't yet seen any dead people. What I find myself saying instead is, “I see tired people.”

Although it wouldn't make for a great movie preview, it is what weighs on my mind most heavily these days. Everywhere I go, I seem to see people that are utterly exhausted and spent.

It reminds me a bit of that scene in the movie version of Gone With the Wind . Scarlett has ended her brief nursing career, running off in the middle of a medical procedure when someone asks for a nurse. She exclaims shrilly (as only Scarlett O'Hara can), “I'm going home. I've done enough. I don't want any more men dying and screaming. I don't want anymore.” A few scenes later, she returns to the hospital to look for Dr. Meade because Melanie is giving birth. We see the horrific scene of desolation through Scarlett's vantage point as the camera pans out to show an entire field of dead and dying boys in gray, baking on the red dirt in the hot Georgia sun.

Scarlett saw tired people.

And she couldn't take it.

Of course, life at the hospital isn't much like that at all. I don't mean to

exaggerate. And I certainly don't mean to compare the work I'm doing to the work of the amazing doctors and nurses that tend to people in war zones.

But, nonetheless, I do see tired people.

I see them pushing carts through the hospital, quietly. Perhaps trying to stay awake after working a night shift at another job.

I see them patiently staffing the desk in the Emergency Department. The question is always, “Are you coming or going?” Meaning, did you just start your 12-hour shift or do you get to go home soon?

I see tired people staring blankly at a TV in the surgery waiting area. That mom with a young baby and the elderly man that is her stepfather have been here since they checked into surgery at 6am this morning. It's now two o'clock in the afternoon and they're keeping their vigil. Their eyes droop, but they do not close. Even if they do, those eyes spring open each time the door to the hallway opens – is it the doctor? Is she out of surgery?

I see tired people as I sit in class with my fellow chaplain interns for 8 hours each Tuesday and Thursday.

We are all glad to be there, but sometimes it's hard to give each other our full attention when you were just up until midnight the night before with a family in the E.R. Or when you know you have to go home and write a sermon tomorrow. Or when you're hoping your mom remembers to pick your son up after swim practice. Or when all this work of taking on other people's tiredness gets to be a bit much.

And of course, I see tired people in the hospital rooms. I put on a gown and gloves to visit a 93-year-old-man. I crack open his door and find him asleep. I enter anyway and sit quietly at the edge of his bed for a few minutes. I debate about offering a prayer – he might hear the words and feel soothed. Or he might wake up unnecessarily.

I see the parents of a newborn. Exhausted from being awake all night last night giving birth to their first child. But they can't sleep. The baby is right there with them, resting in her little crib. They stare at her throughout my visit – unable to remove their tired eyes from this amazing life they've created. No, they're not going to sleep anytime soon. At least not for about 6 months!

I hear the tired stories of a 63-year-old woman who looks about 103. She has to carry around an 80-pound oxygen tank wherever she goes, so she can't get out like she used to. She dreams of going to the covered bridge festival this fall. Or maybe just to Wal-mart next weekend. But she doubts she can go because her daughters never come to help her like they say they will and her beloved husband of 38 years can't lift her oxygen tank either. I bet he's tired, too.

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The parade of tired people is unending. I sit with them and hold their stories. I listen to them cry – sometimes just a single tear slips down a cheek, sometimes they bawl like two-year-olds. I hold a hand. I offer a prayer. I promise to come back later.

Then it's out into the hallway where I rub my hands with antibacterial foam, enter a note in the patient's chart, and offer a quick prayer to re-center myself and shore up my reserves before knocking on the next door.

I never know what will lurk behind any given hospital door, but it's almost always tiredness in one form or another.

I see tired people.

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Tired people are nothing new. Rebekah saw a tired and thirsty man sitting by the well and offered him a drink from her bucket. Jesus saw tired people, too. And he usually handled it better than Scarlett or me. Of course, there was that one time when he called the Syrophoenician woman a dog – but that's a story for another day.

Today, I'd like to stay focused on the passage we have in Matthew. I was joking to Jack earlier this week that although I appreciate Jesus' offer of rest, I'm not so sure I'd be running with open arms toward Jesus at this point.

He's just finished telling his disciples that he's come to turn sons against fathers and that we all have to take up our crosses in order to follow him.

Then he goes on tour, proclaiming his message in various cities. He tells people that they are idiots for not recognizing John the Baptist or himself as messengers from God. And in the portion of chapter 11 that the lectionary conveniently leaves out – verses 20-24 – he curses a bunch of cities, saying they will have it worse than Sodom on the day of judgment.

Then he turns around and says, “Come and rest with me for a while. I'll keep you safe and happy.”

Say what? This just seems wacky, does it not?

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So we are left with the same two options we always have when we come to a troubling passage of scripture – option 1) ignore it, option 2) try to figure out what meaning it holds for our lives.

I'm going to go with option 2. If you prefer option 1, you are free to rest peacefully until the sermon is over.

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I'm not gonna lie, resting with Jesus and casting off my heavy burdens sounds pretty good. But I've got to figure out a couple of things before I jump into his arms.

First, what is the deal with this split-personality effect? One minute, Jesus is calling us a bunch of ignorant children – he says we're like the little kids that sit in the streets and don't know how to behave appropriately at weddings or funerals (that's in verse 17, if you want to look it up). The next minute, he's thanking God and offering rest.

What is going on here?

Let's start by remembering – Matthew did not write this down like a reporter on the scene. Instead, he was using written and oral sources about Jesus and wrote this passage 50 years after Jesus' death. A similar passage about John the Baptist and the cursing of the various cities can be found in Luke, but it's not followed by Jesus offering rest. Mark, the earliest written gospel, doesn't have a similar passage at all.

So, what do we make of this? It's tempting to just throw it out and say, “Oh, okay, maybe Jesus didn't say it.” But I think we should look deeper and try to figure out what Matthew was trying to tell us about Jesus. After all, he lived much closer to the beginning of the Christian movement than we do.

Each of the gospels gives us a slightly different version of Jesus. Matthew makes it clear from the beginning – with his long list of Jesus' genealogy – that Jesus' Jewish heritage and all the teachings that go along with it are very important.

If we reach into our knowledge about the Jewish stories Jesus would have known, the seemingly-contradictory nature of this passage starts to make a little more sense.

It shouldn't surprise you if the depiction of a God who is suddenly angry and then turns around and offers grace and rest is familiar to you.

Just take a look at most of the prophets in our Hebrew Scriptures. Remember the early chapters of the book of Isaiah promising punishment and then hold them up next to God's instruction for the prophet to “Comfort my people” in chapter 40.

Or take a peek anywhere in the book of Hosea. Just flip through and you'll find it.

This God who punishes at one moment and then gives grace the next is often present in our Jewish and Christian heritage. It is a troubling image to have to live with, but we struggle with it in many of our passages of scripture.

Jesus is being portrayed as the heir of the prophets, but he is also the heir of the Jewish Wisdom tradition.

Wisdom is personified in the Hebrew Scriptures – especially Proverbs – as the one who stands in the street – calling to people and helping them see the error of their ways. Lady Wisdom promises a life that is filled with hard work and fun play. A life that is lived abundantly.

Jesus stands in this tradition – unlike the straight-laced John the Baptist, he comes “eating and drinking” merrily. He teaches a difficult way of life, but one that – lived properly – will be full and abundant.

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So we see Matthew's Jesus as a prophet and a wisdom teacher. Are we ready to run into his arms yet? I'm getting closer, because I have a better sense of how he can talk about judgment and grace in the same breath.

But I still want to look more closely at what he's promising me before I make the leap.

When Jesus reaches out to his listeners at the end of this passage, he says, “Come to me all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens 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.”

The weary and heavy burdens part I get right away. After all, I've been seeing lots of tired people lately. They look like they could use a rest. And sometimes, at the end of a 12-hour shift, I could use a rest, too.

…..Let's see, I'll just settle down and try to take a little nap. Or perhaps say a prayer.

Wait – what's that, Jesus?

Did you say you wanted me to put on a yoke? Aren't yokes what oxen use to work in the fields? Why on earth would I want to work in the fields right now?

Didn't I just tell you I'm tired, man?

I want to rest – REST – like take a nap.

Not go out into the fields to work. Are you crazy?

(pausing to listen)

What's that you say? I can't hear you – could you speak a little louder? Oh –

You say that you're very sorry, but you can't find me better-paying job so I don't have to work two shifts a day.

And you're saying that you wish you could find someone to carry my 80-pound oxygen tank, but you're just not much into forcing people to do things.

You're telling me that, yes, it will be many months until my newborn child is able to sleep through the night.

(pausing to think)

I guess these heavy burdens I'm carrying on my back aren't going to get dropped off and forgotten. They're staying with me.

(pause)

Wow – that's not really very good news. I came to church looking for good news today. Being the Christ and all, can't you help me out just a little?

(pausing to listen)

The yoke, the yoke, you keep trying to tell me about this yoke. What is this thing again? Oh, okay, so I put it over my head, I see. Wait – is this like that cross you were telling me to bear earlier? I don't want that! I can't take that right now!

(after being told to calm down)

Okay, okay. I'm listening.

So I put the yoke on over my head. Huh. This actually has kind of a nice fit to it.

(pause – get adjusted to the yoke)

What's that? Oh, you say that when the NRSV says “your yoke is easy” that's kind of a bad translation, huh? It actually should say something more like, “my yoke will fit you just perfectly.” Okay, thanks for explaining.

Yeah, well this one does fit me perfectly. Thanks for making it just my size.

(pause – feel the weight on my shoulders)

But now I have all my burdens and this big yoke on my back. This is really heavy.

I notice there's a spot for another person here. Who do you think is going to step in there? I told you – my mom is too busy to pick up the kids, my daughters won't come to take me to the covered bridge festival, nobody from the church has been to see me since I got sick. I'll never be able to carry this thing all by myself!

(despairing pause)

Wait – what's that you say? You're going to pick up the other side of the yoke to help me carry it?

Oh.

Okay.