Readings (Track 2)

The oracle from the prophet Zechariah—our first reading—may sound familiar, for Matthew uses it to interpret Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem at the beginning of Holy Week. Perhaps we’re hearing it today because Jesus’ self-description as humble (πραΰς) echoes Zechariah’s description of this victorious king (עָנִי/ πραΰς).

In any case, the oracle was probably puzzling to Zechariah’s hearers. Now only an insignificant bit of a vast Persian Empire, “Lo, your king comes to you; / triumphant and victorious is he” would sound like very good news, the restoration of David’s Empire. But “humble and riding on a donkey”? Better a war chariot; you don’t bring a knife to a gun fight! Zechariah doesn’t explain how this will work, but it’s probably a clue as to what ‘humble’ means. This king’s triumph and victory isn’t from having a bigger army, but from trust in Israel’s God, who earlier in the book had proclaimed “Sing and rejoice, O daughter Zion! For lo, I will come and dwell in your midst, says the LORD” (2:10).

And this humility, by which also we find our humanity in our dependence on God, is probably related to Zechariah’s addressing his hearers as “prisoners of hope.” Hope’s a hard sell, whether then or now. The majority opinion: better to have enough clout so that you don’t need to hope. But “enough clout” is a moving goalpost (never quite enough), and Israel’s God is trustworthy, so hope is something to lean into, rather than to avoid.

Let’s turn to today’s Gospel. Despite their best efforts, neither John the Baptist nor Jesus have managed to move the needle much towards repentance and renewal. Matthew juxtaposes two of Jesus’ responses to this. The first: Jesus’ description of “this generation:” like children who want too many contradictory things, or haven’t figured out or faced what they really want. For a modern treatment of the theme, recall C.S. Lewis’ novel Till we have faces: “How can [the gods] meet us face to face till we have faces?”

(Perhaps coincidently, the semi-continuous reading of Romans in our second reading has us hearing Paul’s description of the divided self. Remarkably, after twenty centuries commentators are still unable to agree as to whether Paul is describing his past [pre-Christian] or present [Christian] experience. If nothing else, this underscores the difficulty we humans have in giving—or recognizing—a useful account of ourselves!)

Jesus’ second response: a prayer—and here we’ll need to slow down. “The wise and the intelligent:” wisdom and intelligence per se are good (Deut 1:13; Hos 14:9 etc.). The problem is that they can be used in self-serving ways, as Isaiah in particular observed (19:11; 29:14), ways that can spell disaster for others. Matthew gives us an example of this at the beginning of his Gospel. Herod’s cruelty and paranoia were proverbial. “Better to be Herod’s pig than son” is commonly attributed to the emperor Augustus. But when asked where the Messiah was to be born, the wise and intelligent respond considering only their own interests, consigning the infants of Bethlehem to certain death. Later, as John’s Gospel recalls, the wise and intelligent—in this case, the high priest—reason “it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (11:50). So the Father “hiding” things in Jesus’ prayer turns out to be simply letting the effects of the decisions of the wise and intelligent play themselves out. Where the Father’s initiative comes in is in nevertheless revealing to infants, as we’ve watched in Jesus’ calling of Peter, Andrew, James, John…

By the way, circling back for a moment to this business of self-knowledge, if I’m reading these stories about Jesus’ opponents and thinking “What bad people!” I need to recall Paul’s words to  the Corinthians: “Now these things occurred as examples for us, so that we might not desire evil as they did.… So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall” (1 Cor 10:6, 12).

“[N]o one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son.” That reflects the conflict that’s been building between the wise and intelligent and Jesus over what their people’s history is about, what the commandments are about. Jesus’ reading of the situation: his opponents have so painted themselves into a corner that they’re no longer hearing their own Scripture, e.g., today’s psalm: “The Lord is loving to everyone / and his compassion is over all his works.” So yes, Jesus eats with “tax collectors and sinners” (& 9:11) and repeatedly recalls Hosea’s “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (9:13; 12:7). In other words, as Matthew portrays it, the assumption of the wise and intelligent that they know enough about God to be able to write off Jesus is delusional.

Today some assume that they know enough about God to be able to evaluate the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammad, etc. as potential guides. Others assume that in proclaiming “Jesus is the only way to God” they know who that God is. Jesus’ words might give both groups pause. What Jesus’ words imply may be something like this: for everyone—the preacher included—discipleship is the lifelong process of coming to know the God of Jesus (Segundo Galilea).

“[A]nd anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.” And what Jesus chooses: an open invitation: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” What an invitation, and how easy to misunderstand. It’s not a rest in which I have everything under control. It’s not a rest in which I have enough clout that I don’t need to hope. It’s rest because I’m not trying to play god, and am learning—however slowly—to trust Jesus’ God.

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart…” Other teachers would talk about the yoke of the Torah or of the commandments; “my yoke” would have raised eyebrows. It follows from Jesus’ unique relationship to the Father, so that back in the Sermon on the Mount Jesus repeatedly says “You have heard it said…but I say.” But Jesus puts this unique relationship at the service of his hearers: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me,” rather than taking it as a reason for separation or self-protection. “Gentle and humble in heart” indeed.

“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” I suspect Jesus throws in things like this also to see if we’re paying attention.  Easy, light? In the Sermon on the Mount we heard: “For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life” (7:14). Easy, light? I suspect Matthew wants us to wonder about that, wondering that might take us in a variety of directions. I wonder if in the context of Matthew’s Gospel as a whole it isn’t something like this: “my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” because we’re doing this together.

Triumph and victory arriving not in a war chariot, but “humble and riding on a donkey.” An invitation to double down on hope, rather than seek enough clout to leave hope behind. That’s also the invitation of the Table around which we’ll soon be gathering. Everyone is welcome; there is room for everyone; there is enough for everyone. For Jesus continues to extend the invitation: let’s do this together.