Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, 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. (Matthew 11:28, 29)
A crack from the whip split the air next to the young ox’s ear.
“On, ya rascal. Why can’t ya be like ol’ Max?” The farmer bellowed.
The yearling, Georgy Boy by name, was having a rough go. The farmer put him in the same yoke with Maximilian. Max pulled straight on, even when sweet meadows beckoned or the lovely cows mooed. Near the end of the day, Georgy Boy panted from straining after this mouthful or that gate.
His thoughts were simple. “Tired … huff. Must rest. Lean on Max. Go where Max go. Ha, Max carry yoke, Georgy Boy rest.”
I spent so much of my life straining to be a prosperous businessman and philanthropist that I wore myself out. More for me, for my family, and for the kingdom of God—such worthy goals. But my agendas were mine, not from the Lord. When I looked back on my row, there were nothing but zigzags. I needed rest from myself.
“Come to me and learn,” Jesus said. “Walk close, touch me, and rest. My yoke will be on you, but I’ll shoulder the burden.”
My own yoke—the corporation I founded, the belongings I acquired, and the pride I boasted—was exhausting. I traded it for the yoke of Jesus and became a pastor and missionary. To my surprise, the burden was even heavier. The yoke of Jesus, after all, pulls people out of eternal hell.
Attempting to carry the yoke of Jesus, or steer it one direction or another, feels much like when I made zigzags under my own yoke. It exhausts me to the core. So I can’t wear my yoke, and I can’t carry his.
My new goal is a contemplative life, in his yoke with him. I want to learn Georgy Boy’s lesson and walk alongside, feel Jesus’s touch, and let him do the work.
Prayer: My friend, Jesus, thank you for the companionship and rest.