Sunday Faith Reflection

For those who feel "heavy laden."

Just a brief thought for today, launching off on “Rerum Novarum” week here at Christendom Reborn. From today’s Gospel reading:

At that time Jesus said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.

Matthew 11:25-26

As a mother of young children, I sometimes found it beautiful to think about those Biblical passages that present the young and innocent as ideally suited to receive God. Other times, I found it irritating. It’s true of course that young children have a certain beauty and innocence. It’s lovely to look at a sleeping baby, and imagine that he might be dreaming about Jesus. At times young children are capable of real generosity and deep affection. Every one of my sons went through a phase where they loved to pick me dandelions in the spring, believing them to be one of my favorite flowers. You know what? Now they are.

At other times, those passages rankled a little. Because, look. Young children are very much fallen! If you care for them 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, you can’t fail to realize this. They throw tantrums because they don’t get their preferred color of lollipop. They seethe with resentment when another child gets to the toy they wanted first. They push your buttons all day long, and if you finally snap and shout at them after several long hours of holding it together, you feel like the monster. Is this fair?

I have faults too of course, but I’ve genuinely worked to discipline some of those pettier impulses. I’ve suffered more, labored longer and harder, stayed the course (mostly? I hope?) for many more years. Now, after all that, I’m less innocent. Less endearing. Not overflowing with that spontaneous sweetness and joy. But I don’t know, I think it’s quite possible I too could be a little sweeter and more charming if… someone else was responsible for all my needs all day long?

In the thick of middle-aged adult responsibilities, childlike innocence can seem pretty distant. But you got here, in no small part, by trying to do the right things. Then you read a passage like this and think, “Did I somehow lose by playing?”

The beautiful thing about this Gospel is that it immediately addresses that very question.

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.

Matthew 28-30

That’s a lovely promise, particularly on days when one feels “heavy laden.” I can’t speak for everyone of course, but I assume for most of us the message isn’t, “good news, you’re excused from all onerous adult commitments.” Jesus’ yoke is “easy” because he is offering to help you. The asks can feel big, and may in fact be, but you aren’t really expected to carry them alone.

Is it possible to recapture the joy and sweetness of children without losing the capacity to shoulder real responsibility? I think it is. I’m not saying it’s effortless. But it’s nice to think our best efforts might have gotten us somewhere after all.