A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, July 6, 2008
Matthew 11:16-19
Matthew 11:25-30
“I know that I am living the American dream that my parents searched for themselves and their children. [But], does that mean that we need to forget our past history and fully assimilate into the American culture? Am I wrong if I [would] rather eat some tacos de carne asada con guacamole instead of hot dogs with ketchup and mustard? This has made me a member of a different American generation, children of Mexican immigrants that are contributing to the progression of American society.”
This is how Jesús explains his identity. He’s a Mexican-American. His parents were immigrants and as a child, he was made to feel like a visitor in this land where his family had come home to breathe free and rest.
As he grew up, Jesús used words – which are sometimes all we have when everything seems to be changing. And so much is changing, isn’t it? Not just for Jesús. Generations are changing. Not just the difference between a first generation immigrant and a second generation immigrant, like Jesús. It’s more than that. It’s generations themselves. We can’t even rely on an accepted definition of what a generation is. We used to think that a generation was “defined the same way a genealogy was: “by the succession backwards from parents to grandparents to great grandparents.” And then came the Baby Boomers and the definition changed. It has become defined “by some major event or attribute that [that generation has] in common.” This definition also fits the World War II generation. It makes sense until you get to my generation, and then the theory doesn’t work so well. In my generation, we get stuck when Jesus asks,
“But to what will I compare this generation?”
We have no idea. My generation doesn’t know how to compare this generation. Or any generation. But, like Jesús, we need words. We use our words to explain ourselves. We use words to tell stories that make sense of our world. We use words because words have the power to save the world — even when we fumble and struggle to find the right words to articulate what we mean. Words have awesome power. As people of faith, we believe that they have the power to save – which is why we elevate the Word and listen very carefully to those red letters in our Bibles that indicate that the importance of Jesus’ words, even when those red letters don’t seem to make any sense (as with today’s Gospel Lesson).
Still, we listen to those red letters of Jesus’ words. We start with that question Jesus asks to the crowds about the previous generation – the generation of John the Baptist. One wasn’t better than the other. Jesus isn’t more intelligent than John. That’s why he uses that ‘like Father, like son’ language. It’s isn’t that Jesus has the only answer – even though it appears that Matthew wasn’t listening so well when he transcribed these red words of Jesus. These two generations of Jesus and John just had a different way of doing things.
They were after the same truth. They professed a faith in the same God, but when one generation looks at the other, looking forward or backward, we often become overwhelmed in the differences. We compare them and wonder why the older generations won’t learn to e-mail and why the younger generations don’t come to church. But, instead of comparing the generations, Jesus just asks the question.
He doesn’t offer an answer – but observes how the children behave. The children sit in the marketplace and call to each other with their own words. They don’t call to the older generations. They call to their peers asking why they don’t dance and don’t cry. It’s natural to dance when there is music. It’s automatic that when someone else cries, we share in their grief. But, why does Jesus use their words? What’s so important about the words of these children in the marketplace? What are they noticing that the older generations haven’t? Or is it even about generations at all?
Are these complicated words in the Gospel of Matthew really just about the invitation to sacred rest that Jesus offers at the end of the passage? Is that really all that matters? Do we just need to hear Jesus remind us,
“Come to me all you that are weary and 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 I will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Are these words all we need to contribute to the progression of American society? Do we simply need to hear these words and find that much needed rest amid so much change? Could the burden ever be that light?
Or is it that our words matter that much? So that even in the most complicating of circumstances, we must learn how to talk to each other, how to assure each other, how to comfort each other so that we never forget how to dance when there is music or to cry when another mourns. Perhaps that is what makes the burden light. Perhaps it is just a matter of yoking our vocabulary with the right words to assure each other not of the American Dream or the progression of American society – but of the sacred rest that we offer each other at table – to dance, to cry, to eat and to drink. Maybe we only need to find the right words to remind each other that all are welcome to this table, so
“Come to [eat and drink] all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and [we will find] rest.”