The Right Yoke
Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly,
Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see Thee in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold Thy glory.
– Puritan prayer
If you’re tired, most people would say, stop working. Take a vacation or a break. Get some self-care. Not that there’s anything wrong with those things. But no one would say, go get under a yoke and plow a field.
Jesus says in Matthew 11, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Jesus says the way to find rest is not to stop working, but to get under the right yoke. What does this mean?
A yoke is a wooden crosspiece that is fastened over the necks of two animals and attached to the plow or cart that they are to pull. It enables a pair of animals, typically oxen, to pull a load together such that their direction is synchronized and burden is shared. A yoke also represents a condition of submission or servitude—and so it is both materially outdated and conceptually unpopular in our culture, which defines freedom as lack of restraint. No one should tell you what to do or where to go; everyone should define their own meaning.
Jesus’ statement begins with a simple and radical supposition: we all labor under some kind of yoke, under some kind of burden. Perhaps it is the burden of living up to the expectations of your work culture or your parents. Perhaps you are laboring against your fears and trying to realize the expectations you have set for yourself. Whatever it is, there is a “work under the work,” as Tim Keller once put it: a need to prove and save ourselves, to achieve worth and identity. Our emphasis upon self-determinism does not ameliorate this need, but in fact exacerbates it. As David Brooks writes in his book The Second Mountain, when we are handed our particular definition of freedom (no limits) along with authenticity (look inside yourself) and autonomy (it’s up to you), we’re basically saying, “figure it out yourself based on no criteria outside yourself.”
Pausing our physical work does not address the ceaseless, internal striving beneath our labors. And we know when we’re at that place. We leak anxiety. We feel the burden of figuring it out or working harder. We feel tired. The word Jesus uses for “labor” is not “wholesome, life-giving work,” but literally “to feel fatigue, to grow tired with toil.”
Then enters the imperative, a word which Jesus uses many times in the gospels: “come.” That is something we must do. And this is the promise: we will be given rest. Rest is not something we generate, or achieve; it is something we receive, if we come. How do we practically experience that rest? First we come out from whatever burden we are laboring under: we cannot take Jesus’ yoke until we put off our own.
And then, we take his yoke. We do labor, but we let the direction, pace, and purpose of our labors be determined by Jesus. One who bears a yoke has a posture of meekness, an attitude of yielding trust, and a constant consciousness of the promise of guidance. What is the bigger kingdom story behind our work? How might Jesus change our view of work or motivation for it? Are we praying for guidance and discernment in how we respond to opportunities or make connections? Are we laboring from love and trust rather than insecurity and fear?
Because yokes are most commonly used for two animals paired together, is there a suggestion here that Jesus labors with us? Perhaps. Jesus certainly bears our burdens: “he himself bore our sins in his body on the tree” (1 Peter 2:24). The one most high and holy became meek and lowly, the meekest and lowliest of us all. And even now, part of humbling ourselves is to be “casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you (1 Peter 5:7).”
Maybe the real rest is as simple as this: I don’t have to have it all figured out. I don’t have to bear the unspoken burdens of whatever world or relationships I inhabit. I don’t have to become the kind of person they say I need to be to have value and worth. I just need to come to Jesus, to walk in step with him, and as I learn, as I labor, I will find true rest for my soul.
