“This isn’t who I want to be. Why do I do this? This isn’t who I want to become.”
I was sitting on the couch in my sponsor’s basement, going over a 4th & 5th step—taking a moral inventory of myself and admitting the exact nature of my wrongs. I was owning up to sin in my life: the ways I have missed the mark, the ways I’ve broken relationships, the ways I have refused to love wholeheartedly.
And I was frustrated. Because there were (and are) clear patterns—patterns of sin in my speech and behavior that don’t align with who I want to be. They’re often baffling and seemingly unbreakable. Facing up to these patterns of habitual sin and brokenness made Paul’s exasperation today really relatable.
So often, even if we want what is good and healthy in life, what is evil and destructive is lurking near at hand to thwart us. “I do not understand my own actions,” Paul says. “I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do”
“This isn’t who I want to be. This isn’t how I want to act…Why am I like this?”
To be clear, addiction is not in itself a sin. But the sickness and secrecy that comes with addiction—that I’ve spoken about here pretty often in my homilies before—does create fertile ground for these baffling habits. And the process of spiritual growth required to heal from addiction shines a spotlight on the contradictory nature of these habitual sins. It’s a contradiction at the core of the fallenness and frailty that all of humanity—each one of us—shares.
We are creatures. God shaped us and breathed life into us and gave us our place in the world, so that our whole lives could be one big act of worship, relishing in love & communion & unity with God and all of creation. And at a deep level, we all long for this life of communion—this life as creatures delighting in their loving creator.
But sin creates a contradiction. Although in our inmost selves we long for the goodness we were created for, we don’t act like this is our hearts’ deepest desire. We act towards God, ourselves, and the people & things around us as though we were the creators. We take on ourselves the burden and false glory of being masters of our fate—treating the world as an end in itself, ruling our own little fiefdoms, rather than treasuring the world as the garden in which we simply enjoy the presence of God.
“This isn’t who we want to be. This isn’t who we want to become.” And yet still we reject our role as beloved creatures giving thanks to their loving creator.
Over the course of our history this contradiction has wormed its way into every crevice of the systems and the societies’ we’ve built. What may have at first felt like empowerment, authority, and greatness, becomes the weight of a broken world pressing down on our shoulders. In our inmost being we may love God’s ways and long for goodness, but we find ourselves trapped following paths which thwart that desire—paths of alienation, domination, and empire—paths of sin. We wound ourselves and each other again and again, even though at the core of our being we long for the goodness of love and communion. Our souls are weighed down by this burden of sin—this yoke of contradiction
At some point all of us experience this yoke. That is why it resounds again and again through Scripture. It may look like the waterless pit in Zechariah today—being separated from the fresh springs and freedom that we know we were made for. It may look like Paul’s “body of death” he’s so frustrated with—like dead weight hanging on our souls that won’t move like we want. Or it may look like the contrariness of the generation Christ speaks to—never satisfied with the way God is present in the world. Whatever it looks like, this contradiction is exhausting, because it’s not how we were created to live—either as individuals or as a species.
Weary and heavy laden, we cry with Paul and the captives of Zion, “This isn’t who we want to be. This isn’t who we want to become. Who will set us free?”
And it is then, as we labor under the yoke of contradiction, that we hear Jesus’ voice calling out: “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.”
In the Incarnation, God becomes human—Creator becomes creature—in order to offer us an alternative to the burden of contradiction we’ve placed ourselves under. Jesus invites us to follow and learn from him. He invites us to learn how to be human again—how to embrace our role as creatures. To set aside the cunning and baffling patterns of sin that trap us in acting like we’re the Creator. He invites us to lay aside this yoke of contradiction—to set down the many ways we turn away from our most fundamental desire for communion with God through all of creation. Jesus sees us laboring under the yoke of sin, living in a quote-unquote “body of death,” languishing in a waterless pit. And he invites us to rest.
The yoke he offers is still a yoke. There’s still work to do. Being healed and set free from the burden of sin doesn’t mean running off to go it alone wherever we please. That illusory promise of living for ourselves and ourselves alone is precisely what got humanity trapped in the first place. No, we still have work to do. There’s still a yoke.
But it’s the yoke that we were created to carry. It’s the yoke of humility and gentleness, rather than anger or pride. It’s the yoke of seeing that we are beloved creatures held forever in the embrace of a Creator who loves us. It’s the yoke of treasuring all of creation—our selves, our siblings, and the world around us—as the sacrament of God’s presence and communion with us. It’s the yoke of giving thanks to God for the very gift of our being, lifting our hearts to God.
It undoes this contradiction of sin by embracing who and what we were created to be. And because we were created to carry this yoke, this work that Jesus invites us into is light. Living in constant gratitude towards God may not be easy at first, but it’s a burden that lifts up our hearts the more we accept it. Living in humility and genuine love for each other is a yoke that sets us free when we take it up.
So when we’re worn down and weary because we do the things we don’t want to do and don’t do the things we do want to do… When we’re weary of carrying this burden of sin… When we’re frustrated and calling out with Paul, “Who will save us?” Jesus’ voice cuts through the noise and invites us to follow him. He invites us to find rest in a life centered on love and gratitude towards the Creator that calls us beloved. Jesus invites us to learn and relearn from him: how to be human; how to be creatures; how to delight in love and communion with God and each other; how to carry the yoke we’re created to carry; how to become the people we do want to be—the people we were made to be.