Still Standing, But Barely

Preached in Hamilton Chapel at MTS at the first gathering of faculty and staff for the new academic year, 8/12/25

Still Standing, But Not Alone

Hear a reading from Matthew 11, where Jesus says: 

“Come to me, all you who 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.”

I know what you’re thinking -

 “Preacher, it’s our first day together and you start with weary?

Weary already?  

Maybe it’s not weary already, maybe it’s more like already weary.

Because weary is real.

It accumulates. 

Quietly. 

Incrementally. 

Relentlessly.

Weary wears you out.  

Ever been so weary you can’t sleep?

Truth is, short of the other side of glory, we all carry some level of it.

And if you haven’t yet, you will.

We usually don’t want our weariness to show.  

Something about a strong disposition, intestinal fortitude, stiff upper lip, and all that.  But despite our best efforts to mask it, weary has a way of slipping out. 

The million miles away stare.  

The sigh we didn’t mean to let out so loudly when one more person knocks on our office door.  

Or maybe it’s the tersely worded email we send to the wrong people.

But we tough stock folks.  

So when someone asks us how we are, you know how we do?  What do we say?

“Fine.”

Or, being from the 901, as I’ve been since high school, “You good?”  “Yeah, I’m good.”

I wonder, when we say something that doesn’t match what’s true inside,  are we being untruthful on purpose?  I don’t think so.  We’re just not ready to wear our weariness in front of people who might not be able to handle it.

Ever hit the wall of weariness and it hit back?  I did many years ago, With all due respect and appreciation for Ms. Winfrey, I was not living my best life. 

Before therapy. 

Before treatment. 

Before realizing that being in care giving vocations is not that same as receiving care for self and you’re a crisis away from saturation…

You know what this is, right?  It’s the sponge that can absorb and hold water up to a point, after which even one tiny, little drop is too much, and it’ll start dripping.  It’s that state of being that no matter how much you can carry, how much you can absorb, there comes a point when one more thing, and it doesn’t matter what it is, is one thing too many. 

Yeah I didn’t realize it, and I did meltdown.   

But I remember in my strained logic that I wasn’t going to lie when people asked how I was, and I surely wasn’t going unload how I was on them, so, I came up with an answer that was true - ish.  

 “How are you?”  “Still standing.”

Sometimes shaky. 

Sometimes leaning.
If still standing is all you got, there’s a good chance you’re weary.

So yes. 

We start this new academic year as we begin again, … already weary.

New semester.  

Some new faces. 

Same institutional worries.  

Same ache.

We’re here in ministry, together, grateful to be part of the mission of this place.

But we weary.

Tired and hyperextended. 

But still standing.

Wobbly legged from wondering what it all means, what are going to do, and who are we going to be.  

But still standing.

So yeah, we start with weary.  

And I want you to hear me say this morning that it’s ok to be weary, cause I know somebody who wants to walk in the weary with us.  

We’re not the first to be weary. Hardly.

Earlier in Matthew 11 even John the Baptist—
 the forerunner, the womb-leaper, the prophet, the baptizer—
  sends word from his prison cell:

“Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?”

That’s not doubt. 

That’s prophetic burnout.  

That brother’s weary.

And Jesus doesn’t rebuke him.
 Doesn’t shame him.
 Doesn’t question his faith.

He sends back a word:

“Tell John what we see and hear—
 the blind see, the lame walk, the poor have good news preached to them.”

Even in weariness, the Realm of God comes into being. 

Even when we can’t feel it.
 Even when we’re too tired to notice.

To the cities that saw who Jesus was —
 but wouldn’t change.
 To the people who experienced grace—
 but didn’t respond gracefully…

“To you, Chorazin…, Bethsaida…” Capernaum” 

Jesus would like a word. 

”Woe.”

Because as unbelieveable as it seems some folks can experience grace, mercy, and love lived out and not be moved by it, changed by it, willing to turn around, willing to go beyond the minds they have about who they are and who God is to embrace a new way of knowing God and neighbor.    

No, some folks are far more willing to follow Jesus on their terms than follow him on his.  What’s that old line from Jonathan Swift, “we have just enough religion to hate, but not enough to love one another.”  

Some folks ?  Maybe any of us.  All of us. 

Woe, indeed. 

And then Jesus pivots from prophetic pronouncement to invitation.  “Come to me, all who are weary”

And the word here uses — kopiaō —

doesn’t mean “kinda sleepy.”
 It means: spent.
 Exhausted.
 Soul-tired.

It’s the kind of tired we earn.
 The kind that seeps into our bones.

That’s where we are now.

 A seminary community still standing.

Staff and faculty.
 IT, and the business office.

Admissions busting their tails.

Stewards of our buildings doing all they can with very little, to say nothing of our Dean and President.

We wear a dozen hats.
 Sometimes all in the same day.

It’s wearying.  

But we are still standing— and next week, students will come…new students who picked us as the place to explore God’s call on their lives will walk in here for the first time.  And students of long standing, some of whom we’re just trying to get out of here will come back…

But we’re weary, already.

And we’re supposed to form leaders in the way of Jesus
 while also remembering how to breathe?

And into all of that—

 Jesus says:

“Take my yoke upon you…”

Now, wait a minute.  That might sound like more work.

 I’m not trying to take on more.

But in Jesus’ world, the yoke is a partnership.

A shared burden.   A fitting burden.  One with distributed weight.
 One we don’t carry alone.

This isn’t about quitting the work.
 It’s about rediscovering why we said yes to it.

This isn’t about escaping the burden.
 It’s about remembering who carries it with us.

So let’s come.

Let’s come with our syllabi and our sighs.
 Let’s come with our mission and our mess.
 Let’s come with our theology and our therapy.

Let’s come with our honest selves.

Not to quit.

Not to hide.

But to rest.

To yoke up with the One who is gentle,
 humble, present.

Still standing.

But thanks be to God, not alone.

Amen.