“Learn from Me”

Our reading this morning: from Philippians and chapter 2 and reading the first eleven verses. If you’re able to turn to it, I encourage you to do so. Philippians chapter 2 and reading from verse 1:

“So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

Amen.

Father, as we turn to the Bible, we pray for the enabling of the Holy Spirit to be able to understand its truth, to believe it, to trust in it, and to live in the light of it. Help me, then, to this end, in speaking from your Word, that it may be your voice that is heard. And in your name we pray. Amen.

Well, let’s just read Matthew 11:28–30. Jesus says, “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.”

So we come now for the third time to what is referred to—this little passage—as “comfortable words” in the prayer book. (I wasn’t pausing to remember what it was. I was pausing to try and clear my throat. I’m out of practice here, so you’ll have to bear with me.) This is, of course, familiar territory. It is as well-known as many a passage in the Bible. It is clear, it is unmistakable, it is universal in its appeal, and it is clearly personal in its application.

It can be read, as I read it, in a matter of seconds. It is an invitation that stands alone and by itself. And what we’ve chosen to do by taking focus on these individual verbs has broken it up in a way that I hope will not cause us to miss the larger point that is being made. We began by looking at the straightforward invitation, “Come to me,” straightforward, simple, clear; and then “Take my yoke upon you,” from invitation to obligation; and now, this morning, to “learn from me,” which, if you like, we can say is education; and then, all being well, God willing, next Sunday, “find rest for your souls”—if you like, the ultimate transformation.

Now, I want to make sure that folks who have not been with us don’t feel left behind. And there is a sense in which all of these verbs, of course, fold into this one great invitation. It’s important, I think, to at least make this point: that the taking and the learning and, ultimately, the finding, these things are actually different from the coming. It’s not that the obligation and the learning, the discipleship, are prerequisites for coming. Rather, having come to Jesus, having acknowledged the very straightforward invitation that has been given, then evidence of the fact that we have responded to the invitation will be seen not least of all in our obeying his Word and in learning of him.

I have had in my mind this week the person who is still not convinced about this, the person who understands that when an invitation is given—and all of us understand this—that we have to make a decision: Are we accepting the invitation? And in the normal run of things, people will say things like “Well, I don’t know if I want to go.” People say, “Well, I don’t know if I have anything to wear.” And somebody else says, “Well, I don’t know what is expected. Do I have to bring anything? What do I need to do?” And, of course, eventually, that just folds into “Oh, well, we won’t go then,” usually.

Evidence of the fact that we have responded to Jesus’ invitation will be seen not least of all in our obeying his Word and in learning of him.

And sometimes, as people listen to the very straightforward invitation of Jesus, “Come to me,” because we operate on that basis, because we are by nature self-reliant, somehow or another, in our minds, we say, “It just can’t be as straightforward as that. He’s surely not saying, ‘Just come to me.’” But yes, he is. What Jesus is saying is akin to what the prophets said by God—for example, classically, in Isaiah: “Come,” says God through the prophet,

  everyone who thirsts,
 come to the waters;
and he who has no money,
 come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
 without money and without price.[1]

And that invitation that is there in Isaiah is actually found again at the very end of the Bible, in the final chapter of the Bible, in Revelation chapter 22.[2] It is restated there. Jesus says, “Come.” The provision is his, and what he’s saying is “Just bring yourself.” “Do I have to bring anything?” No.

Let me ask you a question: Do you think you need to clean yourself up in order to come to God? Do you think you could ever clean yourself up enough? How clean would you need to be to meet a holy God? Entirely clean! Then on what basis could you possibly come? And yet he says, “Come.” Because in his voice of coming there is enabling. His voice, sounding out, stirs in the hearts of those who are weary and laden down and burdened, whatever it might be.

And the call is not, as we’ve said, to a philosophy. It’s not to a program. It’s not to a religious expression. It’s just to a person. “‘I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Come unto me and rest,”’[3] and I came to him.” That is Christian testimony. That’s the testimony. It’s not “I heard the voice of Jesus say… and I went to church.” That’s fine. “I heard the voice of Jesus say… and I thought I should clean up my act.” Fair enough. No! “‘I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Come unto me and rest,”’ and I did. ‘I heard the voice of Jesus say, “I am this dark world’s light,”’[4] and I stepped out of my darkness and into his light. I heard him say, ‘I am the living water,’ and I drank of it.”

That is the testimony of genuine, believing Christianity. And that is the call that sounds out from Jesus in this invitation. That’s why as a church, we’re committed to one another to saying we want to see unbelieving people become the committed followers of Jesus Christ. And that starts with this invitation.

Who Is He?

“Oh, very well,” you say. “I hear you. I hear the urgency in your voice and so on. But I’m not sure. I have a couple of questions. My first question is this: Who is he? Who is this person who issues this call?” Well, of course, the answer is: it’s Jesus. But who is he?

That’s the question that you find on the lips of Saul of Tarsus, remember, recorded for us in Acts 9 and, if you were doing the M’Cheyne readings this morning, rehearsed once again in Acts chapter 22, where Paul gives his testimony. And he describes how he had warrants in his baggage as he heads towards Damascus in order that he might find these crazy followers of Jesus and disavow them of this notion that they are presenting to the world that Jesus is none other than the Messiah of God. As an orthodox Jew, he is done with that notion. His monotheism is such that he cannot wrap his head around it. And then what happens to him? He heard the voice of Jesus saying, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” And you can read the story for yourself. It’s so wonderful! You remember what his answer is when he is confronted by this bright, shining light? He says, “Who are you, Lord?”[5] “Who are you?”

Now, you may be still answering or asking that question. It’s not only on the lips of Paul, but here, actually, in Matthew chapter 11, you find that this was the exact same thing that John the Baptist was wrestling with. It’s quite staggering—and we’ll be dealing with John the Baptist tonight in John chapter 1, with his great declaration. But at the beginning of Matthew 11—if your Bible is open, you can check and see if it’s there—“when John heard in prison”—verse 2—“about the deeds of … Christ, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who [was] to come, or [should] we [be] look[ing] for [someone else]?’” “Who are you? I thought I had it very clear in my mind, but I’m… That’s why I’ve sent these fellows: just to check.” What was the problem? Well, John couldn’t understand how he could be in prison if the Messiah was establishing his kingdom. The two things didn’t fit: “I mean, if he’s come to bring freedom and everything, how in the world did I get stuck in here?” And so he finds himself, in a very honest way, saying the same thing: “I must be sure who Jesus is.”

Now, somebody will immediately say, “Well, of course, I’m not John the Baptist. I never met him. And I’m certainly not Saul of Tarsus. I haven’t had a blinding light or anything like that.” No, no. Those things are unique to the circumstance. But the individual reality of coming to Jesus contains the same elements. When you go back and read in Acts chapter 9, Luke tells us that “something like scales fell from” the eyes of Saul of Tarsus. It’s a picture. It’s a metaphor. “Something like scales.” He couldn’t see, and then he could see. And then he arose, and he “was baptized.”[6] See, he heard the “Come”; and then he understood “Take my yoke” and the obligation to follow Jesus in discipleship, and so he was baptized; and then he proceeds through life to learn about Jesus. That’s what’s happening when we study the Bible on our own, when we study together.

But I got one other one. Surprising—and we mention it from time to time—as it is, it’s there in the Scriptures. Do you think that you could have lived in the company of Jesus for virtually three years and still not been as far forward as Philip was himself? John chapter 14. John chapter 14. We can’t read it all. It’s the part that begins, “Let not your hearts be troubled. [You] believe in God; believe also in me,”[7] and so on. And in the course of that, Jesus declares he’s “the way, … the truth, and the life,” and nobody can come to the Father except through him—come to the Father except through him. And he says, you know, “If you had known me, you would have known my Father also. From now on you do know him and [you] have seen him.” Response by Philip: “Lord, show us the Father, and it[’s] enough for us.”[8]

“Jesus said to him…” I would have said to him, “Give me a break, Philip! How much… I mean, how much clearer can I possibly be? I just told you: he who has seen me has seen the Father. Sit down, Philip!” That’s the kind of schoolteacher I would be. I would be horrible, absolutely horrible. Jesus doesn’t teach that way. When you learn from Jesus, you can ask dumb questions. “Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you so long, and you still do not know me, Philip?’”[9] “You don’t know who I am.” Well, let me ask you: Do you, separated from the invitation by unbelief, separated from the invitation by the fact that you are just not sure, separated because it’s just not clear?

Now, this is only the beginning of this address, but I need at least to say this: “Come to him” involves KAT. That is KAT with a K. All right? K-A-T. Someone says, “All right. I hear what’s being said. In fact, I’m a member of the youth group, and I learned about this during the summer. We were on a project, and I am one of the people you’re talking about, Pastor. What is this KAT business?”

K for knowledge. Knowledge. Coming to Jesus is not irrational. Coming to Jesus involves our minds. It involves our thinking. It involves our consideration of the material that is presented to us. We need a knowledge of what it is that we are supposed to respond to. That’s K. A: assent—in other words, that we actually believe the things. We believe the facts to be true. And then T: trust. Trust. Knowledge, assent, trust. And if you are a Christian today, if you have come to Jesus, then your hope does not rest on your belief. Your hope rests on the object of your belief. You don’t have faith in faith, do you? You have faith in the Lord Jesus.

What Does He Do?

“Oh, well,” somebody says, “that’s fair enough. I get that. I’m tracking with you on that. But I have a second question: If that’s who he is, what does he do? What does he do?” And, of course, we have already pondered some of this. We noticed that he promises rest to the weary and to the burdened. He delivers men and women from futile attempts to please God by our own endeavors. He sets men and women free from the rotten tyranny of trying somehow or another to make sense of our existence by bowing before substitute gods.

And the one who does these things, the one who issues these invitations, hangs around with the people that need his message. He wasn’t big on religious clubs. In fact, you will see that he, in Matthew chapter 11, still in our text—in about the nineteenth verse, I think it is, you will find it there. (That’s in John chapter 11; that won’t work.) Matthew chapter 11, he is accused of being a glutton and a drunkard. What an amazing thought, isn’t it? “I am the way, … the truth, and the life.” “I wouldn’t pay any attention to him. He’s… You should see him. Yeah. I mean, John the Baptist, he’s bad on the one side. He’s a separatist. He’s a weirdo. I mean, you wouldn’t want, really, anything to do with him, and he’s always about cutting down trees and setting fires and everything. Stay away from that stuff. But over here—yeah, I don’t think you want to pay much attention to that either. He’s… He’s a glutton. He’s a drunkard. That’s what we say. He’s actually… He’s a friend of strange people. He has strange, strange friends.” “John came neither eating nor drinking, and they [said], ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’”[10]

The scribes and the Pharisees, of course, grumbled and complained that Jesus moved in these circles. But he says, “Of course I move in these circles! These are the people that I have come to save. It’d be very strange if I wasn’t in the company of those who need me.” “I have[n’t] come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.”[11]

Well, how wonderful is this? Because, you see, it is only in Jesus—the one who issues the invitation, the one who calls us to the obligation of obedience, the one who instructs us—it’s only in Jesus that the restlessness of the human heart is addressed. And the rest that he promises, of course, is not just a trip, tranquility, ease. It’s far more significant than that. Because he is going to go on and die on the cross. And his disciples, observing that scene and later writing in their own letters, would explain what was happening there. Peter writes that “Christ died for sins,” suffered for sins, “once for all.”[12] What was he doing? Well, the righteous one was dying in the place of the unrighteous—that he was making it possible for sinful people to come to a holy God, which takes us on to next week and on into this evening.

But let me say this as I come to the third and final question: only when a person is confronted by the reality of our sin will we acknowledge our need of a Savior. I mean, if you’re just paddling around in Lake Erie on a rubber dinghy or something, and someone comes by and says, “I’d love to save you,” you’d say, “Well, that’s irrelevant. Look at me. Look at my little thing here, my dinghy.” But if you got out of your depth and you were bobbing up for hopefully the third time, you’ll reach out.

But don’t misunderstand something. People say, “Well, I’m not bobbing up for the third time. You don’t really know me, Alistair. I’m actually pretty secure—pretty secure in myself financially, intellectually. I don’t really get any need of this at all.” That’s what I said at the beginning: we are by nature self-reliant, self-assertive. In fact, all the clubs and memberships that we’ve been able to become parties to have all been about what we’ve been able to do, bring, believe, understand, contribute. And you actually find it offensive that Jesus says, “Come, just as you are.” “What can I bring?” “Yourself.” “Just as I am, without one plea.”[13] Just yourself.

At the center of his being, Jesus is the teacher par excellence. He is available. He’s accessible. He’s reachable. He’s understandable.

What Is He Like?

Okay, last question: Who is he? What does he do? And what is he like? What is he like? “I’m supposed to learn from him? What kind of teacher is Jesus?” Well, clearly, I’ve alluded to the fact that he’s not the kind of teacher that I went to school with very often. I had one in particular who stands out any time I think of school. He never actually taught me. He was the deputy headmaster. His name was McFadden. I imagine he’s long gone. I hope he found Jesus before he left. But the fact of the matter was, he was… I’ve told you before, I think he played the bagpipes. He was a big man with a big chest and a big head and a big everything, it would seem. And I can’t remember what had happened, but on one occasion he decided it was important to come into the classroom and tackle a particular situation involving none other than yours truly. And he stood at the front of the class, and he said, “Begg, stand up.” And I stood up. He said, “Begg, you don’t have a head on your neck. You have a turnip on your neck! Begg, tell the class what you have on your neck.” I said, “Class, I have a turnip on my neck.” Mission accomplished. He left. Of course, it lingered for quite a long while. I haven’t had anybody call me Turniphead for some time, but I’d be glad to reintroduce it to the conversation if it’s helpful.

He’s not like that at all. And incidentally, this is the only place in all of the Gospels where we are told what Jesus is like, where he actually says, “Learn from me, for this is what I’m like.” He didn’t say, “Well, you know this person. You know what that person does.” The person says, “Yeah, but what is he really like? What is she like, you know, when you get to the core of things?” He doesn’t have a CV, a resume, a list of qualifications. No, he says, “I am gentle and lowly in heart.”

At the center of his being, he is the teacher par excellence. He is available. He’s accessible. He’s reachable. He’s understandable. And he invites us to learn from him in light of what he’s actually like. I think we would have to say—and I flip to the other side of the equation—that the people who’ve been the best teachers to us are the ones who have been gentle. Leaders and teachers, often we tend to take or be given the superior place, as if somehow or another…

But not Jesus. He doesn’t display impatience with the slow student. He doesn’t give an expression of intolerance to the ones who stumble—hence his response to Philip, hence his wonderful restoration of Peter. And some of us, if you put it in a business situation or an education situation, wherever it might be, you say, “Well, this one has definitely going to have to go. I mean, he was pretty good for a while. He came across with some wonderful things. But that threefold denial: no. We’ll have to remove you.” Uh-uh. Why doesn’t he? Because he’s gentle, and he’s lowly in heart. That is exactly who Jesus is.

Think of it in terms of the upper room: Disciples, his friends. The routine having been set aside or avoided, the feet have not been washed. Jesus takes a towel, he wraps it around himself, and he washes their feet. What kind of Messiah is this? Who is this? What is Jesus really like? He washed Philip’s, washed Peter’s, washed Judas’s. He stoops to wash the feet of the one who betrays him.

You should not be at all ashamed about telling your friends and your neighbors and your children about Jesus. He is altogether lovely. He is the fairest of ten thousand. He is the balm for the sadnesses of the human heart. He is the one who answers the peculiar longings that people can’t even articulate in themselves. And he is the one who, when confronted with all that is before him in the garden of Gethsemane, in the grip of the terror that is before him, reveals the fact that he didn’t come to do what he wanted; he came to do the Father’s will.

In the school of Christ, to which we come in Jesus, our curriculum is not a lawbook full of perplexities. Our curriculum is Christ himself.

In short order, and in no surprise, Jesus embodies the one of whom the prophets spoke. And we’ve touched on this before, and we can finish with this this morning, but Isaiah 42—where, again, we’ve often talked about how Isaiah is writing under the direction of the Spirit of God, and so he does 42. I’m sure he didn’t tell his wife he was on chapter 42. But he wrote,

Behold my servant, whom I uphold,
 my chosen, in whom my soul delights;
I have put my Spirit upon him;
 he will bring forth justice to the nations.[14]

And what will he be like? “He will not cry aloud or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street.”[15] He will be unobtrusive. He will be such that people have a difficult time determining who he is out of the group because of what he’s really like. Do you know Jesus? He doesn’t break bruised reeds. He doesn’t snuff out faintly burning wicks, because of who he is.[16]

The invitation is to come. The obligation is in taking. The education is in learning. And in the school of Christ, to which we come in Jesus, our curriculum is not a lawbook full of perplexities. Our curriculum is Christ himself—exemplum Christi, only Jesus. Pupils in the school of Christ learn in the gathering of other pupils. We are here primarily, this morning, to first of all hear from God, to give worship to God in our praise.

It is impossible to come to Jesus and not take on the yoke, and not learn in his company. Is there a uniform? Is there a uniform in this school? I don’t know what you think about uniforms. I’m good either way. I always had a uniform at school. I kind of like it. It takes the questions out of the morning hours, removes all the arguments about “You’re not wearing that” and whatever it might be. But whatever we think about that: no, the pupils in Christ’s school all wear different things. They all look different. Some wear ties. Some keep the jacket on. Some take the jacket off. Some do this. Some do that. That’s not the issue. But all of them—pupils in the school of Christ—display something of the disposition of the Lord Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, didn’t consider that equality with God something to be hung on to, but he made himself of no reputation, taking upon him the form of a servant and giving himself up, even to death on the cross.

And in our broken, restless, dysfunctional world, people need to meet Jesus.

You are writing a Gospel, a chapter each day
By the deeds that you do and the words that you say.
And men read what you write, distorted or true.
So what is the gospel according to you?[17]

You say, “Well, why are you saying that to us?” No, no. I said that to the mirror earlier.

Let us pray:

Our Father, thank you for the truth of your Word. Thank you for the wonder of Jesus. Thank you for the clarity and simplicity of the invitation. Lord, I pray for those who sit still, week after week, month after month, hearing my voice and yet apparently not hearing your voice. May, today, we hear the voice of Jesus say, “Come,” and then we come. And we ask it in his name. Amen.

[1] Isaiah 55:1 (ESV).

[2] See Revelation 22:17.

[3] Horatius Bonar, “I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say” (1846).

[4] Bonar.

[5] Acts 9:4–5 (ESV). Emphasis added.

[6] Acts 9:18 (ESV).

[7] John 14:1 (ESV).

[8] John 14:6–8 (ESV).

[9] John 14:9 (ESV).

[10] Matthew 11:18–19 (ESV).

[11] Luke 5:32 (ESV).

[12] 1 Peter 3:18 (RSV).

[13] Charlotte Elliott, “Just as I Am, without One Plea” (1836).

[14] Isaiah 42:1 (ESV).

[15] Isaiah 42:2 (ESV).

[16] See Isaiah 42:3.

[17] Commonly attributed to Paul Gilbert. Paraphrased.