Taking Up the Right Yoke

Jesus says something astonishing 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 my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

What strikes me is that Jesus does not offer a yoke-free life.

He assumes we are already yoked.

A yoke is not something you put on when life is hard. It is something you are already carrying, often without realizing it. The real question is not whether we are yoked, but to whom.

Many of us who follow Christ are still dragging around yokes He never placed on us.

There is the yoke of expectation: the quiet pressure to be consistent, productive, impressive, faithful enough to justify our place.

There is the yoke of comparison: measuring our faith, our families, our ministries, our usefulness against others.

There is the yoke of approval: wanting to be seen as competent, godly, steady, strong.

None of these are neutral. All of them are heavy.

And perhaps the most exhausting thing is that we often carry these yokes in the name of obedience, assuming that this must be what faithfulness feels like.

But Jesus offers something radically different.

When He invites us to take His yoke, He is not handing us a new set of expectations. He is inviting us into shared obedience.

A yoke, after all, was designed for two. And in Jesus’ imagery, the burden is not removed, it is borne with Him.

This is what makes His yoke “easy” and His burden “light.”

Not because discipleship is effortless, but because it is no longer solitary.

We do not obey in order to earn rest.

We obey from within rest.

We do not strive to prove we belong.

We obey because we already do.

There is deep comfort here for those who are weary, not only from suffering, but from self-imposed pressure; not only from sin, but from trying to manage faithfulness on our own.

Christ does not shame us for carrying the wrong yokes.

He simply says, “Come to me.”

And in coming, we find that the Christian life is not a performance to sustain, but a walk to be shared, step by step, burden by burden, with the One who is gentle and lowly in heart.

That is not the absence of obedience.

It is obedience finally carried in the right company.

SDG

The Prophet Who Wouldn’t Bless — and Couldn’t Stop

“I see him, but not now;
I behold him, but not near:
a star shall come out of Jacob,
and a scepter shall rise out of Israel…”
Numbers 24:17

Balaam is one of the most perplexing figures in the Old Testament. He was a prophet for hire, famous for his spiritual reputation and willing heart. Balak, king of Moab, summoned him to curse Israel, convinced that spiritual weaponry would succeed where the military failed. Balaam was happy to accept the commission, there was gold to be earned, provided that God permitted it.

And this is the great tension of Balaam’s story: he longed to curse, but was only able to speak what God gave him to say.

Three times from the mountaintop he opened his mouth hoping to condemn Israel, and three times blessing poured out instead. Not because Balaam loved Israel. Not because his heart was pure. But because God had set His favor upon His people and would not allow their blessing to be reversed.

Then, in one of the most remarkable moments in Scripture, this compromised prophet becomes the mouthpiece of one of the clearest Messianic prophecies of the Pentateuch.

“A star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel.”

Balaam, hired to destroy Israel, ends up proclaiming Israel’s greatest glory: the coming of the Messiah King.

There is holy irony here, the kind only God can write. A prophet driven by greed is compelled to announce a Savior driven by grace. A man seeking personal gain announces the triumph of the true King who will reign not through conquest but through sacrifice. Balaam foresaw the rise of a scepter, yet never bowed to it himself.

This moment teaches us something essential about God’s sovereignty: the Lord accomplishes His purposes not only through willing servants, but even through unwilling vessels. Balaam spoke better than he believed. His lips preached Christ while his heart remained unchanged.

And yet God’s Word came forth unhindered.

The coming Christ is described as both Star and Scepter, radiant glory and royal authority. The Star that would guide Gentiles centuries later to Bethlehem. The Scepter that would establish not merely an earthly kingdom, but a dominion of righteousness, peace, and everlasting life.

Ironically, Balaam stood among the Gentiles and spoke of the Jewish King sent for the salvation of the world, including men like Balaam himself. And still he walked away.

This is where the account grows sobering. It is possible to speak the truth of Christ without loving Him. It is possible to proclaim the gospel while missing the grace of it altogether. Balaam reminds us that proximity to truth does not equal saving faith. Ministry knowledge is not the same as a transformed heart.

Yet even this does not dim the glory of God’s purposes. If God could use a prophet motivated by profit to announce the promise of Christ, how much more will He use ordinary, stumbling believers yielded to His Word?

The Messiah does not need perfect servants, only faithful proclamation. The power is not in the messenger, but in the message.

Balaam meant to curse — God compelled blessing.
Balaam sought gold — God revealed glory.
Balaam spoke Christ — but never trusted Him.

And still the Star rose. Still the Scepter reigns. Still the gospel advances, unstoppable by human sin, weakness, or hypocrisy.

God will accomplish every word He has spoken, even when His servants do not understand the weight of what they proclaim.

May we not be like Balaam, content to speak truths we will not submit to. Instead, may we behold the Star not only with our lips, but with faith, and bow before the Scepter not only with words, but with our lives.

“We have the prophetic word more fully confirmed… until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.” (2 Peter 1:19)

SDG