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The
Song of the Heart
by Doug Talley
In one of the
great moments in the history of poetry the Master said, “Take
my yoke upon you.” Jerome’s Latin Vulgate is worded,
Tollite iugum meum super vos.
The Greek reads,  (Matthew
11:29). In all three versions the instruction is clear. In order
ultimately to find rest, we must take upon us the yoke of Christ.
We do not ask him to shoulder our own yoke, to carry our burden,
but are required instead to relinquish our burden and substitute
it for his yoke and his burden, for, He says, his “yoke is
easy” and his “burden is light”. (Matthew 11:30).
In the Greek,
the Savior’s easy yoke is  (pronounced
“chraistos”), and the meaning of the word is not so
much “easy”, but rather “good, mild, kind, useful”.
It’s an interesting wordplay, and seemingly intended by the
Greek writer, that
echo with the sound of  (“Christos”),
the Greek word for Christ. That is, the yoke of Christ is good,
mild, and kind like Christ himself -  .
In the Latin the yoke is “suave”, meaning “sweet,
pleasant, agreeable, delightful” – Iugum enim meum
suave est. So, said the Master, “Take my yoke upon you
. . . for my yoke is good and kind and mild. It is sweet and pleasant
and delightful.” It is, in fact, Christ-like.
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What did the
Master mean? What is His yoke and how do we take it upon us? I think
it means we adopt the name of Christ, that we take His name upon
us, and view the world through His eyes, as if one with Christ.
Unquestionably, it is “pleasant” and “agreeable”
and “useful” to do so, to view the world with His unique
perspective, the perspective of perfect faith in God, of perfect
goodwill and kindness to humanity, of perfect peace. We persist
no longer in our own viewpoint, in our own entrenched and provincial
bias, but instead surrender that pinched and narrow perspective
for the Master’s own infinitely broad and infinitely compassionate
perspective – that perspective, that “yoke”, which
is always “kind” and always “mild” and always
“good”.
The King James
translation misdirects in this particular passage. To take upon
us a Christ-like perspective is by no means “easy”.
We learn and understand the Master’s perspective, and adopt
it, only by constant application, by a regular and thorough study
of scriptures, by earnest prayer and devoted service, which by themselves
prove fruitless labors, unless also accompanied by revelation. For
it is only through revelation ultimately – by looking through
a window of heaven – that we are able to see any truth clearly,
to see as Christ sees, and so enjoy that rest promised to true disciples.
To adopt a
Christ-like perspective, and to look for revelation, is as much
an artistic pursuit as it is a labor of discipleship. The defining
moments of a poem are almost always revelatory. The poet shows us
something previously unknown or unexpressed. And such moments are
almost always refreshing and delightful and restful, like the yoke
of Christ.
However, one of the delightful ironies for that poet who is also
a disciple of Christ is the ineffable nature of spiritual communication.
“The Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with sighs which
cannot be uttered,” said Paul. The Nephite historian testified,
“And no tongue can speak, neither can there be written by
any man, neither can the hearts of men conceive so great and marvelous
things as we both saw and heard Jesus speak . . . . ” And
yet the poet, on the threshold of some new and marvelous insight
that ultimately is unutterable, will try nonetheless to give the
promptings of the Spirit a voice.
Consider in
this installment of Meridian’s poetry column the following
two poems. Both poems offer revelatory moments arising from the
experiences of a Christian discipleship. Both poems reach those
moments by a careful, exacting articulation. And as in all poetry
of any merit, both poems leave the reader with a volume of additional
unexpressed sentiment – those sighs too deep for words that
Paul referred to – which force us to ponder the poems further
and cause them to stay with us. We hope you enjoy, and find some
measure of refreshment in the perspective of these selections.
A MAGPIE
by Nancy Lott Gauld
I killed a magpie once
when I was fourteen
and learning how to shoot.
He was above me on a branch
absorbing sunshine
after a winter storm.
Surprised by death,
his feet forgetting to let go,
he dropped headfirst,
black and white feathers
denting the snow.
Dry eyed and sick inside
I would have put him back,
given him flight and breath,
but could not.
All I have learned in forty years
since is how to cry.
NANCY LOTT GAULD grew up in the mountains of northeastern Utah but
has lived in Missouri for the past 40 plus years. Having graduated
from BYU, she is presently the Media Specialist in the Independence,
Missouri Stake. She is the mother of five children and thirteen
grandchildren.
ON POVERTY
by Kate McKenzie
Spare me your sanctimonious claptrap
On how noble it is to be poor!
You would have me believe
That wealth and goodness
Are mutually exclusive.
Yet the ignoble poor
Are no less common
Than the avaricious rich,
And while the rich
Can afford to be generous
The poor can afford to be mean.
So each to his own say I,
But let neither bleat
About his own particular piety
Lest he destroy what virtue
There may have been
In his chosen course.
KATE McKENZIE grew up in the south of England, and now lives close
to the temple on the edge of Ashdown Forest, the home also, she
notes, of Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh! She has lived also
in California, Oxford and the Isle of Anglesey. She is a freelance
writer and has published poetry in various journals and anthologies.
She has also contributed poetry and short stories for workshops
on abuse issues. She is the mother of eight children and one very
new granddaughter.
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