M E R I D I A N     M A G A Z I N E

The Yoke of Discipleship
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.

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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