MATTHEW 11: 25-30
HE WHO HAS PRIDE as his mother cannot have God as his Father. That’s the first point I derive from Matthew 11:25-30. I borrow the language from Cyprian, the early church leader, who said, “He cannot have God for his father, who has not the Church for his mother.”
Here the thought is that pride is the greatest obstacle to a saving relationship with God, whom Jesus refers to five times as “Father” in these verses: “I thank you. Father” (v. 25), “yes, Father” (v. 26), “All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father...” (v. 27). If you want God as your Father, pride cannot be your mother. Pride cannot be the ruling principle in your life. Pride cannot be the authority over all your actions. Pride cannot be the voice telling you what to do.
As we look at this thanksgiving (an odd place for a thanksgiving—following those terrible woes upon Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum) that Jesus gives, we will see that his focus is not on us (our pride or humility) but on God—God who is called “Father,” but also “Lord of heaven and earth,” a God who shows his absolute sovereignty over creation and over all creatures, even and especially human beings, by hiding the gospel from some and mercifully revealing it to others, “for such was your gracious will” (v. 26).
I know God is the focus here, his sovereign justice and grace. But I can't help but get to the point of why Jesus says this prayer out loud “at that time” (v. 25) to those people (his disciples and the crowd [11:1-24]). Jesus praises God out loud so that they and we might apply such praise. And the application is, as I have stated, he who has pride as his mother cannot have God as his Father.
There is a deep unfathomable mystery here. Why does God hide the gospel from anyone, no matter how proud they are? Why doesn’t he, through his providence, humble everyone? He humbled Nebuchadnezzar, why not a Donald Trump ? He humbled Naaman, why not a Rush Limbaugh? Why not take all the Muhammad Alis of the world—“I am the greatest”—and show them, by whatever means, just how great they are not? I don’t know. God’s sovereign election is indeed a deep and unfathomable mystery to me. But I believe God’s Word. And I know myself. I know that I was not so good that God should save me, be gracious to me, and open my heart as he did Lydia’s (Acts 16:14). Why choose me from this rubble of humanity? And I know that God would be just in damning all and saving none, and thus is gracious (as v. 26 powerfully asserts) in saving some, revealing himself, revealing his Son to those who come to him for rest, who come to him in humility.
Why do some people come to Christ and others don’t? One side of the coin is God’s sovereignty: “I... will show mercy on whom I will show mercy” (see Exodus 33:19; cp. Romans 9:15). The other side of the coin is human responsibility. Humility opens the door to the kingdom, and pride keeps it closed. And in 11:23, 25 the door-slamming sin of pride is addressed by our Lord.
In verse 23, where Jesus denounces the people of Capernaum for their disbelief, he echoes Isaiah 14:13-15 (on the pride of the king of Babylon), adding, “And you, Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? [No.] You will be brought down to Hades.” The idea is this: this city that witnessed more of Jesus’ miracles than any other city (Capernaum) did not humble itself and accept Jesus and his kingdom, but they sure liked the dog and pony show. Jesus was quite a boom for their little town. After Jesus came through town and did all he did, they didn’t believe, but they did change the city sign from "Welcome to Capernaum: Fishing Capital of the Northeast” to “Welcome to Capernaum: The City Lifted to Heaven—Home of Jesus the Wonder Worker.” You can’t have pride as your mother if you want God as your Father.
Then, in 11:25, Jesus speaks of “the wise and understanding” versus “little children.” “The wise and understanding” have the gospel “hidden” from them, while it is “revealed ... to little children.” Here the contrast is not against the smart and the dumb or the adults and the kids, but rather between “those who are self-sufficient and deem themselves wise and those who are dependent and love to be taught.”
It is the contrast in the Gospels between “the entire religious aristocracy” and the twelve ordinary men, between the Scriptural-savvy scribes and the seemingly gullible fishermen. It’s the difference between the Pharisee who lifts his eyes to Heaven (“O Lord, I’m glad I’m not like them”) and the tax collector who pounds his chest (“O Lord, have mercy upon me, a sinner”) (see Luke 18:10-14). It’s the difference between Caiaphas, who points at our Lord and demands in effect, “Are you the Son of God?” (cp. 26:63) and the Roman centurion who points to Christ crucified and says, “Truly this was the Son of God!” (27:54). It’s the difference between the rich young ruler who walked away distraught, with his camel-sized pockets still heavy with gold, and little Zacchaeus, who climbed up a big sycamore tree and after he came down opened his heart to Jesus and his pockets to the poor. It’s the difference between the proud in heart and the poor in spirit. It’s the difference between conceited self-reliance and meek dependence upon God through Christ.
So, if you find yourself interested enough in the person of Christ, thinking, “Yes, this Jesus is quite the fellow. I’ll admit that much,” here’s my advice to you: turn the lens you have on him back on yourself and ask, are you little enough in your own eyes to see him for who he is? You see, God is not looking for big shots. He is not interested in the somebodies of this world. He is interested in the nobodies (see 1 Corinthians 1:26—31). Are you enough of a nobody for him to be interested in you? That is, before him do you humbly confess your unworthiness, emptiness, and helplessness? Do you acknowledge that you are not good enough for God? Or has your education, wealth, power, position, talent, or knowledge puffed you up (cp. 1 Corinthians 8:1) and made you like a proud peacock, with your feathers spread too wide to walk through the narrow gate to freedom?
“God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (Proverbs 3:34 LXX; James 4:6; 1 Peter 5:5). “There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him... [number one!] haughty eyes” (Proverbs 6:16, 17). “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted” (23:12). Do you want to become a son or daughter of the heavenly Father? You must become childlike in faith, trust, and dependence (cp. 18:3). You must become like a newborn; yes, you must become, as it were, born again.
He Who Knows Not the Son Knows Not God
He who has pride as his mother cannot have God as his Father. That’s the first point of this passage. The second is this: he who knows not the Son knows not God. This point comes from verse 27, where Jesus says, “All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.”
In verses 25, 26 Jesus says that the only way into the kingdom is through humility, and in verse 27 he gives perhaps the four most seemingly arrogant claims in the history of humanity! He claims the following:
- He has all authority over “all things,’’ which I take to mean “everything”—all “power” and all “wisdom” as Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 1:24 (cp. 15:24—28) and “all authority in heaven and on earth,” as Jesus says later in 28:18.
- He alone, as God's Son, really "knows” God as Father—“my Father.”
- We can’t know God except through knowing the Son.
- We can’t know God unless he chooses to reveal him to us.
Aren’t those the lofty claims made here by the one who calls himself “lowly in heart” (v. 29)? I’m not reading this wrong, am I? And aren’t these claims very offensive today? In one verse Jesus manages to offend the whole world. Jesus claims he has all authority and that he, from God and like God, has lordship over Heaven and earth (v. 25), etc. That’s a bit much, isn't it? Claim to be a wise teacher but not Wisdom embodied. How offensive!
Then there is Jesus’ claim that he is the Son of God. That claim is considered blasphemous by Muslims (how can God have a Son?). And it is considered irrelevant to Buddhists and atheists because the existence of God—let alone some son of his—is unnecessary for moral behavior and meaningful life. How offensive! Then there’s his claim that knowledge of God comes only through knowledge of him. That notion certainly attacks the multifaceted belief system of Hinduism and many other religions and leaves the postmodernist speechless, for it undermines the agnostic notion that we cannot “know” God. How offensive! Then he even claims that we can’t know God unless Jesus chooses to reveal him to us. That is a fatal stab wound in the heart of self-autonomy. Don’t I determine my own destiny? Isn’t all of life in my hands? Don’t I freely will all I do? How offensive!
All these claims are very offensive and arrogant—unless they are true. What then is it that has convinced millions of people from different countries and cultures and centuries that these claims are true? For me the trust comes not in the lofty claims themselves—these claims aren’t dangling in midair— but when I see that the claims fit the character. Jesus says he is humble, and I believe him. I believe him because I’ve watched him in Matthew’s Gospel. I’ve watched his birth. I've watched his temptation. I’ve watched him reach out to the lowly, preach good news to the poor, heal the suffering, welcome the outcasts, and have compassion on sinners. And I’ve watched him walk the road to Calvary. I've seen the crown of thorns upon his brow, the whip upon his back, the nails through his skin, the cry of agony, and his head drop in death. The character fits the claims.
People can be quite sincere about their beliefs, but God was just as sincere when he sent forth his one and only Son to live and teach and heal and suffer and die. And in return some mock God, assuming they can believe whatever they want to think about God and Jesus.
In his lectures on Galatians, Martin Luther said to the students under his tutelage, “Stop speculating about the Godhead and climbing into heaven to see who or what or how God is; hold on to this man Jesus, he is the only God we’ve got!” Yes, in Jesus, we have “the knowledge of the glory of God” (2 Corinthians 4:6; cp. John 1:18; 14:9).
He who knows not the Son knows not God.
He Who Has the Son Has Rest
The third point is: he who has the Son has rest. Matthew 11:21-24 records Jesus’ denunciation, verses 28-30 his invitation:
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.
Before we get to the point of the third point—finding rest in Jesus—two details leap off the page at me from the world’s most famous invitation. First, the fact that Jesus chooses us does not negate our choice. Right after Jesus says, “No one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him,” we find two imperatives: “Come to me... Take my yoke upon you.” Which is it, Jesus? Make up your mind. Do you choose or do we come? He chooses, and we come.1
Call it a paradox if you’d like. The better word is antinomy. An antinomy is the appearance of a contradiction. J. I. Packer notes, “It is an apparent incompatibility between two apparent truths.” In physics, for example, Huygens first discovered that light consists of waves, but then Newton discovered that it consists of particles. Later scientists—Planck, Einstein, de Broglie, and Compton—discovered “wave-particle duality,” the theory that light consists of both waves and particles. How can it be both? In our tiny and tidy little minds, we don’t know. It just is. We cannot comprehend how light can be both waves and particles, but neither can we deny it. It is incomprehensible but undeniable.
So too is Jesus’ sovereign choice and our choice to come to him. He chooses; we come. You can try to deny the facts based only on your experience, saying to yourself, “I chose Christ; I came to him in faith first.” But to do so is as immature as a first-year physics student denying the dual properties of light. Perhaps this analogy will help: Jesus has thrown a lasso around us, and we are running toward his pull. He chooses us. He pulls us along. But we do also run toward him, happily and gratefully.
That’s the first detail that jumps off the page at me. The second is that Jesus does not say, “Come to God, all who labor and are heavy laden, and he will give you rest.” Instead he replaces “God”—as it would be in Old Testament invitations similar to this one —with “me”—himself:
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.
Have “all things... been handed over” to Jesus, even salvation? It sure seems like it. Remember, for Matthew you cannot think too highly of Christ. And just wait until the next passage! Jesus is not going to stop bombarding us with his identity.
Those two “little” details aside, we come to the point at hand: he who has the Son has rest.
If there is one thing every human being longs for, it is rest. We all long to rest in peace not only after we die but also while we are alive. Who doesn’t want the inward and outward peace that comes from being in a right relationship? Have you ever been in a wrong relationship? It is the least restful state of being. But a right relationship brings rest. Jesus claims that the ultimate rest—the longing of every human heart for the most right of all relationships—comes only through being in a relationship with him. That’s quite a claim. Not only does he replace his name for God’s, but in essence he says, ‘You want rest? I’m the Rest-Maker. I’m the one you must embrace.”
What I love about Jesus’ invitation here is (a) whom he invites and b) to what he invites them. Jesus does not invite those who have found their self-worth. He does not invite the self-satisfied. He does not invite the self-righteous.15 does not invite those living the life of ease, with their legs outstretched and their feet pushing through the soft sand of the beach. Here Jesus invites “all who labor and are heavy laden” (v. 28). He invites the tired, the poor, the tempest-tossed, the wretched refuse, those huddled masses yearning to be free.
I love whom Jesus invites, but also to what he invites them. After verse 28, “and I will give you rest,” perhaps you expected to read something about a vacation destination, a new recliner, a relaxing massage, or a sleeping pill. Instead you find a work order: “Take my yoke upon you” (v. 29). Do you know what a yoke is? It’s an instrument for work. It is a wooden frame that is placed upon the shoulders in order to make a load or burden easier to carry. It is designed to distribute the weight in equal proportions to both sides of the body. Do you see the paradox here? “What yoke is comfortable, what burden light?”
Jesus doesn’t promise escape from reality, but he promises the right equipment to deal with it. He promises a yoke. A yoke! But what is his yoke? “Take my yoke upon you.” His yoke has something to do with his teachings, because he adds “and learn from me” (v. 29). So, it is not the heavy yoke of the scribes and Pharisees. It is not those “heavy burdens,” as Jesus calls them in 23:4 (cp. 15:1-9), that Israel’s rulers have laid upon “people’s shoulders” (23:4). Biblical burdens, if we can call them that, have a lightness to them because they have been graciously given by God as gifts to help us, given from the mouth of a man who is indeed, in every way, “gentle and lowly in heart,” one who has carried them himself (5:17)—our Lord Jesus!
Now, compared with the hundreds of Jewish laws, there are fewer commands from Christ to carry. True. But there is something to carry. Let’s not push the Sermon on the Mount, the parables, and the Great Commission off our backs. Those teachings bring rest. Rest comes from working. Rest comes from laboring. Rest comes from obedience. Rest comes in seeking first the kingdom of God and his righteousness. Rest comes from God’s will being done on earth as it is in Heaven.
Jesus did not say, "Take my chair” or “Take my mattress.” That’s equipment for sitting and sleeping. There’s no sitting. There’s no sleeping. He said, “Take my yoke. You’ll be working, walking, moving forward, carrying what I tell you to carry, even your own cross. Life might be uncomfortable, hard, and trying, but (irony of ironies) walk my way and you’ll find rest—the refreshment that comes with forgiveness, the renewal that comes with purposeful living, the rest that comes from working for me!” (See 2 Corinthians 4:16-18; cp. Romans 8:18; Matthew 5:10—12).
So, what I love about Jesus’ invitation here is (a) whom he invites and (b) to what he invites them (and us): “Are you tired of working for whomever and whatever? Come work for me.” Furthermore, I love that Jesus’ invitation here provides an easy way to prove him wrong. Take him up on it. Put his yoke over your shoulders and give it a try. See if learning from him, walking forward with him at the lead (or is he next to us, helping carry the weight?), trusting him as an infant trusts a parent for everything, brings rest. See if he brings the shalom of right relationship, satisfaction of salvation.
"The Voice of Experience"
When I was a freshman in college, I was full of myself. I don't think anyone at the time would have said so, and I didn’t think so, but now in retrospect I know it was so. Every choice I made revolved around pleasing me. Pride was my mother, if you will, and I did whatever she said to do.
I had reasons to be proud. I was an honors student, straight A’s, Mr. Smarty-Pants. I had a nice-looking girlfriend. She was tall, blonde, and athletic. And I was athletic myself. I was one of two freshmen playing on the varsity basketball team (Division III), on a team that was so good it would finish second in the nation. The other freshman on varsity was so skilled he would transfer a year later to start for the University of Iowa.
I had all that going for me. I had the grades, the girl, and the prowess. And I believed Jesus was who the church said he was. That’s just how I was raised—religiously. He is the Son of God, sure; rose from the dead, fine; died for my sins, very good. I believed in my brain, but not in my heart. And because I didn’t believe down there, I played by my own rules. No need to put some yoke on this boy’s back. I wanted freedom, the freedom that comes with me deciding what is right and wrong. But do you know what my yokeless and Christless living never brought? It never brought rest.
However, when Christ chose to befriend me by his gracious will, by first destroying all my idols and then pressing down my peacock feathers (I lost everything that made me proud)—when he made me humble enough to see straight—I was then willing to put Jesus’ yoke on my back. There was a new yoke and a new burden I had to carry, but do you know what? For the first time in my life I felt restful. There were all these new ways of thinking and speaking and living. But each time I walked forward in faith it felt surprisingly light and even easy (cp. 1 John 5:4). Even today it is still like my body and soul are designed to carry this.
So take him up on it. I’m serious. Come on, how heavy is all that junk you are carrying on your back? Has sexual immorality brought you rest? Has partying every weekend brought you rest? Has that perfect girl or guy brought you rest? Has your education brought you rest? Has climbing the corporate ladder brought you rest? Has any of that stuff you keep buying—the house,
the car, the vintage sports car, the vacation home, the home entertainment center, the hot tub, the box of Twinkies—brought you rest? Has any of that really brought you rest?
Following Christ is the hardest thing you will ever do. There’s a yoke— you must follow his rules. And there’s a burden—this stuff you must carry (persecutions, trials, testings). But I tell you, it works. This Jesus is right. He brings the rest every human being longs for, the rest that comes only by being in the right relationship.
So get rid of the pride, come to the Son, and find that rest you’ve been longing for—both now and in the life to come.
(R. Kent Hughes. and Douglas Sean O'Donnell., 2013; edited Carl Hinton., 2020)