They tie up heavy, burdensome loads and lay them on men’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them.  Mattthew 23:4

As a young monk, Martin Luther confessed that he didn’t love God, he hated Him. He felt that he just couldn’t please Him. Luther beat himself, fasted for days, slept outside in the cold, and all because He felt the guilt of his own sin. He couldn’t sleep at night because he thought, “Can I possibly do everything that God requires of me?” His mentor told him that confession is to bring relief to those burdened with guilt, not add more. But Luther was so bound up by a religious yoke that, though he confessed constantly, he found little relief. While some around him made their complete confession in just a few minutes, Luther would go on for hours. It’s a reminder to me that perceived holiness is often driven by forces other than an affection for Christ.

If I suffer under a religious yoke, I have a nagging feeling that I’m not good enough. I have no peace. I don’t feel forgiven. I keep myself insanely busy to dull the ache of unworthiness.  I need to impress God with overachieving. Really, I am the older brother in the prodigal son story who kept all the rules but was probably only looking out for his own inheritance. He felt his father owed him; which is easy to believe if you’re a rule keeper. When hard times come, accusations follow.  “God, how could you? After how good I’ve been?”

If I labor under the yoke of religion, I believe that my good behavior proves to God that I’m really a good child. I forget that I am not bound to the law; Jesus already fulfilled it. He annihilated every reason I believe I have to perform.  He gave me His righteousness and made it possible for me to rest in my salvation.

If I suffer under the torment of a religious yoke, how do I escape it?  By repenting of self-exaltation and for minimizing the power of the cross. This is where Martin Luther ended up – believing that he was saved by faith alone – not by works.  In the silence after my surrender, the cross speaks louder than all my labor, whispering that Christ’s mercy holds what my hands could never earn.

Quiet my striving and anchor me in Your finished work.  Amen