I learned to ride a two-wheel bicycle with the help of my older sister Karen. It was her bike, and it was a little bit too big for me, but I was young and adventurous, and willing to give it a try. She started out by letting me ride with her, me sitting on the back fender while she drove - a location which I can assure you was not particularly comfortable. Then, she let me sit on her lap and hold the inside portion of the handlebars while she did all the work. As she pedaled, my feet rested atop hers, just to get the feel. These lessons helped me gain the perspective of being a bicycle rider, and taught me a sense of balance on two wheels. Karen was a pretty good teacher.

Then came the big moment. Karen told me it was time to solo. She steadied the bike as I climbed on, and held it there while my hands and feet found their proper places. As the bike started to roll, Karen walked alongside, keeping everything balanced and under control.

It was a liberating kind of experience for a little kid like me. Being able to ride a two-wheeler opened up a whole new frontier of places to go and things to see. As my little legs pumped the pedals and the bike picked up speed, Karen ran next to me, still holding on to keep me safe.

Of course, there were still a few things I didn't know about bicycles. One was that you don't have to keep pedaling to keep going. That was what you had to do on the old tricycle, but not on a two wheeler. On a two-wheeler, you can achieve a speed and then just coast. But I didn't know that. So I kept pedaling. And the more I pedaled, the faster I went. And the faster I went, the more blue in the face Karen got as she desperately tried to keep up. Her hand began to slip back, off of the handlebars and onto the seat, then off of the seat onto the back fender, then off of the fender and...

Now, the second thing I didn't know about bicycles...was how to stop.

In that frightening moment when I suddenly realized that I was in way over my head - going faster than I'd ever anticipated and faster than I could still control the bike - panic set in. I knew there was a way to stop the bike, but darned if I could remember. But up ahead was my father's car parked on the side of the road...

After the crash, Karen picked me up and dusted me off. She insisted she'd told me about both coasting and braking. Then she called me a jerk, an idiot, a dumbo, a fool, a nincompoop and other terms of deep sisterly affection, picked up her bike, and stomped away to tell our father I'd wrecked his car.

But as inglorious as that day's ending was, it was the day I learned to ride a two-wheeled bike, and I have my sister Karen to thank for that.

Most of what we learn in life, we are taught by others. Although some of us fancy ourselves as self-taught people, the truth is that very little of what we know is original with us. Most of the knowledge we possess has come to us by way of teachers of one kind or another. Perhaps a family member or friend, perhaps an educator. We learn a lot of things from strangers, and by observing nature. Some of us are taught by the authors of books and magazines. Some - like our Scholarship students - learn by way of a college or post-graduate experience. Others have learned much in the school of hard knocks.

When God created human beings, he created us to be mentors of each other. As John Donne wrote, "No man is an island..." That is to say, no person truly lives apart and isolated, but we are connected to each other through our need not only to be supported and cared for, but to be taught by each other.

Now, in today's Scripture lesson from Matthew 11, it is easy to get caught up in the beautiful preamble of Jesus' words. "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest."

There have been many times in my life when, weighted down by the worries and hurts of life, I have clung to these healing words. One of the great promises of the Gospel is that when life has you down, when your heart is aching, when you're bearing burdens that are just too heavy, you can come to Jesus and ask for rest. And I want to point out that Jesus doesn't say, "Come to me all you Christians, or all you disciples, or all you religious people." You don't have to have a perfect life to come to Jesus.. You don't even have to be religious. All you have to be is...weary...carrying a heavy burden...

And I don't think the rest Jesus is talking about is always a release from the problem, but rather an assurance that Jesus is helping to hold you up - wobbly as you may be! It is a promise that he is adding his strength to yours, his faith to yours, his wisdom to yours.

But as wonderful and as useful as these words are, there is a deeper dimension to this passage. Its really the key piece of guidance on HOW to come to Jesus for rest. You see, many of us think that you come to the Lord by way of coming forward in an altar call, or by attending to prayer, or by doing what you believe is the will of God. But here, Jesus shows us yet another way to come to the Lord. In the very next verse, Jesus says: "Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me..."

There is never a Sunday morning when I put on my robe that I don't feel greatly humbled as I slip the stole around my neck. The stole, you see, has a twin symbolism. For one thing, it is the symbol of a towel, reminding us of how Jesus - on the last night of his life - washed the feet of his disciples and dried them with a towel, and told us to go and do the same. It is a reminder to me that I am called to be a Christian servant of the people to whom I've been sent.

But the second meaning of the stole is as a yoke - the distinctive wooden bar that joins together two oxen, enabling them to move and work together. And in this passage, Jesus invites us to come to him for rest by way of taking HIS yoke upon ourselves. And Jesus says that by so doing, we can learn from him. Like a sister who yokes herself by her hand to your bike to show you how to ride. Like an experienced surgeon who takes a young physician into his care and carefully guides her into the intricate world of surgery. Like a mother who gives her child a purple crayon, and then takes the toddler's hand in her own and gently traces a shape or a letter or a word.

I believe that one of the great challenges of our day is to reclaim a thoughtful faith - that is, a faith that allows itself to learn - a faith that takes time to think and to reason, to probe and explore. When Jesus said what the greatest commandment was, he included loving God with all our mind. To be a Christian, you see, you have to learn to think.

Yet, a great deal of our Christian heritage resists this kind of learning. Years ago, I was watching a religious television show which particularly interested me because one of the guests was billed as a world famous Bible scholar. He was there to discuss the relationship between faith and science. Well, his position was that science is the antithesis of faith, has no place in the believer's life, and anyone who puts any stock in science is headed to hell in a handbasket. He went on for quite a little while, claiming that, if it isn't in the Bible, it isn't worth learning and reminding the listeners that, when he referred to the Bible, he meant the King James version of the Bible - the only true version - because - he said - "Íf it was good enough for Jesus, its good enough for me."

He reminded me of a young man I was talking with once who went on a tear about how God helps those who help themselves. He then threw out one of those trite little sayings that are intended to close the debate. He said, "Jesus said it. I believe it. And that settles it." And that was the end of the argument. It didn't matter to him that Jesus never said that. Didn't matter to him that the Bible itself doesn't say it. Like the Bible "scholar" who evidently didn't know that the King James version of the Bible wasn't published until nearly 1600 years after the death of Jesus, or that the Bible calls us to explore the heavens and the earth and all creation, there is something here that smacks of intellectual dishonesty.

Likewise with those who assert that the Bible is a book of fables and myths, or that the Dead Sea Scrolls prove that the Bible is wrong, or that the Easter story is the product of a vast right wing conspiracy.

There is a lot of intellectual junk out there that we need to weave our way through in order to find the truth. So Jesus says, "Take my yoke upon you, and learn from ME."

Last week, I put out a challenge to you to take the remainder of this year - the three-and-a-half months remaining between now and January to re-read and study the Gospels - Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. If you've begun that process, I hope you've noted that the relationship between Jesus and his disciples is characterized by questions. They ask him questions about things that puzzle them. He asks them questions designed to make them think. I think you'd find it a tremendous experience if, as you read the Gospels, you jot down the questions that are asked.

You see, the yoke Jesus invites us to take upon us is a yoke of exploration and study and learning.

I like the Bill Keane "Family Circle" comic that has a little girl asking her mom: "Did God write the Bible himself? Or did he have some Holy Ghost writers?"

We all have questions. As I face this time in my life, is God really in control? Where is God when I suffer, and am I suffering because I've done something wrong? Why do my prayers go unanswered? Is it a sin to doubt? Will I ever again see loved ones who've died? Is there really life after death?

"Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me," Jesus invites.

A little boy is having a snack with his mom. He's drinking from a cup, and looking around the room. Then he says, "Mom, is God everywhere?"

She says, "Yes dear, everywhere. God is everywhere."

The mother smiles, "Yes, sweetie, God is in this room."

Then the little boy pauses, looks into his cup, and then at his mother.

His mother says, "Yes, I suppose he is."

Then, quicker than a cat, the little kid slaps his hand over the top of the cup and shouts, "GOTCHA!"

Well, truth is, you'll never be able to capture God, and confine him to a thought or a moment, but you surely can discover more and more who God is, what God is like, and how God can change your life if you come to Jesus...

It is the way weary and heavy-burdened people can find true rest.

Amen.