I Only Have to Love

About nine months ago, my colleagues at Georgetown and I launched AIDC, a research network designed to encourage research on artificial intelligence and democracy in fields like philosophy, history and theology. While I previously spent the bulk of my time with unresponsive books, I would now be shaking hands with Congressional staffers on Capitol Hill; hosting events with our partners; and scheduling endless coffees to build a network of humanists interested in AI.

If I am honest, the change has often been quite overwhelming, introducing new relationships, new norms for behavior, speech and dress and new expectations. For about six years, my life primarily revolved around the quaint Georgetown neighborhood in Washington, DC, and my soul became acclimated to the stable, bookish pace of life it contained. In contrast, I now regularly find myself on the rollercoaster of anxiety and excitement that theme parks like the Dirksen Senate Building or the Aspen Institute offer to the ambitious.[1]

And yet amid all the heavy new burdens, I have time and again found myself grateful for Jesus’ easy yoke (Mat. 11:30).

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus famously says,

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke on you and learn from me because I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and my load is not hard to carry” (Mat. 11:28-30).

In Jesus’ time, yokes served as a metaphor for moral or ethical responsibilities. For example, Sirach (a book from the second century BC included in Catholic and Orthodox Bibles but not in Protestant ones) encourages readers to take upon themselves the yoke of wisdom and discipline. By submitting themselves to the weight of wisdom, people could live good, God-honoring lives.

While everything from work expectations to political fights place a crushing complex of burdens on our shoulders today, Jesus invites us into submission to a simple code of conduct: love the Lord your God and your neighbor as yourself (Mat. 22:37, 39). In other words, while my soul feels the heaviness of new anticipations and responsibilities, Jesus whispers that I only have to love.

Ultimately, it does not matter whether I go into this or that meeting or event, whether or not I do business and make a profit (Jam. 4:13). Ultimately, it does not matter if I can convince someone over coffee that I know all mysteries and all knowledge related to whatever specialty (1 Co. 13:2). Ultimately, it does not even matter if I miraculously prophesy, cast out demons or do many powerful deeds (Mat. 7:22).

Instead, I only have to love.

If I love my God, my neighbor and my enemy, I do not need to worry about human credentials and metrics of success but can regard them as the dung (Phi. 3:3, 8), as unworthy of causing fear and trepidation within my soul. And by replacing the yoke of human expectations with Jesus’ teachings, I can find peace and confidence in whatever circumstances I find myself.

Six months ago, I started the Peace of the City to address the pervasive anxiety I saw around me. Whether it was my Georgetown students gripped by fear over their grades or the addled melancholy IV dripped into my own veins through social media, I sensed disorder all around me. My new job also added new stresses to my life, and since I began writing, aggressive immigration and foreign policy have seemed to only introduce further chaos into this often overwhelming mix.

Given political chaos and the weight of human expectations, we may sometimes feel the heaviness of Jesus’ revolutionary message. I am, of course, convinced that Christians should engage in civil disobedience, support democracy and take other political stands for human equality, even if it comes at a cost.

But inasmuch as we are to promote justice (Isa. 1:17), we also cultivate peaceful and quiet lives of godliness and dignity (1 Ti. 2:2). And therefore, while the tasks before us may feel overwhelming, we can take comfort in that fact that Jesus only requires that we love.

[1] I often liken my experience to what I imagine working at a startup feels like. One day, you feel like you’re going to the moon; the next, you feel like the Challenger.