When worthwhile work becomes difficult to carry

The work may still be heavy, but Christ never asks us to carry it alone.

The other night, I sat in the chapel before the Blessed Sacrament, trying to think of something to write. My mind felt dry. I had not felt drawn toward a topic in a couple of weeks, and it was beginning to concern me.

It was not because nothing had happened. The problem was almost the opposite. Too much had been happening, and I had not found enough quiet to sit with any of it.

For the past couple of weeks, much of my time had been taken up by the State Games. There were registrations to confirm, participants to follow up with, brackets to build, medals to organize, and a trip to the main office to pick up supplies for the event. A couple of nights stretched past midnight as I tried to make sure everything was ready. It was a lot.

None of it was bad. I have volunteered with the State Games for the last fourteen years. I began as an assistant, working the computer and scoring brackets. Now I serve as the director, with more of the decisions and responsibilities resting on me. It was a commitment I had made, and I wanted to fulfill it well.

The State Games bring people together and give amateur athletes a chance to compete at the local level. They also depend on volunteers who are willing to show up and do work that no one in the stands may ever notice. I believe in that work.

Still, as I sat there in the chapel before our Lord, I realized how little space had been left for anything else.

Jesus was present before me in the Blessed Sacrament. The chapel was quiet, but my mind was not. It was still moving through the list of participants to consider for the Athlete of the Year award, how the brackets could have been better, which supplies needed to be replaced, and the other unfinished tasks still waiting for me.

I had been too busy to slow down, reflect, and write for the last two weeks. By the time the work was finished each night, I did not have much left. My body was tired, and my mind kept moving even after everything around me had stopped. Part of me was always thinking about what needed to happen next.

That was when I remembered something a good friend once told me. He said BUSY meant:

Burdened Under Satan’s Yoke.

I had always remembered the line because it was clever. Sitting there before Jesus, it felt more serious than clever.

Had I been too busy? Was I carrying a burden under Satan’s yoke?

The thought did not fit neatly. I was not doing Satan’s work. I was not spending my nights doing something sinful or selfish. I was volunteering. I was serving. I was trying to help something good succeed.

So how could that kind of busy have anything to do with Satan’s yoke?

Not long ago, the Gospel gave us these words from Jesus:

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

I have heard those words many times, and I usually focus on the promise of rest. This time, I found myself thinking about what Jesus says next.

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart.” (Matthew 11:29)

Jesus does not say we will never carry anything.

He says, “Take my yoke upon you.”

There will still be work. There will still be commitments, service, responsibility, and sacrifice. Jesus does not invite us into a life where nothing is asked of us. He invites us to carry what is ours while staying close to Him.

What kind of yoke had I been carrying?

The State Games were not the problem. The volunteering was not the problem. The late nights may have even been necessary at times. Maybe the burden came from the way I was carrying it.

Somewhere along the way, I had started acting as though everything depended on me. Every update needed my attention. Every detail needed to be handled. Every unfinished task stayed in my mind until it was complete.

I had taken a good yes and carried it like I was the only one holding everything together. That is a heavy way to serve.

A yoke does more than help carry weight. It sets a direction and a pace. When I take the yoke of Christ, I am not supposed to run ahead while asking Him to catch up. I am supposed to stay close enough to learn from Him, and He tells me that He is meek and humble of heart.

Humility in a busy season may look like admitting I have limits. It may mean asking for help instead of quietly carrying everything myself. It may mean accepting that something can be good without being perfect. It may mean remembering that resting for an hour does not mean I have abandoned the people counting on me. It may even mean admitting that the world will keep turning when I go to bed.

That is not always easy for me. I like being useful. I like solving problems. I like being the person someone can call when something needs to be done. Service is one of the ways I feel closest to God.

But good service can still become too heavy when I start believing I am the one who makes it all work.

Maybe that is where the warning about being busy begins to make sense. The evil one does not always need to convince us to do something obviously wrong. Sometimes it may be enough to let something good take up so much room that we stop noticing what it is doing inside us.

The work can remain good while the heart grows tired. The commitment can remain worthy while prayer becomes rushed. The service can help others while leaving us less present to the people closest to us. We can even do good work while slowly forgetting to do it with God.

Sitting there in the chapel, I began to see that Jesus was not asking me to regret the State Games. He was not telling me that volunteering had been a mistake. He was showing me that I had been carrying the work differently than He wanted me to carry it.

For two weeks, I had been saying, “When this is finished, I will slow down.”

Jesus had been saying, “Come to me,” while I was still in the middle of it.

His invitation was not waiting at the finish line. It was there during the late nights, the messages, the setup, and the drive to the main office. I did not need to leave the work behind to come to Him. I needed to let Him into the work I was already doing.

That might have looked like a short prayer before opening the next message, a moment of gratitude while loading the signs, or a quiet conversation with Him on the drive. It might have meant stopping long enough to say:

“Lord, I cannot carry all of this by myself. Show me what is mine to do, and help me release what is not.”

Those moments might not have changed the workload. They might have changed the weight.

I know there will be other busy seasons. There will be events, deadlines, parish commitments, family needs, and unexpected problems. I am not going to pretend I will never work late again or take on more than I planned.

But I hope I remember the question that came to me in the chapel. Not only, Is this good work? Also, Whose yoke am I wearing while I do it?

Jesus said, “For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” (Matthew 11:30)

Maybe His burden is light not because the work disappears, but because we no longer carry it alone. Maybe His yoke becomes easier because He teaches us which direction to walk, what pace to follow, and what was never ours to carry in the first place.

I had entered the chapel worried because I had nothing to write. Jesus had been there the whole time.

I had been looking at Him in the Blessed Sacrament, searching for a thought or an answer. Somewhere in the silence, I became aware that I was not the only one looking.

He was looking back at me.

Not with disappointment or anger, but with the quiet gaze of Someone who already knew how tired I was and how much I had been trying to carry.

In that moment, I began to understand what the last two weeks had been trying to show me. The work was good, and the yes was sincere.

But even a good yes needs to be carried with Him.

Jesus, teach me to serve without trying to control everything. Show me what is mine to carry, and keep me close enough to follow Your pace. Amen.