When the service started, twenty-five people were there, including the pastor and the young dreadlocked woman who was working at the sound board. I knew the number of people because Tessa chose seats in the back of the room, which was fine by me because in settings like this, I liked to draw as little attention to myself as possible.

As a kid, I’d grown up going to church with my parents but fell out of the habit as an adult until I met up with Christie. This weekend, her pastor had swapped pulpits with Dr. Trayvon Williams, a semiretired black preacher who’d grown up in the south and had only moved to New York City a couple of years ago. Though I hadn’t met him in person, I’d heard him once when I’d come with Christie, and she’d filled me in about his background.

I liked his interactive preaching style a lot more than the droning litanies of the usual pastor.

So at least that was in our favor this morning.

After a few songs, Dr. Williams took the pulpit and gave a couple of opening remarks, including welcoming “any and all visitors who might be with us here on this fine Lord’s Day.”

Then, after a reminder about an upcoming Thanksgiving meal for the homeless, he launched right into his sermon. “Are you weary, brothers and sisters?” he asked us. “Can I hear an amen if you know what it’s like to feel weary in this weariful world?”

The congregation gave him an “Amen.”

“Is anyone heavy-laden with cares and fears and worry from the drain of everyday life? Is anyone here heavy-laden today? Amen?”

They amened him.

“Jesus said that you could come to him for rest. His yoke is what?”

This time not everyone seemed to know the answer, but three enthusiastic Amen-ers from the front shouted, “Easy!”

“And his burden is what?”

“Light!” More people joined in this time.

It went on from there—Dr. Williams encouraging us to bring our burdens to Jesus, to cast them upon him, for he cares for us, and that “a bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench.”

I took that to mean that even if someone’s faith was weak, Jesus would accept them; that even if their soul was bruised, he wouldn’t reject them.

That message carried encouragement with it.

And yet, throughout the sermon, I kept thinking of what else Jesus had said: that those who follow him must take up their cross to do so. I knew those words referred to the disciples’ willingness to be persecuted and even crucified, but how is carrying a cross to your own crucifixion an easy yoke and a light burden? Does Jesus take your cares or add to them?

It seemed like such an obvious contradiction that I figured I was missing something in the way the two teachings fit together.