Matthew 22:34-40

When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Grace, peace and mercy to you from God our Father, from our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ, and the Holy Spirit who unites us in faith. Amen.

This time of year the game of basketball is a popular topic throughout our nation, so I thought I’d jump into our discussion about another Half Truth of Christian scripture with a basketball-related story.

One year when I was in high school all the athletes attended an assembly by a sports psychologist. His message was about the power of positive thinking. He told us the story of how he had worked with another high school’s basketball team. This team was having a terrible time at the free-throw line. So he told the team to stand at the stripe and picture the ball going into a giant jar of spaghetti sauce. Not just any spaghetti sauce, mind you, but Prego sauce. Watch this commercial and see if you can make the connection…

Hy plays an italian in this classic Prego ad from 1984. It's the ad that coined the phrase "It's in there"

Prego, “It’s in there.” Get it? Got it? Good.

The idea was for anyone shooting a free throw to focus on this image and three-word phrase, “It’s in there,” in order to block out all negative thoughts. The sports psychologist said that the high school team ended up winning the state title that year due in part to their incredible free-throw percentage.

I remember going home that night, grabbing my basketball, shooting free-throw after free-throw in my driveway, each time picturing the giant jar of spaghetti sauce, each time saying aloud, “Prego, it’s in there.” And I tell you what…very few went in. Truth be told, I was at that assembly because I was on the tennis team; I’d never been a part of a basketball team, nor been taught correct basketball-shooting form. No matter how confident and positive I was when I shot the ball, my confidence and positivity could not make up for my lack of training and skill.

I tell you that story because it highlights the need for education and humility – two things our world and our religion is in desperate need of right now.

Here’s an image that gets right to the heart of the matter.

This comic strip was my computer wallpaper during seminary. Many of my seminary classmates made it seem as though they were there in order to defend their faith against any new knowledge, insight, or questions posed by the professors. I was amazed at how often seminary students would argue against the professors, without having allowed themselves to contemplate the new insight. It was a very different approach than I had experienced as an undergraduate student, where vigorous debate took place after we had a chance to reflect on the new ideas.

These students would have loved this Peanuts comic strip because they interpreted it as something they would say to a self-righteous professor who was threatening their faith - an accusatory, “You’re wrong. I’m right.”

I, on the other hand, had already endured the painful process of having my adolescent faith transformed as a result of asking tough questions and allowing doubt to ferment my faith. I loved this Peanuts comic strip because it reminded me of the attitude I needed to have in order to continue to learn and grow in my faith. Admitting that I could very well be wrong about a great many things opened me up the entirety of a high-quality seminary experience. And to this day this idea serves as my framework of faith - a faith guided by the pursuit of knowledge born out of a spirit of humility.

In other words, I read this comic and see the complete opposite of the Half Truth, “God said it. I believe it. That settles it.”

Too often we mistakenly think of faith as believing the right things and having the right answers (or if we don’t have the answers, not even bothering to ask the questions). However, throughout Christian scriptures, history, and liturgy, a great many references are made to the life of faith as a journey or pilgrimage.

In Acts 22, the apostle Paul refers to his past experience persecuting “the Way.” There are other references to early Christ-followers as “People of the Way.” The very reference to “Christ-followers” implies movement. The very notion of repentance has at its root the Hebrew practice of Teshuvah - a joyful return to the path in which God is leading you.

Yes, there are times when we settle in God-ordained places for a while (metaphorically speaking), but God always uproots the settlers and sends them on their way once more. One of the most powerful images of this taking place is the image of Jacob wrestling with the angel and walking away limping. Authentic encounters with God change everything, particularly the direction or way in which we continue on the journey.

I came across this brief film interview with Greg Boyd, a pastor in Minneapolis, Minnesota. In this film, Greg rather succinctly explores implications of raising one’s certainty above one’s capacity to question, doubt, and wrestle with God. I wanted to share this clip with you and I hope it speaks to your heart.

Matthew 26:36-39

Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated. Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.”

“God won’t give you more than you can handle.”

Our next theme in this Lenten series is one of those you can imagine stitched onto a throw pillow, or found on a magnet at the Christian bookstore, or on a horrible poster like this…right?

But with today’s “Half Truth” on my mind last week, without even trying, I stumbled upon the story of a little two-year-old boy named William Roberts who wandered away from his family’s backyard and was found, 12 hours later, drowned, in creek near his home. It happened right in southern Indiana, in or around the little town of Borden, just this past January 22nd. Last Wednesday, March 8th, William’s father was in a car accident while he was driving his other six-year-old son, Ayden, to school. Just 9 weeks after the first tragedy, the same family lost another child. Six-year-old Ayden was pronounced dead, too, shortly after the crash.

“God won’t give you more than you can handle,” right?

And while the tragedy of the Roberts family is rare, that kind of deep sadness and struggle isn’t unique. We’ve all heard about the girls from Delphi. Many of us have been following and praying for Brody Stephens and his family. Yesterday we grieved the loss of Phil Jacoby, who died much too soon. It’s all relative, right? This can’t be about measuring the weight or the depth of one person’s burden against someone else’s. Life isn’t a CrossFit competition to see who can carry or bear or survive the greatest sorrow and still find faith – which is one thing that seems to be implied by the sentiment, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Like when one stress follows another; when one sorrow piles up on top of another; we’re supposed to just breathe deep, suck it up, and power through the heavy lifting.

“God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Yeah right.

Such a platitude is not only – at the very least – “half true” as our series implies, but it’s also impotent, incomprehensible, and downright insensitive, if you’ve ever heard it in the midst of real, deep grief or surprising shock and stress.

Among so many other things, these Lenten days – this walk to the cross, this journey of ashes and sacrifice and crucifixion and dying – remind us that we are a people not immune to or shielded from hardship or suffering or struggle in our lives.

To the contrary, as we make our way to Calvary in these days – and in the face of well-meaning, but lame half-truths like “God won’t give you more than you can handle” – it’s worth being reminded that we are a people who claim what we call a Theology of the Cross, as a cornerstone of our theology. It’s a Lutheran spin, you might say, on what it means to do CrossFit as an exercise of faith, to take up the cross and follow Jesus. (See what I did there? Cross Fit, get it?)

To put it simply, the cross dares to remind us that sometimes life does give us more than we can handle. (Not God, mind you…God doesn’t give us pain and suffering…but the hardships that come our way are no more and no less than part of life on the planet.) And sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes it’s unfair. Sometimes it just is, more than we can or should have to handle on our own. And it’s okay to say that. I mean, Jesus himself – God’s only Son…God’s own self – was killed… utterly, completely, dead…signed, sealed and delivered into the hands of death and despair and oblivion. It was too much for Jesus – at least once – right?

So, think, if you can, about some of the hardest, most vulnerable, sad and scary times of your life… Think of some of your deepest, darkest struggles… Think about some of the greatest loss you’ve known... Most of us have had moments that were – or felt like – more than we could handle. Maybe we’re in the midst of one of those moments, even now.

When I consider all of that… When I think about that poor family down in southern Indiana, the ones who lost their little boys, whose home has likely gone from one extreme of loud and laughing, hopeful and happy life in every sense of the word, to the other extreme of quiet and confused, darkness and despair, the likes of which I hope I’ll never know, I imagine Jesus in that moment in the garden, “Father, if it be your will, let this cup pass from me.” Even more, I think of Jesus on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” “Dear God, take this away…this sadness, this suffering, this darkness, this despair.” “It’s more than I can handle… it’s more than I can bear… it’s more than anyone should have to endure.”

But I think that’s precisely why the stories of Jesus’ suffering come our way. We’re reminded that God gets it. That even God knows what it’s like to lose a child. That God, in Jesus, knows what it’s like to feel lost, forsaken, out of luck and out of options. That Jesus came for this. Not to get us out of trouble at every turn, but to get into our trouble with us no matter what. To remind us that even our deepest pain, our greatest struggle, our darkest despair – that even death – won’t win the day.

That, yes, sometimes we do get more than we can handle, but that it doesn’t come from God. What comes from God is the victory – the empty tomb, the new life, the second chance. What comes from God is the love we know in Jesus; the love that conquers death; the love that shows up in the fellowship of believers who stand with us in our suffering; the love that endures and abides; the love that never ends.

Sometimes we do get more than we can handle. But – thanks be to God – we never get more than God can handle – on our behalf – through the death and resurrection; through the life- and love-everlasting that is ours in Jesus Christ.

Amen

"Half Truths: God Said It; I Believe It; That Settles It"

"Half Truths: God Won't Give You More Than You Can Handle"