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

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.”

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“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

All or Nothing Faith

Matthew 5:21-37

“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell.

“It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.

“Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one.

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I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy in a lot of ways, and it’s come to my attention in the last couple of weeks, yet again, much to my chagrin. I was reminded of it most recently when I got onto a health kick and began to get into an exercise routine, which I started again after some time, a few weeks ago.

And if I’m going to exercise, I’m going to run, not walk. And if I’m going to bother, there’s going to be some distance involved – a few miles, at least – even if I haven’t stepped on a treadmill for, say, 6 months or more. And if I’m going to exercise, I’m also changing my diet. There’s no sense bothering with all of that time and energy, sweat and tears, and so on if I’m just going to undo it all with a large fry. So I cut calories and do without sugar and drink water by the gallon and so on and so forth.

And then I’ll hurt myself – strain my back, let’s say – to the degree that I can barely walk or stand up straight without groaning or find a heating pad hot enough to take away the pain, whatever. And I’ll have to stop running…or walking, for that matter… because why bother? And if I’m not running who cares about what I’m eating…so back come the calories and the candy and the snacks and the sugar and all the rest.

And this ridiculous character flaw shows up in other ways, too. If I can’t clean the bathroom from top to bottom, why bother just scrubbing the shower, even though it could use it? (So I don’t do either, often enough.) If I’m not going to move all of the furniture to get at every inch of carpet, why run the vacuum at all? (So I don’t.) If I’m not going to cook a full-fledged meal for everyone to sit down and enjoy, why not just grab some chips and salsa and call that dinner? (Which I do, far too often.) It’s a character flaw. And it can be ridiculous. And, as you might imagine it’s not one of my wife’s favorite things about me.

Anyway, when I read Jesus’ words from this bit of his Sermon on the Mount, I feel like he’s describing some kind of an Olympic-level regimen for discipleship and faithfulness. And it makes me tired and it wears me out and it makes me not even want to try. It seems impossible; it’s certainly unlikely; it may even be downright unfair to expect this kind of dedication, this sort of complete devotion, this total, all-or-nothing commitment to the ways of God as he describes them.

After all, he sets the bar of faithfulness so high in what we get for today, who could live up to his standards? In verses 21-26, he lumps anger and insult into the same category as murder. In verses 27-30, he puts a wandering eye under the same umbrella as adultery. And in verses 31-32, he makes divorce and adultery one-and-the-same – as far as many people I know are concerned, anyway. And, of course, the corresponding punishments for not living up to it all are extreme – tearing out eyes and cutting off hands, and so forth. Most of us are in some “deep kimchi,” as my high school history teacher used to say.

And I know we can’t minimize this. We surely can’t disregard it out of hand, like my all-or-nothing attitude tempts me to. (If I can’t honor all of it … in full … with perfection … why bother?) But we can’t believe, either, that Jesus is advocating we actually lop off our limbs and pluck out our eyes or otherwise punish ourselves with guilt and abuse every time we falter or fail.

See, I don’t think Jesus means to be holding up an impossible standard, just for the fun of it. And I don’t think Jesus is testing our willingness or ability to actually be perfect as some Christians might be inclined to suggest. I don’t think Jesus is setting the bar for faithfulness so high in order to see who can endure the most intense, grueling, deprived life of discipleship. Nor do I think Jesus ever means to make faith like an exercise in something we can fail at or succeed in. Where would the grace be in any of that?

What I think Jesus means to do, is to encourage us and challenge us and inspire us in as many ways as possible so that we’ll live faithfully in ways that bless us and that bless the world in return.

I think Jesus – in this moment with his disciples on the hillside – is like a loving parent…like a trusted partner…like a model coach who pushes his most trusted followers in ways and to places that they – and we – might not get to without some encouragement and challenge. What he’s calling us to are lives that shine the light of God; that usher in the Kingdom; that bring to bear upon the world, a better way of grace. And that kind of kingdom-living isn’t easy, pretty, or perfectly managed – but it doesn’t mean we don’t try… that we don’t set a high standard for ourselves and each other, nonetheless.

In other words, for people celebrating and searching for the kingdom of God among us, we can’t let murder be the minimum standard by which we govern our anger – what we post on Facebook or whisper behind backs matters. We shouldn’t let adultery be the standard by which we measure faithfulness to our partner – the way we talk about and treat women matters. The way we talk about and treat men matters. And we shouldn’t let divorce come as an easy solution to problems in a marriage – because love and forgiveness and reconciliation are worth the work.

So, Jesus holds up a higher standard, not because he wants to see us fail – or because he knows that we will – or because this life of faith is an all-or-nothing endeavor. What Jesus does is raise the bar of faithfulness for us because he knows that we and the world will be blessed by every effort we make at living into those faithful hopes and expectations, even when it’s hard; even when we don’t do it perfectly.

It’s why we do what we do together as believers in the church.  I think our life together here is meant to be a training ground for grace and discipleship that helps make us fit for the kingdom of God we’re called to experience and bring to bear on the world out there.

When we talk about praying it’s not to get the words just right so we’ll get what we want or all we think we need. When we miss the chance to pray as we should, it doesn’t mean we refuse pray as we ought when the next opportunity arises.

When we encourage and challenge each other to give our money away, it’s not just to pay the bills or to build a building. It’s to grow generous people. And just because we can’t give it all, doesn’t mean we don’t give any. Just because we can’t give as much as so-and-so, doesn’t mean we don’t give as much as we can or know we should.

When we talk about practicing our faith, in any way, as children of God, it’s not because we are – or ever could be – done, or perfect, or better than anybody else in the eyes of our creator. It’s because we will be blessed…and able to bless others; it’s because we will be fulfilled…and able to fill the world; …and it’s because we will be forgiven, even when we don’t.

Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount – and today’s words, as hard as they sound on the surface – are all about living, as disciples, in ways that aren’t always easy, or comfortable, or popular. And we will fail…, or come up short…, or leave so much left undone, more often than we’d like. And, it might be tempting to wonder “Why begin?” or “Why bother?”

But in those moments our answer is an “all-or-nothing” kind of thing, only it has nothing to do with our efforts, or our energy, or our success, or our failure. It has everything to do with God’s effort and God’s energy and God’s faithfulness in Jesus. The only “all-or-nothing” that matters here, is God’s “all-or-nothing,” which says always says “no, no” to our sin and brokenness and failure, and “yes, yes” to our forgiveness and love and second-chances in all things by amazing grace. 

Amen