Half Truths, Part 3: God Won't Give You More Than You Can Handle

 Friends, today we’re up to the third of five weeks of this sermon series I’ve put together based on a book called Half Truths by a Methodist Pastor named Adam Hamilton. In this book, Hamilton has us look at five different Christian cliches. Phrases we say a lot, especially in times of grief, that many of us think are in the Bible, that aren’t, at least not the way we rattle them off.

This week, we’re looking at the phrase “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Now, to the credit of those of us who have said this phrase, either while we were going through a hard time, or to console a loved one who was struggling, this sentence is in the Bible…but only kinda sorta. We’ve changed the words, and, in so doing, significantly changed the original intent. The closest version of “God won’t give you more than you can handle” can be found in 1 Corinthians 10: 13: “No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.”

It’s a lot more words, so I understand the instinct to paraphrase. But, in paraphrasing, we’re lost what Paul was trying to tell his congregation in Corinth: it’s not that God won’t give you more than you can handle, it’s that we all face the same temptations, and God will always give you a way out.

Pretty different meaning. Paul wrote those words to a town called Corinth, which was a Grecian port city. With people constantly coming and going through Corinth, the folks who lived there permanently were exposed to a lot of different cultures and languages, which was good. They were cosmopolitan and slow to prejudice because they saw tremendous beauty in diversity. The major downside of seeing so many temporary visitors was that Corinth developed a reputation for being the Las Vegas of ancient Greece–what happens in Corinth, stays in Corinth. The folks who joined Paul’s church were trying out monotheism for the very first time, after a lifetime of worshipping amongst Pagans. It was a major theological adjustment. They were also trying to heed Paul’s advice to clean up their hard partying, but the culture around them wasn’t sending the healthiest messages. Some of us can still relate. When we feel like they did, we can remember what Paul told them: times change, cultures change, but human nature tends to stay constant, and we’ve felt the same feelings of our ancestors. Others before us have struggled like we have. We’re only human. But when we feel impossibly tempted, there’s always a way out.

That was a message that a rich man learned far too late in this morning’s Gospel passage. Jesus is speaking in parables again this morning, and imparting more wisdom on the dangers of wealth hoarding. This parable was about a rich man, who Jesus intentionally chose not to name. This is a striking choice, because the rich man had all the power in life. He wore clothing made from the most expensive fabrics, he lived in a big, gated mansion, and he stuffed his face with obscene portion sizes of the best food he could get his hands on. Most folks in Jesus’ time would have remembered this dude’s name, and Luke, in writing this down, could have picked a name for this rich man, but instead he stuck with Jesus on this one. The man who gets named in this parable isn’t the One Percenter in his mansion. It’s the homeless guy just at the end of his driveway. Lazarus. Every time the rich man rolls past him in his Lamborghini, Lazarus asks this man, his neighbor, for help. And the rich dude ignores Lazarus. After all, Lazarus is gross. He’s covered in sores and surrounded by stray animals. The rich man is just looking out for number one, right? But that reasoning doesn’t hold up in the afterlife, where fortunes are reversed, and Lazarus is comfortable, and the rich man is in agony. Jesus says, in this parable, God doesn’t help the rich guy. He had his chance. Now he’s facing the consequences of his actions. 

Now, I don’t personally believe that we get split up between the Good Place and the Bad Place when we die. I’m going to pitch this to y’all from the perspective of how quickly things can change for all of us while we’re still alive. We have whatever comforts we have right now–a safe home, a reliable car, nutritious food, comfortable clothes, good health, and money to pay for it all–because we’re lucky. Yes, we work for what we have, but in this world, twisted as our human priorities tend to be, hard work only gets us so far. Our bodies can fail us at any time. Price hikes can, and already have, made safe housing, food, and clothing unaffordable. Lay offs happen, and we lose work. Disabilities happen, and we suddenly need much more help than we used to. 

These are the types of adversities we try to help one another face when we say “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” But the thing is that none of these challenges happen because of God, they happen because of the randomness of life, and because of human action. And sometimes, we end up with far more on our plates than we can reasonably handle. That was true for Lazarus. And the hard, blunt truth for us is that we’re all much more likely to live like Lazaruses in this life than we are to live like the rich man. But, as Americans, when we live in a nice town and have skin that looks like mine, we get an unfair boost up. And we get tempted to boost our stations as high as we can. We get protective of our own. But we also get competitive. So we go after bigger houses, and nicer cars, and boats and in ground pools, and fancy vacations. Bigger, better, showier, so we know we’re really doing ok. But while we white knuckle material resources they don’t actually protect us from the sudden reversals of fortune that could happen to anyone. We could lose that stuff at any time. And then some of us face temptation from other stuff that distracts us from life’s hardships. And while we’re numbing ourselves, Lazarus is sitting right there, by the 390 entrance holding a cardboard sign, picking up empty bottles to redeem for a few bucks of grocery money. The truth is, this life is more than most of us can handle, and God didn’t will it. But God gives us an off ramp for the temptation: be kind. To yourselves, and others. Be helpful. And see your neighbors, all of your neighbors, as human, as people with a name and a story, like Lazarus.

Every week I try to rewrite the cliche, so this week what I’ll say, instead of “God won’t give you more than you can handle”, is we can handle it if we help each other.

Amen.