Scripture:
Romans 8:18-30
Matthew 7:7-11

Which is mildly humorous until you have met someone who has beaten a kid ... or a spouse ... as a means of getting their attention. "Gee, Reverend (Gee, Your Honor), I wouldn't have done what I did if my kid hadn't ignored me, or if my spouse would have shut up and listened to me. I mean, I shouldn't have hit `em. But sometimes there's no other way of getting through to `em."

I've heard that. I've probably come this close to saying it, once or twice. But I still can't believe it whenever I hear it. Yeah, it's hard to get "mulish personalities" to pay attention. But my higher nature recoils at the thought of God's "chillun" ... be they two legged or four legged ... being hit with the flat side of a shovel or the closed side of a fist, just so they'll "listen up" as a prelude to "goin' right."

Hold that thought for a minute while I invite you to ponder Harold Stanton (who we recently honored as our 1999 "Volunteer of the Year"). Time would fail me, were I to tell you Harold's wonderful story. What interests me today are not the things that Harold (in his own quiet way) makes happen, but something that (in a most unquiet way) happened to him. I am talking about Harold's accident last October 14, which took place at the Habitat House work site where Harold was volunteering ... again. And where an entire square of shingles came down from above, just as Harold was walking below. The falling shingles got him good (upside the head) ... driving him to his knees ... breaking his leg ... dislodging his back ... blacking his eye ... paining his cranium ... and leaving him with equilibrium issues that have not completely subsided, even to this day.

Well, everybody's heart went out to Harold ... hands went out to Harold ... cards went out to Harold ... even as prayers went up for Harold. Rendering Harold grateful. Profoundly grateful. But when Harold saw the topic of my sermon this morning (especially the subtitle: "Middle of the Night Musings on the Suggestion that `God Never Gives Us More Than We Can Handle'"), Harold sent me an e-mail recalling comments that were made to him during his seemingly interminable period of incapacitation. Included among them were a couple he found interesting. Not alarming, just interesting. So he passed them along and said: "Make of them what you will." And a subsequent phone call gave me explicit permission to do just that. Those comments included:

Harold, this is God's way of telling you to slow down.

Harold, this is a wake up call from God, suggesting there is some new work God has for you to do.

I don't know who said those things to Harold. And if Harold remembers, he certainly didn't tell me. And probably didn't mind. What's more, I am sure they were said in love. Somebody wanted to put a "religious spin" on a terrible tragedy, so as to bring a level of meaning and purpose to Harold's accident that might not have been discernible otherwise. Hearing such comments, Harold might feel: "Ah, somebody thinks I'm important to God ... that I matter to God ... and that God will stop at nothing to have his word heard by me, and his will done through me." Which, I am sure, is how the comments were meant.

But they also led Harold to ponder: "Gee, am I that dense that the only way God could get me to slow down (or wake up) was to drop a square of shingles on my head ... or (at least) orchestrate a scenario by which somebody else dropped a square of shingles on my head? If so, what does that say about me? And, if so, what does that say about God? Is it occasionally necessary for God to stop one step short of killing us, so that God can ultimately have his way with us?"

Those are hard questions. Don't dismiss them lightly. Those are the kind of questions that keep theological libraries full, theological faculties employed, and theologians (masquerading as preachers) awake at 3:00 in the morning.

To be sure, maybe Harold needed to slow down. Or maybe Harold needed to wake up. And maybe God does (indeed) have some marvelous new assignment planned for Harold ... once he slows down or wakes up. And, to be sure, the "shingle mugging" ... from wherever it came ... didn't kill Harold. And may, in some way that a mere mortal like me can't comprehend, have been instrumental in saving Harold ... or in saving the world through Harold. But there persists the thought that if I hit my mule (my wife, my kid) upside the head as a prelude to getting through to them ... saving them ... or even saving the world through them ... most of you would look at me funny, some of you would think me screwy, and more than a few of you would judge me harshly.

Now, before moving on, let me say three things ... just to get them on the record.

First, God's ways are not my ways ... not limited to my ways ... and not to be evaluated by the degree to which they conform to my ways. I am not properly positioned to sit in judgment of God. Or to explain God. My ministry got a whole lot easier on the day that I finally figured that out. Concerning the mysteries of omnipotence, I do the best I can with the limited tools I have. I have finally come to terms with the fact that I, too, see "as in a mirror dimly" ... meaning that I sometimes have just enough knowledge to be dangerous, while lacking enough knowledge to be useful.

Second, having said that, I am often puzzled by people who are clearer than I am as to what God may be saying ... what God may be doing ... and precisely why it is that God may be saying and doing it. How, for example, can anyone discern the mind of God as to whether Harold should slow down or wake up?

Third, I believe that there is no circumstance that God cannot use ... quite apart from the question of whether God originates that circumstance ... to accomplish his will. I have no doubt that Harold will say (when you ask him) that "God has worked through my accident." But I have lots of doubt that Harold will say (when you ask him) that "God caused my accident" ... or even that it happened according to God's plan.

But let's push on. Leave Harold for a moment. Direct your attention to a young man in the church parking lot who, not long ago, said to me: "Bill, you know that there are some struggles in my life. And you know how hard I am trying to stay on top of the struggles in my life. So far, I'm making it. But, just the other day, somebody sent me a card that contained the words, `Remember, God never gives us more than we can handle.' Bill, do you believe that?"

Alright. All of you who have a hankering to be preachers, go home and record a two paragraph response to that young man. I almost said: "Go home and write a two paragraph answer to that question." But, if there is any difference between a preacher and a theologian, it begins with the fact that preachers have to deliver their responses out loud ... in person ... to young men in parking lots. Theologians, however, can retire to libraries where they can ponder their answers and, eventually, publish them in journals. So here's what I said on that day....to that man ... in that lot ... on "whether God ever gives us more than we can handle."

First off, I said that he shouldn't be overly analytical of things that people say at those moments in life when (by their own admission) people don't have the faintest idea what to say. Just listen to the fact that they have tried to say something ... and that they cared enough to say something. The sender of that card was probably trying to say: "Friend, I have heard ... I care ... I feel for you ... I have every confidence that this will not defeat you ... and that God will somehow be part of the equation ensuring that this will not defeat you. You are down. But I am persuaded that you will not be out."

That's what the sender wanted to say. Unfortunately, that's not what the words on the card said. They said that "God will not give you more than you will be able to handle." You will note that my emphasis is on the words "God will not give you," rather than on the words "more than you will be able to handle."

Let us assume, for the moment, that God has (indeed) given that young man the problems he is trying to handle. Let us assume that, as problems go, God is their sender ... their source ... their reason for appearing at this time in his life. For that's what the card implies. Problems come from God. With the further implication being that, when sending problems your way, God scales their severity (so as to keep their severity within the limits of your handle-ability). The card suggests that God knows how much you can take, and that God will not cross that line ... go too far ... or pile on too much.

Well, if so, wouldn't it behoove me (as a potential problem recipient) to be weak rather than strong, so as to be able to say to God: "Look, Lord, I'm a pretty fragile guy. My faith is pretty weak. My strength is pretty low. My resources are pretty few. My well is pretty dry. As trials go, I am not up to much. And as concerns the blowing of ill winds, even a whisper will tip me over."

Then there's the fact that a lot of people do tip over, meaning that they can't handle what they get. It kills `em ... splits `em ... grinds `em down ... wears `em out ... beats their body ... sucks their soul ... steals their faith. But why? Did God over-expect ... figuring they could handle more than they could? Or did they under-perform ... frustrating God by their lack of effort? Case in point: Why is the divorce rate so incredibly high for married couples who lose a child ... meaning that the pain is multiplied, twice over? After the 8:15 service, I was talking with someone who said: "After our child died, a therapist told us that if our marriage made it, it would be the first that he had seen." Which is probably not something I'd say to a grieving couple. But which does suggest that some burdens do overwhelm even the most resilient and faithful.

Obviously, I have a concern with the notion that life's problems are "God given." For, while I am not exactly sure what God gives, I keep returning to the line from Jesus: "If we, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to our children, how much more will our Heavenly Father give good gifts (to his children)?"

As concerns suffering, stuff happens. I've said it before. I'll say it again. Stuff happens. Some of which may come from God. (I won't discount that possibility.) But much of which may come from us ... may come from each other ... may come from deeply entrenched pockets of evil which, while they cannot ultimately win the day (as Luther said), can sure make a mess of the day ... may come from poor choices and their consequences ... may come from nature, "red in tooth and claw" ... may come from a creation that is "still growing (as Paul says) like a woman in labor who has not yet delivered" ... or may come from cells run amok (which refuse to behave like ordinary cells, stay in their place like ordinary cells, or submit to correction like ordinary cells). Which brings me to Arie Brouer.

Arie Brouer was a Reformed pastor ... part of the Reformed Church in America. At one time he was the General Secretary of the National Council of Churches. And, as a Reformed pastor, he was part of the Calvinist tradition ... a tradition that has an incredibly strong emphasis on God's sovereign rule over the whole creation. It was the Calvinists, after all, who crafted a theology of predestination to affirm that God is in control of absolutely everything. Every single move we make is orchestrated by God.

Then Arie Brouer got cancer. A terrible theological problem for any sensitive Christian, but especially for a Calvinist. His son asked him about it in the most innocent way: "What does faith mean for you, now that you are facing this?"

Arie Brouer responded by saying he had believed in God all of his life, and that having cancer was no reason to stop believing in him now. To which his son said: "But you and Mom have spent all of your lives trying to make this a better place for all people. Isn't this a strange way to be paid back?"

So Brouer said to his son: "Steve, I don't believe that God wants me to have cancer. But I have come to believe during these days that God can't do anything about it. Which raises some very fundamental questions in me about what I have been taught and what I have believed (over the years) about the almightiness of God. Because if God can't stop this, then I have to come to some new understanding of God's almightiness, or perhaps reject it altogether. I haven't had time to think about this because I have been too busy dealing with all sorts of survival questions. But I'm going to work on it."

And he did. He counted the number of times God's "almightiness" is mentioned in the New Testament. He discovered it is only ten times. Nine of the ten times are in the Book of Revelation ... the last book of the Bible ... one vision of the end of history. He said: "I looked at those texts that talk about God's almightiness, and I discovered that every one of them has to do with God's ultimate triumph in history. They say that at the end of history, God's love, justice and peace will prevail. At the end of history, God will prevail in the struggle. But they also say that God is with us now in the struggle. And I said to myself, `Arie, why in the world haven't you understood this before?'"

* * * * *

Like I said in my subtitle, I ponder these things. No, that's not quite right, I worry over these things. "Anguish" might even be a better word. I worry in all kinds of places ... places like funeral homes, hospital corridors, parking lots, bedrooms (especially my bedroom, at 3:00 in the morning). I have reached some humbly-held conclusions that work for me. I say "humbly-held," because who can really be sure? I mean, the Calvinists could be right. I could be wrong. Obviously, I don't think so. Otherwise I'd join them. But I'll tell you what I do believe (and hold in humble hands). I believe that not everything that comes is either good ... or from God. But I believe that "in everything" that comes, God can work good to those who are open to the possibility (see Romans 8:28).

I believe that God does not send pennies from heaven ... shingles from heaven ... tumors from heaven ... or tremors from heaven. But I do believe that God sends Jesus from heaven who, as the catechism says, will be with us now ... and at the ending of our days. Meaning that there will be at least one traveling companion in the valley, and one road from the valley. Even Death Valley.

Garth Brooks (to whom I listen every time my daughter is in the car) has made a fortune singing:

I've got friends in low places
Where the whiskey drowns and
the beer chases my blues away.
Gonna be okay.

Well, I suppose that's something. But I've got a friend in high places ... who is no stranger to low places.

Who was crucified, died and was buried.
He descended into hell.

Who chases my blues away. Gonna be okay.

Note: I am indebted to Mark Trotter for supplying the personal testimony of Arie Brouer.