Ouch. It’s Snowmageddon + 2, the day we’re awaiting another snowstorm on the heels of the one that shut down the Metro area in the beginning of February (I’m sure you remember it). We’ve been doing a great deal of snow shoveling and snow blowing to keep things passable around the church and at home. My back hurts, my fingers hurt – even my hair hurts from being crammed in a knit cap for so many hours. The latest effort involved five of us spending one morning on the roof of the parish hall cleaning snow off of the flat part of the roof.
Yes, it’s a sturdy roof, but the brain trust who considered the weight of the snow, which may have been equivalent to five feet after tonight’s storm, decided it was safer to clear it off. Our decision process went through several phases including one that rationalized, “Well if it holds all those big HVAC units, it should be strong.” Then we realized that was like saying, if a bridge can handle 10 tons, surely it can handle 12. Everything has a breaking point. We decided not to find out what our roof’s is. It is well engineered, but wasn’t built to hold five feet of snow (and we checked this out with construction-savvy types who could do more than speculate – they used calculators and formulas). After all, how many times do roofs in this part of the country see that much? We can’t expect them to hold up everything the heavens can dump on them.
All of this mindless shoveling and digging on the roof brought to mind a cliché that I hear often and can’t stand. “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” Perhaps you’ve heard it. Perhaps you’ve said it. If you fall into the latter, I’d respectfully ask you not to repeat it any more, particularly to someone who is hurting. Here’s why: It’s like saying if a bridge can handle 10 tons, surely it can handle 12. Bridges collapse. So do people. Generally speaking humans are quite resilient – that’s the way God created us. But at the same time, we all know of those who have experienced more than they can handle. Some unfortunately turn to drastic measures for relief, and it is a great tragedy to hear about a suicide. Others may not die physically, but the burdens with which they are saddled make them function as though they are among the living dead. We all know people like this. You may be one now, or may have been one at some point in your life. If you survived that time, I’ll bet there were times you weren’t sure you could.
This whole issue stems from the debate over theodicy – justifying the behavior of God. It’s a huge topic that doesn’t fit in this reflection, but certainly one worth considering. It’s not that God gives us more than we can handle – it’s that God doesn’t give it to us at all. We may be tempted to think that God tests us, but if that is true, God has much explaining to do. How do we reconcile a loving God with one that “tests” us by taking away our child, for example? I haven’t met anyone yet who can reconcile it for me, not definitively anyway.
So instead of this favorite cliché, let’s try proclaiming that God is the destination of our burdens, not the source. Jesus himself said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Try that one on next time you’re hurting or you’re trying to console someone. Jesus didn’t say, “Here, hold this for me for about 50 years.” God doesn’t dump on us from heaven – God takes away the heaviness. Whenever we feel the weight pressing down, all we have to do is get out our prayer shovels (or those of our friends) and try clearing the deck a bit. I won’t pretend it’s easy, but it is a place to leave our burdens.
Don’t test your breaking point on your own – we’re strong, but we’re not invincible. God is.
The Rev. Tom Purdy
The cross outside St. Peter's bearing the burden of Snowmageddon 2010.
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