Has anyone ever told you that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle?
Maybe you’ve said it yourself.
It’s a fairly common idea, usually meant to be comforting – to assure you that you’ll get through this, whatever it is, even though it’s currently overwhelming.
But that saying is wrong.
God definitely gives us more than we can handle sometimes.
I’ve got scriptural proof.
We just heard a story about Jesus giving Simon a catch of fish that breaks his nets; that threatens to sink not just his boat, but his partners’ boat. That catch of fish is way beyond what Simon’s equipment can handle, and definitely more than what he can handle. (His first response to the miracle is to tell Jesus to “Go away!”)
There’s other scriptural evidence, too.
Like a story about when the people of Israel get tired of the daily manna that kept them going in the wilderness, and complain that they want meat. And God gives them quails. Miles and miles of quails, more than they can ever catch and eat, or handle. So much quail they get sick.
Or when the first disciples complain to Jesus that they can’t handle feeding all these folks who follow Jesus around to listen to him, and Jesus has them hand out so much food they’ve got a ton of leftovers to handle.
There’s more scriptural evidence, but it’s more than this sermon can handle.
God can, and often will, give you or me more than we can handle, too. God has more abundance, more gifts, more glory, more miracles, more love – and more desire to give all that to us – than you or I - or all of us together - can receive.
It doesn’t always seem that way.
Many of us feel like we could use a lot more of God’s abundance. That the thing that’s hard to handle is not having enough food, or resources, or hope, or help, and the only thing we’ve got too much of is trouble.
That experience is real.
This story doesn’t deny that. Instead, it is in part a promise we need to hear: that God will give to overflowing, even if we haven’t seen it yet.
And this story recognizes that often there is something blocking our access to God’s abundance, or God’s access to us.
Sometimes, that’s a structure built into our society that distributes the abundance of nature or humanity in an unjust way.
Sometimes it’s a fear or a shame or some stubborn doubt within us – trained into us by painful experience, or a habit we chose for ourselves.
Sometimes it’s simply the conviction that we have to, need to, be able to handle everything ourselves.
All of those things, by the way, fall into the category of sin: the attitudes, habits, expectations, actions, culture and socieoeconomic structures that create distance or division between us and God.
Most of us; normal, everyday, sinful people, in the normal, everyday, sinful world, like God to stay relatively contained – to help when we ask, but to stay out of the stuff we’re used to handling for ourselves.
Like Simon, at the beginning of today’s story, probably preferring to keep God a little distant, or contained. He’s known Jesus for a while; seen him heal people, including Simon’s own mother-in-law. He’s probably interested in what Jesus has to say, liked some of Jesus’ advice about how to treat others, and wished more people would take that good moral teaching to heart.
He’s happy to lend Jesus his boat – his workplace – for a pulpit. But I suspect that Simon didn’t really expect – or want – Jesus to turn his whole life upside down, or expect great things from him.
He’d probably be happy to keep Jesus out of his fishing business. He’s certainly not expecting or looking for help.
And when Jesus finishes his sermon and tells Simon to go deep, and catch some fish, I can just hear the low expectations (and maybe eye-rolling) in response. “Boss, there aren’t fish out there; we were working all night (when the fish are supposed to be running) and got nothing. But, whatever, if it’ll make you happy.”
I suspect that Simon doesn’t realize – in that moment of low expectations – that he’s just made a decision to trust that’s going to change his life. Still, he puts aside logic and his own experience, and the way you’re supposed to do things. Puts aside how tired he probably is after a night of fruitless work, and trusts Jesus enough to do this quirky, unlikely thing.
And gets so much more than he can handle.
The fish are sinking his boat, and suddenly he’s up to his neck in the direct experience of God and abundance and miracle and the unmistakable realization that all this transformation stuff Jesus has been teaching actually means his life is changing beyond his imagination.
He protests – as many of us would, too, when God grabs us by the scruff of our necks and drenches us in transformation!
And all Jesus says is: Don’t be afraid. From now on, you’ll be catching people.
(I bet it makes no sense to Simon in the moment, but) I think Jesus is saying: It’s okay. You don’t need what you’re suddenly afraid you’re going to lose – these tools of your trade, the predictability and security of the everyday.
Don’t worry that you can’t handle all this miracle and abundance. It might seem like God is asking too much of you. But in fact, all this extra is for God’s work, which has more room and possibility in it than your boat, or the life you’re used to, and God can handle it.
Then Simon does leave behind all those daily things that couldn’t handle too much God – his nets, his habits, his mostly predictable job and the security of the everyday – and follows Jesus, immersing himself in more God than he can handle.
And eventually finds himself doing what Jesus does: upending other people’s lives with abundance, and transformation, and more God than we can handle.
Your life, maybe.
My life.
Maybe more love than you can handle – where you feel like your heart’s going to fly apart because of how much you care for other people – how deeply you love your friends, family, refugees, the other drivers on the road, the most annoying neighbor on the block or colleague in the office – people you didn’t know it was possible to love.
Maybe more generosity than you can handle – people offering help or praise or time you didn’t think you could ask for, or earn, or needed. And you don’t know where to find room for all this support. Or maybe your pride in being self-reliant starts to break apart from the abundance of people who want you to rely on them, too.
Maybe more joy than you can handle, and even in the middle of a dragging pandemic winter your smile muscles just can’t keep up with the delight God’s pouring into you. Or more hope than you know what to do with, and your usual caution or protective skepticism breaks down, even when you’re pretty thoroughly burnt out.
Or maybe fish. With Jesus, you can’t ever rule out suddenly having too much fish.
Because God really does – as often as possible – give us more than we can handle.
All it takes, sometimes, is for you or me to give Jesus a little bit of trust about something that doesn’t seem to matter much.
A little setting aside of our logic we use to protect ourselves, or our dependence on our own hard work.
And then, without quite knowing how it happened, there’s an overflow of hope or generosity or peace that starts to break down our skepticism, our habits, our logic, or sink our self-interest under the weight of love (or fish).
And then, perhaps, Jesus will suggest to you or me that we could leave behind those habits, those doubts, and the security and predictability of being able to handle it all, and immerse ourselves in too much God. To let God handle that extra we can’t handle, and join Jesus to fish our friends, or neighbors, or strangers, into God’s world of more love, hope, generosity, joy and grace than we can ask or imagine… or handle.
