The Defeat of Disenchantment

              As 2016 grinds to a close, I admit that I am more than ready to bid it goodbye.  As a rule you shouldn't wish time away; later you may come to regret it.  This year feels like an exception, however.  It has been a hard slog of a year. I believe the long and torturous electoral year did much to wear me out mentally, but it has also been a year full of hardship and loss for many people.  I will personally be glad to put behind me the year that saw me diagnosed with kidney cancer and enduring the loss of one of the organs!

            Today I am reflective, though, because of all the people that have passed away this year.  Many of our families have experienced private losses, and many have just encountered their first holiday season without a loved one.  Even on the national stage, there has been an abnormally large number of celebrity deaths; most recently we were shocked by the passing of actress Carrie Fisher and, one day later, her mother Debbie Reynolds.  Of all the prominent deaths that have befallen us, I was most saddened by those of Carrie Fisher and Gene Wilder.  I say this because two inhabit such a prominent place in the fantasy world of my childhood imagination.

            Gene Wilder will always be, for me, the definitive Willy Wonka.  (That other movie, which will remain nameless, doesn’t even register on my scope.)  Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was a wonderful, magical film for kids: the factory was virtually its own dimension full of things to delight children, and you can't get any better than the theme: a boy from a desperately poor family, but with an honest and noble heart, gains a treasure beyond his wildest imagining.  And while I was more interested in Luke Skywalker, Carrie Fisher's Princess Leia played an indispensable role in the world I constantly occupied in my young mind.  Every Christmas and birthday, my wish list consisted almost entirely of Star Wars toys.  So with the death of these two actors, it is almost as if some of my childhood fantasy world has vanished from existence. 

Have you experienced anything like this, when your idealized "happy place" seemed threatened or ruined?  When it happened, did you feel that the world was more of a dark, drab and somber place?  Times of unexpected hardship can do the same.  Life is filled with love and happiness; we think that misfortunes will come upon others, but never upon us.  Sooner or later, we discover we are like everyone else, not immune to difficulties.  The magical force field protecting us from hurt drops away.  We grow up, we experience disenchantment, and think that the simple wonder of childhood is forever lost to us.

In the last couple of days, however, I've been asking myself a question.  I think you should ask it, too.  Is this process of becoming joyless and disenchanted something to which I, as a child of God, should resign myself?  Is it really a mark of Christian “maturity” for me to become morose, to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders?  Is God really undertaking a program of removing all the joy and wonder from me by sending me difficulties--to prepare me for an eternity of joy and wonder in His Kingdom?  That would hardly seem to make sense, would it?  In fact, I seem to recall Jesus teaching that "unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:3-4) We've just experienced the Christmas holiday, many of us with children or grandchildren nearby.  Have we not been reminded what the heart of a child is like?  A child's heart is full of simple trust in his parents and grandparents.  She also experiences exuberant joy and wonder in everything.  According to Jesus, that's just the sort of heart that qualifies one for the Kingdom of God.

C.S. Lewis, as a child, inhabited the fantasy worlds of his books.  Even as an adult, he became a professor of English literature so that he could share the wonder of epic stories and fairy tales with his students.  Yet ironically, as a young man he had decided he was too intelligent to believe in God any longer.  While that decision may have seemed enlightened, he was troubled by that sense of cynical disenchantment we have been discussing.  He experienced the horrors of World War I firsthand; this would definitely empty a person of a sense of life'’s basic goodness! Though he took refuge in the stories, life itself seemed grim and empty.  Into this void came his friendship with Hugo Dyson and J.R.R. Tolkien, two of his fellow “Inklings” who met at the Eagle and Child pub in Oxford.  Many long talks with these two devoted Christians helped Lewis to catch a wonderful revelation: that his fascination with an ideal world--fairy stories--was because in his heart of hearts, he knew that there had to be a better world than this one.  All of those fantastic myths that captured his imagination were compelling because they pointed to what they called “true myth”—-an epic tale of evil’'s defeat and the world’'s redemption by an ultimate King who would soon return.  What made this “true myth” so compelling was that it was no myth at all; —this story is true! Jesus did die and rise again so that the curse of sin would begin to unravel, and He is coming back to wipe out all evil and injustice.  He will bring in an eternal Kingdom full of that joy and wonder we thought was lost.

As we conclude our celebration of Christ'’s incarnation, please remember that with the birth of that holy Child, we witnessed the beginning of God’'s final victory over evil, the redemption of His children, and even the world itself.  In the meantime, it may seem that sins and sorrows grow—-that thorns continue to infest the ground.  I urge you to remember, though, that those appearances are deceiving.  They are the dying ragings of an ancient Enemy who has already been defeated and condemned. 

These epic stories are all expressions of a Master Story, a Gospel Story, that is absolutely true.  King Richard will return, ousting the usurper John, and Robin Hood will soon gain the rewards of his loyalty.  A century’'s winter will soon melt away from Narnia, and the life of an eternal spring will burst forth.  Aslan'’s breath will stir the stones back to life, and four children will rule in his stead from the castle of Cair Paravel.  A foolish, little hobbit will carry the One Ring to its destruction in the fires of Mt. Doom, there will be a Return of the King, and the world will be reborn.  But the TRUE story is that the Son of God will come back for us.  There will be a New Heavens and a New Earth, on which will rest His eternal capital city, the New Jerusalem.  There you and I will rule beneath Him.  All the joy and wonder you carried as a child will return, hundreds of times over.  Even now, we can see these trouble-filled days with the eyes of faith.  We can remind ourselves that the emptiness and solemnity of life is trickery and shadow, a web of deception woven by an Enemy that would have us give up all for lost.  Stand on the true story which has been entrusted to you, and the disenchantment you have experienced with life'’s troubles can be re-enchanted once more.  With Jesus'’ eternal gift, reclaim the heart of a child.  I wish you a 2017 filled with joy, wonder, and God's love.

Let the Scriptures Pray with You

         Calvary Baptist Church is where I have my earliest memories of going to church.  This little fundamentalist church in southern Iowa was like many other churches of its kind.  The order of worship was chiseled in the same stone, seemingly, that the Almighty had quarried for Moses' stone tablets.  Each weekly service was precisely the same, world without end. For all that scripted repetition, it was curious that all prayers were expected to be ad-libbed.  Anything that smacked of "high-church" was viewed with open hostility, and high-church folks read their prayers from the same book.  Great reverence, therefore, was given to those men who could extemporize the most solemn and eloquent prayers, and extra points were given for generous use of King James pronouns.

         I am eternally grateful for the foundations this church gave me, the abiding respect for the authority of Scripture, and the value of relating to God in a personal way.  Letting prayers spring up from one's own heart made sense to me; after all, no one else could be a Christian on my behalf, nor could anyone else pray in my stead.  These foundations have stayed with me, molding my strong belief in an immanent God who longs to speak to me directly through His Word, and who wants me to communicate with Him as freely as a child with a loving and attentive father.  The church folks from back then would probably think I went all haywire with this--I would probably seem a rabid charismatic to some of them.  Their view of the Thrice-Holy God was much more that of a distant and inscrutable Judge who keeps a firm distinction between Himself and wretched, sinful humanity.  In other words, they emphasized God's transcendence more.  He is above, wholly Other.  Now, I affirm God's transcendence at the same time as His immanence, but I find it strange today that this tradition--which so insists on a God who wants to share Himself with us through Scripture, and wants us to speak with Him in purely heartfelt and unscripted ways--would also visualize God in such aloof terms.

         We moved from that little, southern Iowa town, when I finished fourth grade, to a little, northern Iowa town--big change, right?  Bigger than you would think, actually, as we began attending an American Baptist Church in the absence of fundamentalist options.  That change altered the course of my family's history, culminating in my father coming to the Lord and entering the ministry.  My own thoughts about relating to God began to evolve at the same time, even though it would take some time.  Some of our most ingrained habits of thinking are hard to change!

         Take, for example, this pre-programmed distaste for prayers read from a book.  That was still with me.  It had not yet struck me as odd, the discontinuity between a strictly-scripted worship service and the insistence on a completely-unscripted prayer life as taught to me at Calvary Baptist.  I needed to be stretched, to examine why I believed the things I did, and the opportunity came for this when I went off to college. 

I joined Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship, a multi-denominational group of evangelical Christians that has chapters at campuses around the world.  There I was exposed for the first time to the worship cultures of churches much different than mine.  This was also the time when I was seeking how I might engage in a much deeper prayer life.  I picked up one of Inter-Varsity Press' books called Jesus, Man of Prayer, by a Sister Margaret Magdalen.  This lady used to be a Baptist missionary in Zaire, but she had gone on to become an Anglican nun.  How interesting, I thought!  At the time I thought it was akin to an apple becoming an orange.  At any rate, her book examines the spiritual disciplines practiced by our Lord Jesus, and this was the first time I was confronted with the fact that Jesus did pray from a book--the book of Psalms.

Those of us who have an evangelical, free church background (we might call it low-church) have often assumed that our way of prayer and worship is the biblical way to do it.  Before we get carried away, however, we need to remember that our Christian faith is the flowering of the Jewish faith. The New Testament is not the replacement for the Old Testament; it is the consummation of it.  Therefore, any truly biblical worship practice should be the legacy of God's worshipping people from the very beginning, not just from 1 A.D. onward.  We Gentiles have been grafted into the olive tree that God planted when He first called Abraham and promised to bless all peoples of the world through His descendants (Romans 11:17-21).

Keeping in mind the Jewish roots of our faith, we are prepared to understand the significance of Jesus’' life of prayer.  It is no coincidence that when Jesus hung upon the cross, he was quoting from Psalm 22, the "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?"” Psalm.  It is important that we understand that in reciting those lines, Jesus was not simply quoting them for the purpose of demonstrating that prophecy was being fulfilled right before their eyes, although that was certainly happening.  But we miss out on what Jesus was doing if we assume that Jesus was teaching in this instance--He was actually praying.  The entire Psalm perfectly expressed the pain, rejection and desolation that Jesus felt, as well as the hope He had, even in the midst of His darkest hours. Pay attention to the text following verse 22, and you will begin to see the faith in His Father, and hope for His deliverance and exaltation, that He was expressing in prayer even as His body's life ebbed away!

It is absolutely perfect that Jesus was praying with the Psalms at various points in His life, and letting those Psalms pray with Him.  For we must understand, the book of Psalms is not just a book of historic poetry; this was in every sense Israel's Book of Prayer.  It was used constantly when the congregation of Israel gathered in worship.  The Psalms covered every situation, good and bad, that Israel faced throughout her history.  Furthermore, they gave voice to every feeling: faith, victory, fear, grief, sorrow, defeat, desolation, depression, righteous and unrighteous anger--that the people of Israel could be experiencing at the time.  They prayed and sung the Psalms together, because the Psalms gave beautiful and powerful expression for the words they could not quite find themselves in the depths of their feelings.

I have a few trusted friends who worship in more liturgical traditions than ours, and through the years I have often sounded them out to understand the great riches they find in their liturgy.  One of the most powerful expressions came from my friend, Eric.  What I said about Israel's use of the Psalms in prayer is a paraphrase of what he told me--that there are times in life when one's feelings run so deep as to be inexpressible.  The emotions are too raw, and the words dry up and blow away while they are still on the tongue.  But through the Anglican Book of Prayer, he finds the Scriptures and the words that perfectly capture where he is at that moment.  They give him words to pray when he can conjure no words of his own. I thought that this explanation had great insight.

It has been many years that I have used the Book of Psalms to come alongside and empower my own private prayers.  In fact, through my brush with cancer, and the operation and recovery I recently went through, I prayed the 40^th Psalm over and over, sometimes with tears.  If you would do me a favor and read through it, maybe you'll be able to spot some of the things I was feeling and hoping, and offering before the Lord as an expression of my trust in Him.

Romans 8:26-27 tells us that:

"“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God's people in accordance with the will of God.”"  

It is wonderful that the Lord stands by to help us pray, to fortify our faith even when in our weakness we cannot find the words ourselves.  One of the ways He does this is through His Spirit-Breathed Word, where right there on the page before us, we find the words written that can give expression to our deepest emotions, and wings to our faith.  I heartily encourage you to start by opening the book of Psalms, and letting the Scriptures pray with you!

Fifteen Years Later: Why? How?

When I pastored a church in southern Illinois, fifteen years ago, I had a monthly column in the local newspaper.  Shortly on the heels of the 9/11 terrorist attack, I submitted this.

Why? …How?  The recent, unprecedented assault on American soil, an assault on our very freedoms and way of life,— has been a rude awakening to say the least.  We find we are not as invulnerable as we thought, and this has changed the way we view life.  Even more, the magnitude of human loss in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania overwhelmed us with sorrow.  How could such evil have taken place?  Why does such tragedy and pain pierce the human race?  And there is always the question: How could a loving God allow evil people to inflict such pain on us?

 My shelves are stocked with very large books, many of which deal with this question.  The problems of evil and pain have been studied through the centuries by people far more intelligent than I.  I could walk you through their arguments if you wish.  Some very good explanations have been proposed.

Unfortunately, many of those explanations are technical and dry.  And to be perfectly frank, I am not sure it helps all that much to be able to explain it.  When we experience pain, an intellectual treatise on the cause of our sorrow rubs salt in the wound rather than giving comfort.  If we are able to explain away a person's pain, the subliminal message is that the person should stop feeling so badly.  For example, I’ am a quintessential husband. —I love to fix things.  When my wife is having a bad or an emotional day, my first thought is to come up with some way to explain everything.  All too often I've constructed a water-tight argument to objectify the problem, and I have failed my wife.  For she was not seeking philosophy from me; —she was seeking comfort.

I'm slowly getting better about this, and so I won't clutter your mind with erudite rationalizations of the pain and sorrow we have faced.  What I will offer is a little comfort.  And I would like to do that by sharing a story.  In the Bible, John chapter eleven tells of a man named Lazarus.  He, and his sisters Mary and Martha were cherished friends of Jesus.  Pain struck Mary and Martha when Lazarus became terminally ill, and they sent for Jesus to come and heal him.  By the time Jesus arrived, however, Lazarus had been dead four days.  He found Mary and Martha in bitter grief.  If only Jesus had come sooner, they cried, Lazarus wouldn't have died.

Our media has stereotyped Jesus as being quite unemotional, sort of like Mr. Spock from Star Trek.  So, we might expect that Jesus would have launched into a huge explanation of why death is inevitable and so we should not be so upset by it, blah blah blah.  Or that we are a sinful race, and so we should not be surprised by pain, blah blah blah.  These things might have some kernels of theoretical truth, but they do not help much.  Thank goodness, Jesus is nothing like Mr. Spock.  He didn't explain.  He cried.  He saw the hurt of Mary and Martha.  He felt the loss of such a dear friend as Lazarus, and He was overcome with grief.  He went right on to raise Lazarus from the grave, so you might think Jesus would have said, "Don't cry.  I'm going to fix this problem.  I'll make it go away."  That isn't what He did.  He brought Lazarus back to life, but first He took the time to grieve.  So here we have the Son of God, not standing above our pain and problems, but entering into them and hurting with us.

I would like to propose an image of Jesus that maybe hasn't occurred to you before.  It is an image of the Son of God who knows our pain.  He knows our weakness and sorrow.  He is not aloof from it, because He has experienced it Himself.  This is the amazing truth of the Scriptures, that God the Son became a human being to live among us and to experience our wretched weakness for Himself.  He suffered just as we do, even suffering a cruel death in spite of His innocence.  He has been hurt, rejected, betrayed, grief-stricken, and killed.  Yet He raised from the dead physically, and He was taken into heaven where now He cares for us and hears our heartfelt prayers.  So many times while on earth, our pain and brokenness filled Him with compassion.  It is the same even now.  When pain cuts our hearts, when death or loss reduce us to emotional rubble, I believe that Jesus hurts and weeps with us.

The comfort I offer is more amazing than this, however.  Not only does Jesus grieve with our hurts, He heals us.  Jesus didn't just stand and cry with Mary and Martha.  He called Lazarus out of the grave.  The blind, the lame, the deaf, and the demon-possessed came to Him.  He was overwhelmed with compassion for them, but He didn't just weep.  He healed them.  The most powerful healing comes from He who has also been stricken with pain.  Jesus doesn't just heal the problem; He heals the heart and soul.

In this time of sorrow and uncertainty, please remember that Jesus is not aloof from our suffering.  Just as our hearts were pierced when over three thousand innocents lost their lives, Jesus' heart was dealt a huge blow of pain, too.  He knows what it's like for an innocent person to be killed, and He doesn't want that for anyone.  So He grieves with us, but He is also hard at work healing us.  I pray you'll open yourself to His comfort and healing today.

Learning to Wait

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—--this is the gift of God. –-- Ecclesiates 3:11-13 (NIV)

Waiting.  This seems to be the mode of my life for this short period of time.  It is something that few of us enjoy.  Consider your experiences at the DMV, or waiting for checkout at the grocery store.  Perhaps you can remember a recent time when you were stuck in traffic.  When waiting, we become like tigers caged in our own minds, convinced that we should be doing something else.  Certainly, we could find something more productive to do than this.  Waiting feels like falling through the cracks between those times when "real life" happens.

Many of you know what has brought this time of waiting in my own life.  A 10-centimeter growth was recently found in my right kidney, confirmed by CT and MRI scans.  The specialist, nearly three weeks ago, told me that this was almost certainly cancer, and that the kidney needed to come out very soon.  Any of us would interpret "very soon" as, well, very soon.  For something like cancer, I would prefer the "right away" interpretation of "very soon."  And so, at least at first, my adrenaline was cranked up, and I was raring to go.  By all means, let's get this thing out, the sooner the better.  But then I found out that the specialist's definition of "very soon" was September 12--certainly a far cry from the way I'd define it.  At the time of this writing, I'm still looking at nearly two and a half weeks until the surgery happens.

During these intervening days, the caged tiger snarls a great deal.  I am limited from even some of my normal activities, because too much moving around causes bleeding, and an ever-abiding tiredness that frustrates me to no end.  The "take charge and get things handled" part of me has his hands tied, as there is really very little I can do until this surgery gets done.  Don't even get me started about what happens after the surgery is completed--I'm looking at a couple of weeks of being in bed, and a couple more weeks after that of doing very little.  I won't even be able to drive for who knows how long!

We think of waiting as nothing but a nuisance, but God's counsel is for us to learn to see it differently: as a reminder of important truths.  Think with me a moment.  We are aggravated during times of waiting, because there is nothing that we can do about it.  So, what might our Father be trying to teach us during such times?  How about this: ultimately, God's plans do not depend on what we can accomplish.  I will admit this: I think about our church, during those weeks when I will be laid up, and I'm tempted to fret a little.  I think of our Tuesday evening Bible studies, the high school Sunday School class that I teach, our Sunday morning services, and all of the other busy things that happen in the fall season.  I wonder how all of this will go, with me stuck at home in bed. 

When that little hint of fretting rises up, the Holy Spirit gently corrects me.  He reminds me that this church existed for well over a century before I got here.  Generations of Christians have worshiped the Lord, and been discipled to live for Him, without any involvement from me whatever.  And the Lord can see to this perfectly well without me, for a month or so, while I am laid up. Still, these delusions of grandeur keep popping to the surface. We say that we believe in letting God be in charge, but we keep getting this idea that He needs a little help from us.  Where does this crazy thought come from, that things won't work out well without our contribution?  I think it's the same thing that's been following us around since the Garden: our pride.  Pride is our most ancient, most tenacious enemy.  It is exceedingly hard to shake.  You might think of it like the barnacles that encrust the bottom of ships over time.  They damage vessels, slowing them down and making them less effective.  One of the most powerful tools the Lord uses to pry loose pride is a time of forced waiting, of feeling helpless...useless.  During such times, we thrash about impatiently.  We resist the idea of the Lord getting on with His plans without us.  Inevitably, our striving calms and we begin to accept that our world, our work, and our relationships are well within His capable hands.  Paradoxically, it is when we find rest in our unimportance that we become truly useful to the Lord.  We learn that anything of worth, even when we are involved, is being done by God, not us.  We discover that, like the Apostle Paul, we have been crucified with Christ, and that we no longer live, but Christ lives through us. (Galatians 2:20)

When we think we have fallen through the cracks of "real life," we may also find that we have much to learn about what that life is really about.  Be honest now: as an adult, where do your thoughts mostly dwell?  I'll go first.  Rarely do my thoughts center on this moment, on what is happening right now.  Instead, I think a great deal about what is coming up next.  Even as I perform one task, or engage in one conversation, I find myself casting forward to my next obligation, or where I need to be and what I need to do tomorrow.  Even though I must still wait over two weeks for this stupid kidney to come out, my mind wants to picture the time when it's done and I'm fully recovered.  But I'm finding it hard to envision that time, because I have all this time of waiting--waiting for the operation and waiting to recover--that gets in my way.  A gradual shift is happening in my thinking.  Since I have so much waiting to do, without any shortcuts to rush it along, I might as well settle down and wait.  Don't let me fool you, I'm not completely settled yet.  I still kick and fuss a little.  But I am noticing that fewer of my thoughts reach to tomorrows and future weeks that were never guaranteed to me in the first place.  My adrenaline is pumping less, my blood pressure drops, and I think more about the current day, the present moment.  Realizing that cancer can be life-threatening (even a slow-growing one like this), I begin to appreciate more that every day of my life, every chance to cherish my family, every opportunity to enjoy the fellowship of my church, is a great gift that ought not to be missed while I stew about what tomorrow may hold.

And when I dwell less on my earthly future, I increasingly think about how foolish it is to keep a death grip on this mortal life.  The Bible teaches us that our life is an insubstantial mist that vanishes in the full sunlight of eternity.  Why, then, do we invest so much time, effort, and passion into this order of things that will quickly pass away?  It's like throwing our prize possessions into a bottomless hole--wasted!  Each day of our life is exactly like that, when we do not spend that day investing in things of eternal worth.  Do I realize...do you realize...how short is our time on this fallen world, and how critical it is that we seize each day on that world to prepare ourselves for life on the new and eternal one?  Ecclesiastes 3 reminds us that God has set eternity in our hearts.  There is a homing beacon in each of our souls, sounding out that we were meant for a different world.  While there is still time, we must learn to number our days so that we can apply our hearts to the wise use of each one.  We must worry about the tomorrows less and live more fully in the today that God has gifted us by His grace.  In the final analysis, absolutely nothing matters except how much you love God today, and how you love those precious family and friends that He has given you as a sacred trust.

Learning to wait is really the same thing as learning to dwell: to dwell on the here and the now, to dwell on the relationships you've been given, and to dwell fully in Christ, each moment.  Have you learned to dwell?  Perhaps, if not, the Lord will soon be teaching you how to wait.

Will God Give You More than You Can Handle?

     "God never gives us more than we can handle."  I'm sure you've heard this one, a bunch of times.  Usually, you hear it given out as sage advice when a church member, friend, or neighbor experiences a devastating loss.  Now, it sounds like a true thing, and even a Biblical thing.  It also gives people something to say when they are desperately trying to come up with something that is comforting.  They want to encourage their friend or loved one, and to bolster their faith in God.

     Those who utter this maxim do so with good intent--we must give them credit for what they are trying to do. On the other hand, have you ever stood in a circle of caring around a grieving person (maybe at a funeral visitation) and someone has tried to comfort the aggrieved by the famous saying, "God never gives us more than we can handle?"  Have you experienced the instant increase in awkwardness and tension right afterward? If your experience matches mine, the hurting individual has not appeared to be even slightly comforted by these magic words.  In fact, they've often gotten quiet, and looked even more wounded than before.  You can see it in their eyes: "Whatever you may think about that, this is more than I can handle.  Does that make me a poor Christian? On top of all this hurt, is God also disappointed in me because my faith isn't strong enough?"

     So, I thought we could spend a few minutes examining the truth of this time-worn saying.  Is it Biblical? And if it is Biblical, is that what the verse really means?

     People have extrapolated this famous saying from 1 Corinthians 10:13, which in the NIV says, "No temptation  has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it."

     Now, having given you the verse, I need to point out a couple of features that most folks miss, and so fail to understand the verse fully.

1) Take a look at the context.  What is the theme of the whole chapter?  It's about how Israel caved into the temptation to sin and idolatry.  Paul wrote this  to the church in Corinth as a warning not to fall down the same slide that had brought on Israel's destruction.  So the chief meaning of "temptation" in this verse is "temptation to sin," which Paul says all of us face.

2) The word study books I have suggest that the Greek work for "temptation" (I won't bore you with the word) also includes "trials" in general.  This could mean adverse circumstance, hardship, etc. that puts our faith and character to the test.  Although that's not really the context of this passage, let's say for the sake of argument that Paul also meant "hard times" by this verse.  Even if that's so, (which I don't really buy because of the clear context of the chapter) there are a few other features that we need to notice to get the correct understanding:

3) These temptations are "common to mankind."  In other words, none of us ever face a temptation or hardship that is unique.  So God doesn't make  unique bad things happen to us to see if we sink or swim--whenever we face hard circumstances, they're the very same hard circumstances that thousands or millions are going through, right now.  It's just part of being a mortal human being.  Part of the package.

4) Remember the caution we're given in James 1:13-14...."13 When tempted, no one should say, “God is tempting me.” For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; 14 but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed."  God isn't in the "tempting business", with the hard times that tempt us to abandon our faith.  He's in the "victory OVER temptation" business, as we see here:

5) Look at those words in verse 13 again: "God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it."  This shows us that God does keep a limit on the temptations He will allow us to endure, mindful of where we are in our walk with Him.  We see that acted out in the Book of Job, when God placed outer limits on Satan's activity in Job's life.  God does shepherd our experiences in this way.  He's a good and loving Father, and He keeps our souls safe if we'll trust Him.

6) The last point is this: God doesn't allow experiences based on what WE can handle; we can't actually handle anything.  When we think of things realistically,  our individual strength and faith will break down in the presence of trials.  Humans just don't have it in them.  The real meaning, balanced by the rest of what God teaches us in the Bible, is that any temptation (or trial) needs more than human strength--we absolutely need God's strength as He walks alongside of us and provides the resources we need for each challenge.  He doesn't sit back and watch to see if we sink or swim.  He gets right down with us in the midst of trials and gives us the strength and victory we could never experience on our own. As it says in John 15:5, apart from God (on our own), we can do NOTHING.  But when we abide constantly with Him, never going off on our own, but walking right by His side, we experience the truth of the promise that "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." (Philippians 4:13)

     So the next time you're hurting, take it with a little grain of salt if someone tells you, "God never gives us anything we can't handle."  Be patient with them.  They mean well. They can see you're hurting, and they really want to encourage you.  However, give yourself permission to admit that you actually can't handle the situation.  Also, realize that God doesn't expect you to handle it--not on your own.  That is why He is right by your side, and if you'll let Him, He'll take you by the hand and lead you through that dark valley.  He will supply His strength where yours is lacking.  And one day you'll realize you see a little light at the end of the tunnel.  You won't know how you've made it that far--and that will be because your Father was carrying you.

     And if you're at the side of a grieving friend, I'd encourage you to remain there, quietly, and let that feeling of loss be what it is.  You don't have to come up with anything to make it go away--God will see to that, with time.  Your mere, caring presence will be an unspoken sign to the hurting that God is right there with them as well.  As you grieve with them, it's a sign that God is grieving with them, too.  And really, that's the most powerful thing you can say to a person who feels lost and alone.