This kid has a theological pet peeve.
Actually, I have more like a million. But tonight I will bring one of them to your attention. Typically, I can’t handle cute Christianese phrases. I shudder every time I pass a church sign that says “Seven days without prayer makes one weak.” It’s like fingernails on a chalk board. Homonyms are tacky. Rhymes are possibly even worse. And there is little to no theological depth behind any of these little maxims.
As such, one of my least favorite phrases is “Too blessed to be stressed.” Even worse is its evil cousin, “Too anointed to be disappointed.” Three-syllable rhymes are even more unacceptable than one-syllable rhymes, and the theology here is crushingly bad. There’s no other word for it. Just bad.
For one thing, it’s horrendously smug. When you paste on a self-satisfied smile and tell a struggling person, “I’m too blessed to be stressed!”, it sends the following message: I am a super-Christian. You are ungrateful and have no faith.
Disappointment in this life is a very real obstacle, regardless of how “anointed” you may be. But when you say that you’re above stress and worry because you have superior faith in Jesus, it makes a very normal person feel very alone in their struggles. Now in addition to the cloud of worry hanging over their head, which is probably very legitimate and justifiable, they have a sinking feeling in the pit of their stomach and the nagging thought, “I’m not a real Christian.”
When we don’t allow people to feel their feelings, we lose a vital sense of transparency — and thus, community. Honest communication shuts down, and we get the fake little plastic smiles as we pull ourselves up by our bootstraps to make ourselves super-Christians — happy little robots who are too anointed to be disappointed. And somewhere in the midst of all this pretending, we lose the entire point of the gospel.
You see, Jesus didn’t come so that we would never experience these negative emotions, but so that we would have hope in the midst of them.
I have heard people before use Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:25-34 as a strict command, as if a dark and angry Jesus is towering over us gravely shaking his finger in our faces and saying ominously, “Stop worrying! That’s what the pagans do.” I have heard people reason, “Worry signifies a lack of faith…worry is a sin!”
It was a cool concept. It made sense to me. I eagerly jumped on the bandwagon and quickly agreed, “Yeah! Worry is a sin!” Whenever I worried, I would slap myself around a little bit and anxiously repent, “God! I’m sorry! I’ll do better!” And I would shove the worry into a closet and slam the door and paste on a fake smile, hoping that all that worry wouldn’t build up and come bursting out in a panic attack. What kind of witness would that be? What would that say about my faith? I would be an ungrateful, un-anointed un-Christian, that’s what.
But then one day I saw Jesus’ words in a new light. I saw a gentle, loving Jesus stooping down and tenderly cupping my face in his hand, saying in a soft voice, “Don’t worry, beloved. I have it taken care of.”
At this point in my life, I truly do not believe that faith and worry stand in opposition to one another. Rather, I see worry as a chance to exercise faith. I do not believe stress to be a sin. If you’re insistent on viewing it in a negative light, you could see it as a temptation. But instead, I choose to see it as an opportunity: not to shove it in a closet or pretend it isn’t there, not to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and be a super-Christian, but to snuggle into the arms of the Savior and childishly, trustingly tell Him that you need help.
I’ve mentioned in another post, Dear Grace, that sin is less about doing something wrong than it is about a state of separation from God. I’m open to correction, but this is the way I see it. Jesus didn’t die because you parked illegally in a handicapped spot; He died to bridge the gap between God and humanity, to draw you back to Himself. Following this logic, I would consider it more destructive to our relationship with God to pretend we’re fine when we’re not, than to allow ourselves to struggle.
The point of the gospel isn’t to ignore our brokenness; the point is to address it. Salvation isn’t about denying our humanity; it’s about surrendering it to Jesus. Don’t put Jesus off until you’ve got your act together; your messed-up-ness is the entire reason you need Him.
Don’t put contempt or condemnation behind words that are meant to be comforting and reassuring. You don’t have to shoulder the burden with all the bravado of Superman. There’s another way:
“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”