Faith And Wheelbarrows

Many of us know the story which illustrates what it means to have faith; you know the one with the tightrope walker and the wheelbarrow and the bricks? Or some iteration of it? It goes something like this:

There is a world-famous tightrope walker preparing to walk across a great chasm. The crowd gathers to watch and cheers as he crosses and returns without a fumble. Next, he takes an empty wheelbarrow across with the same unfaltering stride. Then he turns to ask the audience if they think he could cross with a wheelbarrow full of bricks. The crowd shouts their enthusiastic affirmation, and the tightrope walker completes the trip, again, with ease. He empties the wheelbarrow and asks the crowd if they believe he could do the same with a passenger. Of course the people maintain their belief in his capabilities. Then comes the kicker. He singles out someone and asks, “Will you get in the wheelbarrow?”

The story unfolds so that each person listening to it gets the sensation of the one being singled out. Hearts are meant to pound in the chest at this point. The story leads you to ask, “Do I have real faith? faith enough to risk everything? Will I get in Jesus’ wheelbarrow?”

It’s the Abraham-up-the-hill-knife-in-hand kind of action. It’s the call to willingly kill your only son with the faith that God will somehow make everything turn out all right. It’s the call to get out of the boat and walk on the waves like Peter. It’s the same story of all those recorded in Hebrews chapter 11, often called the “Faith Hall of Fame.” Jesus himself faced this question and answered “yes” while bleeding through his pores.

I see the value of telling such stories. I think it’s important to ask yourself hard questions like this one. However, I think the story misses the point. Let me suggest another way to tell it.

In the act of incarnation, Jesus gets in the wheelbarrow and beckons us to get in with him. He is reaching out his hand in invitation. Not in some pleading, mushy kind of way. He never lost sight of the pain or the joy set before him. To think of the tightrope as being anchored to something solid is not the predicament we are in. He is asking us to face our predicament with him. He knows the cliff which seems safe now will crumble and the world will fall, and so will the tightrope with the wheelbarrow. I think the question of faith is more what Jesus asked Peter as they walked together on Galilee’s shore. “Peter, do you love me more than these?” 

Those who loved him witnessed his death. They saw him fall and felt the world crumble around them. Then he rose again holding out the promise of a new foundation which can never be shaken. 

It’s an imperfect retelling, of course. Don’t read into it too much. I suppose all this is to say that faith looks an awful lot like love. It’s love that compels me to stay close to Jesus. I’d rather be with him in a falling wheelbarrow so that I can be with him when he raises me from certain death, though I admit it doesn't always make the journey less painful or death less scary.

“Alex, do you love me?”

“Yes Lord. I’ll get into any wheelbarrow as long as you are with me. I think I’m more afraid of being left without you than I am of suffering and dying with you.”