Monday, September 17, 2007

God And The Lottery

And then there was the fellow who complained all the time about his bad luck, and thrust his fist skyward to ask why the Almighty had not helped him win the lottery. He pressed his question for months, and finally the answer came. One afternoon, he heard a voice coming out of gathering storm clouds: "Harry, buy a ticket."

Of all the theologically-toned lottery leg-pulling I have witnessed over the years, this particular back of the knees kick has been my favorite. At least until recently. After winning hugely in a nation-wide lottery, a Wicca practitioner (witchcraft, that is) has been quoted as saying that he didn't know which one of the gods fulfilled his wish to be a big winner, but that he was grateful to whomever. I love thinking about the pressure his doxology could put on folks who are into forging connections between having Jesus as their Savior and prospering mightily in life. Their God seems to have some catching up to do.

Without getting ponderous about the functions that humor in general serves in our psyches --- I once had a doctoral student do a really fine thesis on this subject which, nevertheless, wound up pretty unfunny to both of us --- I think that we can figure out at least something of why we keep listening to all these mediocre jabs about an institution that is neither all that amusing in itself nor all that worthy of the efforts we make to keep it alive and well in our communities. We all know that God is about more important things than fixing lotteries on probably the only planet in the universe with inhabitants playful enough to create them. But deep in some peoples' heart of hearts, there is a part of them that not only believes it credible to wish for the transcendental fix to be in, but to expect the Big Fixer to open up a parking space at the convenience store when they want to scoop up the winning ticket. What hilarious relief it is to know that we are not like those people.

Or at least not altogether like them. I myself do pray for birdie putts to fall every now and then, but I always do it under my breath, and I promise to take the full credit for sinking them myself, should any ever happen to drop. This way I can keep at least the appearance of theological integrity intact. I can also keep at bay any nagging worry that might ensue over what God might have been neglecting elsewhere while readjusting blades of grass four feet ahead of my golf ball's path toward the hole.

Recently I participated in a meeting to discuss implementation issues surrounding the new Religious Freedom for Schoolchildren bill passed by the Texas Legislature. As important as the issue is that it addresses, the legislation itself borders on the superfluous, as do a lot of the comments in support of it that I have heard since the meeting. One is a real rib-tickler. A parent wanted to make sure that students from the host schools of football games would retain the right to pray publically that God would be on their teams' side. When asked about providing an opportunity for the visitors' prayers also to be expressed, she said that they will have their chance at other times, when they are the hosts. What makes these words a laughing matter, of course, is how ludicrous this parent looks, compared with how sage I look to myself. She almost makes me forget my own desperate prayers to Holy Wisdom to get me through a few final examinations by pumping into my head on the spot the data I never got around to digging out on my own.

On balance, I think we are far better off looking with humor at the trivializing of divine providence than we are kicking righteous indignation into gear at the first sign of losing perspective on it. For the trivializing is all on our part, and not God's, and beneath its surface are not so very funny doubts about whether the maker of the heavens and the earth does indeed have better things in mind for us than we can come up with ourselves. Making light of the doubts may seem like a strange way to deal with them. But for getting beyond them, there is nothing like perspective, the kind of perspective to which, sometimes, only humor can lead us. Have you heard the one about the fellow who presumed to think that there is a God who is mindful of us?

Monday, September 03, 2007

The Spiritual Desolation Of Mother Teresa

The Gospels of Mark and Matthew convey a disturbingly candid portrait of Jesus' spiritual torments during his last hours on earth. According to their accounts, he was terrifyingly alone in the Garden of Gethsemene while oblivious disciples slept. And he was despairingly alone on the cross while uncomprehending antagonists mocked. In Luke's Gospel and John's, it is as if this portrait had proved too much for many in the early church to bear. Luke mitigates Jesus' suffering in the garden by giving him an angel for comfort and strength; John removes the element of agony altogether from the scene; and both Gospels present a triumphant Jesus on the cross. The net result of these greatly varied images is the knowledge that the Savior of the World did indeed experience abandonment by God, as so many of his followers would through the centuries, but that he had to endure the experience for only a few hours.

Now we are learning that one of Jesus' very purest followers in our own time experienced what he did in his, but not for just a few hours. By her own words, she experienced Jesus' cut-offness from God across the whole of her life of service to him. I think Mother Teresa deserved better. And if her church were not so heaven-bent on getting her elevated to sainthood --- a worthy striving, to be sure; if this beautiful woman doesn't deserve sainthood, who does? --- we might be hearing less about the commonality of her spiritual travail among saints in general. Cheeriness about Teresa's normalcy as a doubter seems to me a little disrespectful of the uniqueness, to her, of her heart-rending struggle. So my question in all this is not about whether her doubts will derail her canonization. It is about what to think of a God whose son promised that all we have to do is ask, but who Himself seemed so intentional about denying the one thing this loyal servant so poignantly said she needed from Him.

Yes, it may be that Mother Teresa herself contributed to at least part of her own sense of abandonment, through giving less credence than she might have given to the two deeply mystical encounters with Christ that apparently she did have. Early in her life, Teresa wrote, she heard Christ speak the words "Come be my light" directly to her, and her mission to India was born. Ten years later, she entered a glorious period of re-experiencing God's (Christ's?) presence in her life, and then --- nothing. But why --- and here I am trying to ask this out of as much pastoral sensitivity as I am capable of --- were these very powerful, very real encounters not enough for her? Might she have compounded her own distress by choosing simply to keep on asking for too much? Many truly faithful people I know have found it possible to remain faithful to God and Christ without experiencing anything remotely close to even one personal encounter with either.

And yes, signs of a very deep trust in God were all around Mother Teresa, just as I believe they are around these Christian friends of mine. That Teresa could yearn for validating encounters with Christ across the whole of her life and ministry, and yet not abandon her commitments when they were not forthcoming, clearly shows her to be a woman of faith, whatever may have been the terms with which she chose to describe herself to her superiors and confessors. Just as Jesus, in Luke's phrasing, set his face resolutely toward Jerusalem to die, Teresa set hers obediently toward Calcutta to help others live, and it is for their respective acts that both will remain especially honored by God through all eternity. Sometimes, it would seem, St. Paul to the contrary notwithstanding, people do get saved by their works as completely as they do by their faith.

But still, the picture I have for years held in my mind of that sweet, tough little woman, lighting up life with her smiles while protecting all of us from having to face the despair that lay behind them, has haunted me and will continue to haunt me for the rest of my days. The absence of the experience of God is surely one of the most profound deprivations with which any human being should ever have to deal in this life. Except, perhaps, the experience of the absence of Him. Better to have loved God and lost Him than never to have loved Him at all? My mind says yes, but my heart is not so sure.