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?