Lessons from the Billiken
Exodus 17 1:17
Philippians
2:1-13 Matthew
21:23-32
This morning I brought show and tell. This little fellow is a
billiken, considered in several cultures to be a good luck
symbol. He looks like a cross between a Buddha and a kewpie doll,
and his impish grin seems to say, “I know more than you do.”
I first saw him when I was barely tall enough to peer into my
grandmother’s china cabinet. He didn’t seem to belong among her
collection of porcelain figurines and fine glassware. But his
shelf was just at my height. I loved his fat tummy and his
welcoming smile — and the way he seemed to communicate with me.
Noticing my preoccupation with the billiken, one day my grandmother
lifted him out of the china cabinet and told me billikens like him had
been all the craze following the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair.
Then she upended the billiken and read me what was written on the brass
plaque on the bottom: “The god of things as they ought to be.”
When Nana died, others wanted the delicate ballerina and the cut-glass
sugar bowl; I wanted the billiken. He came into my possession
over forty years ago and has sat on my desk ever since.
Some of you know that this little fellow inspired my latest novel, but
mischievous imp that he is, he, along with God, of course, has also
furnished the inspiration for this sermon.
I have been eternally fascinated by the concept of a “god of things as
they ought to be.” What might that mean? A god of things as
I think they should be or what someone else thinks should be?
Does it refer to a deity who has already determined my fate, or do I
have some measure of control? What if it’s precisely those life
experiences which thwarted my expectations that, as I look back, have
ultimately resulted in things as they ought to be?
Today, in both the reading from Exodus and the Gospel lesson from
Matthew, we are confronted by willful souls, convinced that they know
exactly how things are supposed to be.
Let’s look first at the Israelites described in Exodus, who most
certainly did not sign up for a journey characterized by such inhumane
deprivation. First, they endured the lack of food until finally
manna rained down from heaven. Now with cracked lips and parched
throats, they cry out for water. They are beyond grumbling and
complaining—they want action!
They demand that Moses give them water. After all, he got them
into this mess in the first place. It’s his responsibility to
solve all their problems, right? Feeling set upon and helpless,
Moses asks them, “Why do you quarrel with me?” in essence saying, “What
do you expect me to do about it?” He goes on then to ask them why
they are testing the Lord.
The implication is clear: the way things ought to be according to the
Israelites is most certainly not the way things are. They are in
the middle of the desert with their children and livestock and there is
nary a drop to drink, nor does their leader have a ready solution to
their distress.
They are a people questioning Moses, one another, and God — asking “”Is
the Lord among us or not?’” Fortunately in his great need, Moses
remembers to turn to the Lord, who provides him with the means of
bringing forth water from a rock.
The Bible tells us that in the end, the wandering Israelites were
delivered into the Promised Land. At that point did they look
back and recognize a purpose for their suffering, discover in their
doubt the growing certainty of faith, or realize that, even in their
times of darkest despair, God was always with them?
One can draw a modern parallel with those displaced by Hurricanes
Katrina, Gustav, and Ike. Like the Israelites, untold thousands
were forced to flee the threat of death. Along the way they
endured every hardship: separation from family, physical and
psychological displacement, hunger, thirst, illness, panic, and
traumatizing experiences and memories.
Some undoubtedly asked the question over and over concerning God’s role
in such massive disasters — perhaps in the very words of Exodus: “Is
the Lord among us or not?”
In today’s passage from Matthew, we have a different situation with the
chief priests and elders. They have no doubts. They know
the way things are supposed to be — and who is in charge. Smug in
their knowledge of the Torah, puffed up with authority, and determined
to preserve their power, they are not happy about this Jesus, who
insists on challenging their oh-so-comfortable status quo.
In their view, for things to be as they ought to be and remain that
way, they must somehow put this annoying Jesus in his place. They
elect to do that by asking by whose authority Jesus is spreading his
message, hoping the onlookers will see him for the charlatan they
believe him to be.
But Jesus turns the tables on them and backs them into a corner, using
their own rhetorical tricks. Jesus reminds them in no uncertain
terms that they had been given every opportunity to heed John the
Baptist and recognize Jesus for who he is. Yet, as the saying
goes, “None so deaf as those who will not hear.”
If the priests and elders had owned a billiken, surely they might have
fingered him and mumbled in their beards, “What does this Jesus
mean? Surely taxpayers and prostitutes cannot go into the kingdom
of heaven ahead of us. There is no way that this is `things as
they ought to be’.”
In recent days I imagine many of us have shared similar reactions to
those of the Israelites and the elders as we’ve watched events unfold
in the financial and political arenas. We ask ourselves, “How can
these problems be happening — and so suddenly?” We thought we
knew what we could count on, which institutions and experts we could
trust — in short, we assumed we understood how things are supposed to
be.
Like the wandering Israelites who questioned Moses, their leader, we
question where our leaders are taking us and whether we can rely on
them for deliverance. We cast longing glances back across the Red
Sea of our perhaps difficult but predictable past and then scan the
hazy horizon seeking a future characterized by the unknown, perhaps
even by the unthinkable.
Like those puzzled priests and elders, we have no answers for a
changing and challenging society. Nor can we comprehend the
monumental problems created by the greed and corruption of
others. Much as we might like to return to a world where we
thought we knew the rules and where we took our security for granted,
we cannot go back, any more than the Israelites could have retreated to
Egypt.
But, buoyed by faith, we can press on, encouraging one another, and
remembering that even in the scorching desert, God provided food and
water to his unhappy, disgruntled, doubting flock. Just as the
Israelites did not travel alone, neither do we.
In times of trouble, fear is a natural reaction, with worry as a
byproduct. Uncertainty grips us in ways that cause intellectual
and emotional paralysis, and worry changes nothing.
I strongly believe that neither my billiken nor my God has ordained
such disruptive events in order to test us. In trying times,
where we find God is together — in our reactions to stress and
difficulty and in the Gospel’s promise of a kingdom based on
love. We have the opportunity to create that kingdom right here,
right now, and the guidelines for this mission are clearly implied in
today’s readings.
First, solutions come when we do as Moses did in his frustration and
helplessness: he turned to God and asked for help. And, it is
important to remember, help was given. God never abandoned his
people.
Second, salvation results when, like the tax collectors and
prostitutes, we follow Jesus without measuring a Messiah by our own
preconceived expectations. Like those outcasts of Jewish society,
we can simply and wholeheartedly accept Jesus as Lord and Savior.
Third, unlike the priests and elders, we can heed those messages from
God that arrive sometimes from the unlikeliest sources, even a
wild-eyed, disheveled John the Baptist. In silence or even in the
midst of the hubbub around us, we can open our hearts to listen for the
still, small voice of God that calms a weary spirit and guides us on
the way.
Finally, we may achieve the same grace in community that Paul speaks of
in this morning’s lesson from Philippians when he encourages us to
exercise love, compassion, and sympathy. When he admonishes us to
act with selflessness and humility and to concern ourselves only with
those issues that are ours to solve.
Yes, times are troubled, but we need not let the times control
us. To fall victim to worry and fear is not the “way things ought
to be.” The billiken promises much more.
But not even he has the vision for good exemplified in our Lord Jesus
Christ and showered upon us each and every day in the myriad blessings
of our lives.
In the verses from Psalm 78 appointed for today, the psalmist gets it
right when he beseeches the people to heed the lessons learned by the
wandering Israelites. He says, “We will recount to generations to
come the praiseworthy deeds and the power of the Lord, and the
wonderful works he has done.” [v. 4]
We don’t need the billiken, you see. Because in the wonderful
works of our Lord, we are given knowledge of exactly “the way things
ought to be” and are invited to share in that holy plan.
Amen.
Laura Shoffner
St. James’ Episcopal Church
Eureka Springs, Arkansas
Sept. 28, 2008