By Rev. Kathryn Ray
"Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through. A man was there by the name of Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was wealthy. He wanted to see who Jesus was, but because he was short he could not see over the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way. When Jesus reached the spot, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today."... Zacchaeus stood up and said to the LORD, "Look, LORD! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount." Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham." -from Luke 19
Public benefits offices are among the most hellish devised by human hands. These are the places you go to apply for food assistance, Medicaid, or financial assistance with housing and utilities. Where you wait for four to six hours under harsh fluorescent lighting in hard plastic chairs, surrounded by dozens of other people who are stressed and in pain, all to spend five minutes with someone who may or may not understand exactly what services you are requesting.
On my most recent visit, a security guard stood up in front of the dozens of people who had come to line up an hour, two hours before the office opened. He told us:
“Listen, I know you have problems and you’re suffering. I’m not here to hear your story. I really hope you get better, but I don’t care. I’m just here to take your names to send you upstairs as quickly as possible.”
As appalling as that may sound, I couldn’t fault him. These employees have to work at this place day after day. They are constantly faced with desperation, pain, and deep need. They don’t have near the resources they require to actually meet those needs. So they find ways to protect themselves, both logistically and emotionally. We all do this. We all find ways to steel our hearts in the face of deep need.
It makes me wonder: What if, instead of sending my tax dollars to the government to allocate to those in need, I put it aside and kept it. And I was told, we’re sending people who need assistance with food and medicine to you. You decide how to apportion the money. You decide who gets what. How would I do it? How would I manage, both logistically and emotionally?
I ask, because this is the situation in which Zacchaeus is now in.
It’s easy to see this story as a kind of Christmas Carol. Zacchaeus is the Scrooge whose heart has opened, “fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions.” He buys Christmas dinner. Everybody rejoices, and God bless us everyone.
That’s not how it’s going to work.
Zacchaeus is opening his door to a world of hurt and need that goes farther and deeper than even his abundant financial resources can meet. He has committed to giving half his possessions to the poor. Jericho is a city, and there are lots of people in need there. How does he choose whom to help? How much does each person get?
What happens when they come back the next day?
What happens when- God forbid- they are not grateful for what they are getting from this wealthy man who has cheated people for so many years?
Zacchaeus is opening a public benefits office, of which he is the sole proprietor. God help him.
But of course, that’s the point. He’s doing this because God helped him. He has, more literally than any of us, found Jesus. He wanted to see who Jesus was, and now he has. He has been converted and convicted.
Father Gustavo Gutierrez, the Latin American priest who galvanized the liberation theology movement, calls conversion a starting place, a break with the life lived up to that point. Note that, according to this definition, conversion is not primarily a change of religious identity. Rather, it is the beginning of a new spiritual journey.
For a prime example of someone who was truly converted, Father Gutierrez looks to Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador, who just last week was being canonized as a Catholic saint. Romero was already a believer and a Christian leader. His conversion to the cause of Christ happened when he got woke to the realities of the people that he was called to minister to. He was torn out of an upper-class, academic world in which he was quite comfortable and placed in a new world, the world of the poor.
That world was described by a member of our Hispanic congregation at last week’s service for lamentation and healing in the wake of the Laquan McDonald case. She said, “We were jailed, we were put in dungeons where, supposedly, we had disappeared. And our only commitment was to work for our people.”
Romero’s conversion moved him to speak out, like the biblical prophets before him, against the systems that crushed the poor into the ground. This kind of authentic conversion is not something that happens in a single moment, once and for all. Father Gutierrez reminds us this. Rather, it is ongoing process. A process that includes stumbling blocks and temptations to turn back.
If Zacchaeus is to truly commit himself to the poor at the level he proposes, he will not be able to simply give money to those in need and turn away again. Once he opens his door to that flood of need, it cannot easily be shut. He will have to attend deeply to the stories and the hurts of the people. He will listen to them, he will know them, and he will be changed. Father Gutierrez gives that kind of relationship a name. He calls it solidarity.
Zacchaeus will doubt. He will not know the way forward. If he does it right, he will, sometimes, be taken advantage of. And his heart will be broken again and again.
He will not be enough. He will eventually fail and burn out. He will have to steel himself, guard his heart, like the workers in that public benefits office.
Unless he finds a community to do it with him. That, my friends, is #whyIgivetoNSBC. Our giving of ourselves interweaves us in relationship with one another. It draws us together into a deeper commitment, a solidarity with one another and with the world around us.
Together, as a church, we can truly face our continual need for conversion. We can stay strong as we continually open our hearts to the needs of those around us. We can stay creative as we ask together how we might commit ourselves anew to the task of solidarity with those in need in pain.
Siblings, on this road of solidarity that we walk together, we will struggle, we will feel doubt and fear, and our hearts will be broken again and again.
But through it all, the Spirit of God goes with us. She holds us up through the love and support that we give one another. As we love each other with loyalty and forgiveness, as we share joys and heartaches, and care for each other in times of need.
That is the mandate of our church covenant, which you can find in your bulletin today. It is a holy promise to walk with one another in and with those around us in the way of Christ, on the road of solidarity.
Together, may we follow Zacchaeus in giving deeply of ourselves, and in so doing, follow in the footsteps of Jesus.
 In the Company of the Poor: Conversations with Dr. Paul Farmer and Fr. Gustavo Gutierrez, ed. Michal Griffina and Jennie Weiss Block (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2013), p. 71.
By Rev. Kathryn Ray
“How does it feel to be a problem?”
The question fell to me to answer in a small group setting last February, when I attended Rev. Dr. Greg Ellison’s Fear+Less Dialogues workshop as part of the Young Adult Initiative in which NSBC is participating. He calls it “one of the five most difficult questions to answer.”
Rev. Dr. Ellison- pastor, psychologist, and professor at Candler Theological School- did not come up with this question on his own. He draws it from The Souls of Black Folk, by the luminary thinker W.E.B DuBois. Rev. Dr. Ellison also believes that this experience of problem-ness is something many of us- across diverse backgrounds- can relate to. When you are blazing a new path that those around you cannot see, when you are living or working in a space whose values, whose basic assumptions about life, conflict with your own, you may come to find that you are a problem.
By Rev. Kathryn Ray
The story of David and Jonathan is one of the great love stories of the Bible. The text tells us that, soon after they first met, the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. They are thus, perhaps, the first known soulmates.
When I was doing background research for this sermon, as is my wont, a lot of articles that came up were debating whether or not we could see David and Jonathan as a gay couple. When we read these words of David that Jonathan’s love "surpassed the love of women," it does fire the imagination.
It’s important to remember that neither of these men would have claimed a sexual orientation. That understanding of human sexuality is alien to the text. And furthermore, marriage in this time was not what it is in our day and age. It wasn’t a union between lovers or soulmates. It was a property transfer, a formal arrangement to ensure and to safeguard the creation of children who would literally keep you alive in your old age and insure that you had a legacy.
But keeping in mind this distance between us and our text, I think I stand on solid, biblical ground when I say that the love between David and Jonathan was deep, true, and abiding.
By Rev. Kathryn Ray
Jesus answered, "Very truly I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, 'You must be born again.' The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." "How can this be?" Nicodemus asked. -John 3:5-9
You know when you've done something basically your entire life, and then suddenly one day it's like you're discovering it for the first time? This is the story of how I rediscovered sacred reading. Even though I'd literally been doing it the week before.
By Rev. Kathryn Ray
After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice: “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.” -Revelation 7:9-10
There was a time in my early twenties when I worshipped at a little Moravian church. At the very front of the sanctuary in this little church appeared the Moravian seal, which features a lamb trotting along confidently, carrying a banner. The words wrapping around the outside of the seal read: “Our lamb has conquered. Let us follow him.”
When I first saw the seal, I was unsettled. I was familiar with the symbolic language of Jesus as the lamb, and I was familiar with the idea of Jesus conquering the forces of death, but I wasn’t terribly comfortable with either one.
By Rev. Kathryn Ray
At NSBC in this Lenten season, the question before us is “Why Did Jesus Die?” It’s a vexing question, not in the least because it’s widely considered a very central part of the Christian narrative. Why would so many different stripes of Christianity place so much emphasis on the violent execution of the leading figure in their faith?
I know a very devout evangelical woman in Nicaragua who is very against the practice of displaying crosses and crucifixes. “If your son was killed by gun violence, would you go around wearing a gun on a necklace?” is her logic.
Where is the grace in crucifixion?
By Rev. Kathryn Ray
About 10 years ago, I was reflecting on the story of the potter’s house in Jeremiah, and I wrote the following prayer in a journal:
“You are not the potter, and I am not the clay. Clay can only be molded for a time, and then it hardens, never again to change form and evolve, until it ultimately breaks into shards to be thrown away. If I am to be sculpted by a divine hand, let it be as Play-Doh in the hands of a child. Bright and soft, morphing and transforming, from rocks to pizza to dinosaurs. May the limits of my being be the limits of an imagination at play, made into something new with each passing day.”
By Rev. Kathryn Ray
During Advent, we read a lot of texts about the Second Coming of Jesus. There is invariably something about every one of these texts that utterly defies any attempt to fit it into in my brain or my sense of reason. Take Revelation 15:
“Then I saw another sign in heaven, great and amazing, seven angels with seven plagues, which are the last, or with them the wrath of God is finished. And I saw what appeared to be a sea of glass mingled with fire- and also those who had conquered the beast and its image and the number of its name, standing beside the sea of glass with harps of God in their hands.”
That texts is as powerful as it is mind-blowingly incomprehensible.
Paul had a long and complex relationship with the church at Corinth. He sent them many letters, only a few of which we have preserved in the New Testament. At one point, the relationship between Paul and the church at Corinth became strained. Based on what he says in 2 Corinthians, we know that Paul sent them a passionate and strongly-worded letter that they did not appreciate. They felt it was too much. It came on too strong.
If you ever wonder how Christian communities responded to Paul telling them they needed to be more unified or more humble, or what have you, 2 Corinthians shows us they responded like you would expect them to. They did not take it well. So perhaps to mend fences, he visits in person. Instead of making things better, the visit makes things worse. Things really fall apart.
The Pain of Language Learning - The Curse of Babel
So many people say that learning a second language is an amazing thing to do. They say it broadens your horizons, improves your brain functioning, allows you to connect with new people and cultures, and improves your employability. But when articles, studies, and people on Facebook extol the virtues of multilingualism, learning a second language is almost never what they’re talking about. They mean to say it is great to have learned a second language. Learning a new language is hard, often embarrassing, and frequently painful.