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United Church of Paducah
4600 Buckner Lane
Paducah, KY 42001
(270) 442-3722
Worship Times
Sunday Service: 10:00a
Refreshments &
Fellowship: 11:15a
Christian Education
For All Ages:
11:20a - Noon
Nursery Services Provided Handicap Accessible
All Are Welcome!
A Congregation Of The
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From November 11, 2007
Seeing And Being Seen
Luke 19:1-10
Earlier this week I was out and about and
caught someone looking at me.
"Howya doin'?" Said the man with a big grin.
"Great. Do I know you?"
"Aren't you so and so?" He asked, his smile fading.
"No, but I can see why you would confuse us. We do sorta
look alike."
The man was embarrassed, of course. So I reassured him,
several times, and went on with my day.
But the mix-up got me thinking about a comment a college
professor once made. We were talking about identity
formation, how as children we come to know who we are. Dr.
Fischer said that one of the surest ways to cause a
preschooler profound distress (not that you'd want to) is to
consistently call them by the wrong name. Even at a young
age, we know who we arewhich means we also know who we
aren't.
When poet Maya Angelou taught a university class recently,
she went to great pains to have her students (surely a
lecture hall full!) learn each other's names and how to
correctly spell them. That took up the entire first session.
When the class met a second time, Angelou devoted time for a
thorough review. Same thing at the beginning of the third
class.
Finally Angelou asked her class why this pursuit was
important; the only response she got was a stony silence. So
she explained, "Your name is a sign of your dignity. When
you recognize someone's name, you recognize them not just as
a human but as a person. One of the greatest ways you bestow
human dignity on someone is by calling them by name."
(Christian Century, Oct. 30, 2007, p. 6.)
"Hey you," just doesn't cut it if you want someone to feel
seen and valued. Which is why I always swoon just a little
bit when Jesus calls others by name, as he does today. Like
Maya Angelou, Jesus knew that using someone's name is no
small thing.
"Zacchaeus, hurry and come down," Jesus calls out. And
Zacchaeus does. But does the Z-man scurry down simply
because Jesus has called out his name? I don't think so. He
scrambles down because something bigger has taken place.
Jesus has seen, truly seen, Zacchaeus. And Zacchaeus senses
this.
"Hurry and come down, Zacchaeus," Jesus implores. "For I
must stay at your house today."
Jesus sees Zacchaeus. But the crowd? No way, Jose. All they
see is how Zach earns his more-than-cushy living, one that
makes him nothing but a big, bad sell-out. No, make that
sinner. A name they only use behind his back.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never
hurt me." Wanna bet?
Forget the playground. Think about all those soldiers who
returned from Vietnam, many who saw the unspeakable and some
who were asked to do the unthinkable.
What did our nation call them? What names did we use? None
that I recall hearing conferred an ounce of dignity; what I
remember are names that conveyed disgust and disregard.
Names largely forgotten now that we've moved on to new
conflicts but names that surely still ring in our vets' ears
and which still sting the tender flesh of memory. Names
that, for some of those soldiers anyway, reshaped their
identity in tragic ways.
We each ache to be called by our rightful names. But more
than this, we ache to be seen rightly. Which is what Jesus
offers us. Jesus insists that we are never simply the sum of
our choices or the product of our circumstances. No matter
what, Jesus says, I see who you. And who are you, really?
You are my Father's child, Jesus says, you are beloved and
deeply known.
When he looked up into a sycamore tree and spied little
Zacchaeus looking back at him, Jesus didn't see a man who
had grown rich selling out his own people. He didn't see a
friendless pariah who needed rescuing. When Jesus looked up
at Zacchaeus, he saw one of God's own sons, a brother who
had lost his way because he had defined himself and was
defined by his choices. Jesus saw who Zacchaeus really was.
And so called forth that man.
Jesus had his way of doing that, calling people forth. In
southern Africa, the Babemba tribe have theirs. When a
member of that tribe acts irresponsibly or unjustly, as
Zacchaeus did, that person is taken to the center of the
village. Everything comes to a stop so that everyone can
gather around the accused and take turns talking directly to
them.
Now don't get ahead of me here! This is no festival of
complaint, no occasion for name-calling or curses. No. No.
No. One at a time, each person tells all the good things the
accused ever did. Every incident, every experience that can
be recalled with any detail is recounted. Each positive
attribute and strength is lifted up. Good deeds and
kindnesses are recited carefully and at length. During this
process no one allowed to fabricate, exaggerate, or be
facetious about accomplishments or positive qualities of the
accused.
It is not uncommon for this ceremony to last several days
and it doesn't end until every positive comment has been
heard. Then the tribal circle is broken, a joyous
celebration takes place, and the person is symbolically and
literally welcomed back into the tribe. (Peace Pilgrim
Newsletter, date unknown).
This time of great rejoicing reminds me of the big party
Jesus describes in his parable about a no-account,
inheritance-squandering son and a father's unshakable love.
In that story, you might recall that the young man told his
father he so wanted to be taken in that he was willing to
forfeit his identity as son and instead be considered a
hired hand, so grave were his mistakes. But the father would
have none of that.
God never loses sight of who we are. Nor does God need a
whole village to gather to remind us. When God's involved,
even one person can call another down out of the branches
and back to himself, herself.
Notice that when he spied retched Zach up there in that
sycamore of his, Jesus didn't form the Jericho crowd into a
circle around him, African style. He did not ask the crowd
to see beyond the rich, Roman-ring-kissing-Jew-betraying man
Zacchaeus had become over the years, back, back, back to
Zacchaeus original beauty.
That would have been too much to ask. Jesus simply encircled
Zacchaeus with his love. Something Zacchaeus was more than
willing to allow.
Sometimes all it takes is one person. One person to see
beyond the labels, beyond the bad choices, beyond the
reputationswarranted or not. That's how it worked for
Zacchaeus. And that's how it worked for Jerica Wind, whose
story is a moving one.
This is how Jerica tells it: When Ken called me in for a
second interview, he was straight with me: my former
employer had told him that Id been sick. My stomach
tightened. But Ken only asked if I was ready to go back to
work. I answered with an enthusiastic yes.
I may have spoken too quickly. Forty pounds overweight and
clinically depressed, I had trouble relating to my
co-workers and hid in the bathroom a lot. On the weekends I
stayed in bed. Still I believed work would help me get over
my depression. I could not bear to be alone.
Ken said I would figure the job out in my own time. He let
me be myself, even if that meant never saying good morning
or smiling or joining the staff in the lunchroom at noon.
Ken was so effusive of his praise for me and my
accomplishments that I began to think he must be stupid. At
least he should have noticed how often I went to the
bathroom.
I felt I owed it to Ken to come clean about my past: the
eleven psychiatric hospitalizations; the night the police
had broken down my apartment door, handcuffed me, and
escorted me into an ambulance; the lithium I took as a mood
stabilizer and the shotsto ward off psychosis. But what
would happen if I did confess? Why did I want to tell him?
Why burden him with my problems?
One afternoon Ken and I were talking about previous jobs
wed held, and I discovered he had been a psychiatric social
worker in a hospital were I had been a patient not once, but
twice. I had to restrain from blurting out everything.
Not only that, we had both lived in the same neighborhood
for more than twenty years, at times right around the corner
from each other. I worried that he might remember me from
when I
had gone on rampages in the street. I would steal things
from stores, threaten the owners, and then run when they
called the cops. But if he did remember me, he said nothing.
Then one day we were talking about mental illness, and he
leaned over and asked quietly if it had really been bad for
me.
It was horrific, I said.
He had, of course, known all along. But hed told himself
that if he didnt give me a chance, then he wasnt being
true to his mission.
After three years, Ken moved to another department, but we
are still friends and neighbors. I even baby-sit his
children. In fact, Ken boasts that he trusts his kids with
only three people in the world: his in-laws, and me. (The
Sun, November 2004, p. 36.)
"Jerica, Zacchaeus, God's beloved, come down out of that
tree to discover all over again who you really are," Jesus
says. John's gospel reminds us that not only does Jesus know
each of us by name and calls to us, God gifts us with the
capacity to recognize that voice no matter how it might come
into our lives. (John 10).
So listen. God may be calling you by name. Listen again. Do
you recognize that voice? It may be Christ himself, speaking
your name, asking you to reach out to a brother or sister
who is waiting to be seen for who they truly are.
Let us pray: Thank you, Loving God, for all those times you
have placed people in our lives who could see past our
shortcomings to our true essence. Surely Christ has worked
through them. We pray now for all those who need to know and
feel that no matter what others say, no matter what they
think, they are your sons and daughters. If you can use us,
do. And whenever we are able to be of help, let us give you
the glory. For all that is good, healing, and true comes
from you. And we are grateful. Amen.
© Rev. Karen Winkel
United Church of Paducah (UCC) |
"Never place a period where God has placed a comma." - Gracie
Allen
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