“The Wisdom of Attention”

Matthew 2:1-12

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

January 4, 2026

Have you been following the journey of the Wise Men? As we speak, they’re in eastern Georgia and they should cross over into South Carolina in the next few days. There are around twenty of them, plus their support team that follows along in an RV. Everywhere they go, they are greeted by local elected officials and religious leaders, throngs of admirers, and first responders who help them stay safe. They wear long, orange robes and often walk barefoot or in socks. They left Fort Worth, Texas on October 26th and should arrive in Washington, D.C. on February 12th. 

Who are these Wise Men? They are Buddhist monks on a 2,300 mile Walk for Peace to “promote national healing, unity, and compassion.” According to their own press release:

Buddhist monks dedicate their lives to preserving, practicing, and sharing the teachings of the Buddha through renunciation, meditation, study, and compassionate service. Following the Buddha’s example, monks often undertake long walking pilgrimages—spiritual journeys that may last for months. During the Walk for Peace, participating monks will observe a strict ascetic code inspired by these ancient traditions—including eating only one meal per day and sleeping beneath trees—as a practice of humility, endurance, and spiritual focus.

Rooted in both spiritual devotion and civic purpose, the Walk for Peace seeks to remind

Americans that peace is not a destination—it is a practice. As the nation faces challenges of division, mental health crises, and conflict both at home and abroad, this pilgrimage offers a simple yet profound message: peace begins within the heart of each person and extends outward to families, communities, and the nation as a whole.

“We walk not to protest, but to awaken the peace that already lives within each of us,” said Bhikkhu Pannakara, spiritual leader of the Walk for Peace. “The Walk for Peace is a simple yet meaningful reminder that unity and kindness begin within each of us and can radiate outward to families, communities, and society as a whole.” [1] 

Although these Wise Men have been walking for several months, it wasn’t until this past week that I found out about them. Another pastor mentioned them in a Facebook group I’m a part of and how they reminded her of the Magi. Intrigued, I went and looked for more information about them and before long, my algorithm was feeding me story after story about their 2,300 mile journey, pointing the way to peace. 

It made me think about how the Magi in Matthew’s gospel must have started their journey long before their presence showed up in people’s newsfeeds. Like the venerable monks making their way across the southern United States, their journey was quiet, at first. We don’t know too much about the Magi - just that they were religious outsiders from far away. They were likely Zoroastrian priests from present-day Iran. Outsiders in every sense of the word. Maybe there were just a couple of them. Or maybe it was a whole group like today’s Buddhist monks. 

We don’t know their names. And, in this way, they also remind me of the Walk for Peace. It’s not easy to find any information online about the individual monks who are walking for peace. They seem content to stay out of the spotlight and present themselves as a unit. 

But there is ONE of the walkers who shines a bit brighter than the others: Aloka the Peace Dog. If you look at videos and photos of the venerable monks online, you’ll almost always see Aloka nearby. He’s often up front, leading the pack. Or doubling back to check that everyone is accounted for. 2,300 miles is a lot of miles on those little paws, so sometimes the crew forces Aloka to ride for a few miles in the RV. He’s never very happy about that and stays glued to the window, whining a bit and watching over his people. 

Aloka’s story is incredible. He found the monks several years ago when they were on a pilgrimage in India. He was a stray who started following the group and, eventually, became a part of the pack. He walked with them day after day. Slept with them as they camped outdoors at night. By the end of their journey, they were family. Aloka had some health problems, but with the help of veterinarians, they nursed him back to good health and made sure he was eating well. When the pilgrimage was over, it was clear they were meant to be together, so a few of the monks worked hard and brought him back to the United States. 

Aloka means “light,” and his definitely shines bright. He has his own social media accounts now, with hundreds of thousands of followers. But the monks very intentionally use his celebrity to amplify their message. Everything about this “Peace Dog” is focused on their message of peace. Over and over again, photos and videos of Aloka mention peace. 

“Aloka was looking like a very tough guard yesterday! Even with his gentle heart, he stood his ground with such a focused and protective look, making sure everything was safe for the venerable monks. It’s amazing to see his transition from a playful companion to a dedicated guardian of the peace.”

“Aloka is starting the new year in the best way possible—with a relaxing morning massage! He looked so peaceful while receiving some extra care. It is the perfect ‘peace pose’ for a new year morning, showing us all how important it is to take a moment to rest and recharge. With a happy heart and a relaxed spirit, Aloka is ready for the beautiful path ahead!”

This relentless focus on peace brings a powerful reminder about the power of intentionality. Just as the Magi were singularly focused on seeking Jesus, the venerable monks are singularly focused on spreading their message of peace. 

It makes me wonder about the ways we will each choose to focus our attention in the coming year. Our attention is arguably the most important thing we possess. And as the world seems to spin faster and faster, our attention can feel like it’s becoming less and less under our control. Our devices ding and ping us. We rapidly switch from task to task or sometimes try to complete a number of tasks all at once. People clamor for our attention at work and sometimes at home, too. The stress of modern living can make it difficult for many to focus their attention on anything for more than a few moments at a time. We grow frustrated when we try to read or complete daily tasks and lose our focus. 

In all of the clamor, how often does our spiritual growth and sustenance register as something that needs our attention? We’re not all called to be monks who walk for peace or priests who travel across nations to find the Christ child, but we are all called to pay attention to our own spiritual journeys. No one else is going to do it for us. And heaven knows this world is certainly not set up to make it a priority. The forces that wield power in this world would like to see us distracted and unfocused. 

That’s part of what makes the Magi’s story so powerful, I think. They were focused. Focused on only one thing: following that bright star to find the Christ child. Herod tried to intervene and claim their attention, but they weren’t interested in what he was offering. Their singular focus made them brave enough to withstand the threats of Empire. Paying attention to their dreams, they were savvy enough to figure out their way home by another route, ensuring their own safety and Jesus’s as well.

Our modern-day Wise Men are similarly singularly focused. Their entire endeavor is about pointing the way to peace. There’s nothing complicated about it. It’s not a complex protest or movement. It’s just a group of monks (and their dog) putting one foot in front of the other, day after day. They move quietly. They live simply. They pause to pray, teach, and rest. And then they get up the next day and do it again with the singular goal of helping us all remember that peace begins with us. 

As we begin a new year, it is my prayer for you that something sacred captures your attention. That you can use the time you are blessed with each day to focus on something Spirit-led. Move quietly. Live simply. Pause to pray, teach, and rest. Even though the world often feels like it’s on fire, don’t forget to seek moments of joy with your favorite furry companions. And as you get up the next day to do it all over again, may you know the blessing of community for the journey. And may you feel the Spirit’s breath carrying you along. May it be so. 

NOTES:

[1] https://dhammacetiya.com/press-release-walk-for-peace-buddhist-monks-to-embark-on-nationwide-peace-walk/ 

[2] https://www.facebook.com/Alokathepeacedog 

“John’s Search for Meaning”

Matthew 11:1-11

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

December 7, 2025

Perhaps you’ve heard this quote before: “The secret to finding happiness is having something to do, someone to love, and something to hope for.” 

Sound familiar? It was jingling around in my head earlier this week so I tried to find out where it came from. Turns out, no one’s quite sure who said it originally. 

I went off in search of it because a quick re-read of Viktor Frankl’s slim masterpiece Man’s Search for Meaning, made me think of it. Frankl was born in 1905 to a Jewish family in Vienna. A bit of a prodigy, he started studying the emerging field of psychology when he was still in high school. He struck up a correspondence with Sigmund Freud, who was so impressed with the teen’s work that he submitted it for publication in an academic journal. 

Eventually, Frankl became known as the founder of the Third School of Viennese Psychotherapy, after Freud and Albert Adler. Frankl called his model Logotherapy, from the Greek logos or “meaning.” He believed that humans find healing and wholeness when we are able to make meaning out of our lives. Without meaning, even the easiest life can become dull and unbearable. And with meaning, even the most difficult of circumstances can still serve a purpose. And Frankl knew a thing or twenty about difficult circumstances because he spent several years in Nazi concentration camps where his mother, father, brother, and newlywed wife were all killed. 

Before those horrors, though, he had already spent a great deal of time looking suffering in the face. As a medical student, he established youth counseling centers in Vienna to work with depressed teenagers and was successful in reducing the number of teen suicides in the city. After graduation, he worked in a local hospital with women who were suicidal, again, seeking to alleviate their suffering and reduce deaths. 

Through these experiences and others, Frankl came to believe that humans find healing through meaning-making. He believed that we all have the capacity to make meaning, no matter the circumstances of our lives. Over time, his Logotherapy techniques were used all over the world and, in fact, are still being used today. 

For Frankl, existential crises are opportunities to find deeper satisfaction in our lives. When we grapple with that age-old question “what is the meaning of life?” we are doing important work. There is, of course, no one-size-fits-all answer. Frankl said trying to find one answer to the question would be like asking a chess master “what’s the best chess move?” There isn’t one, of course. There’s only context and what might be the best move in any particular moment, by any particular player, in any particular game. 

While there isn’t ONE answer to the meaning-of-life-question there are patterns to how humans struggle with the question. Frankl said that humans discover meaning in life in three different 

ways: 1) by creating and doing, 2) by experiencing others, most often through love, and 3) “by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering.” [2] 

So the secret to finding happiness is to have something to do, someone to love, and something to hope for. But the secret to making meaning is having something to do, someone to love, and….suffering? 

I’d rather find the meaning of life through door number one or two, please and thank you. Having something to do is great. Having someone to love is even better. But suffering? Not our favorite, right? 

Please note that Frankl never advocated for suffering as inherently good. In fact, he was always careful to clarify that he was talking about how we move through unavoidable suffering. If we can remove the causes of suffering, he said, we should. But sometimes suffering simply cannot be avoided and it is in those instances where we humans may transcend our initial limitations and do incredible things. 

The artwork on the cover of this week’s worship bulletin is a portrait of suffering. Of course, you wouldn’t know that at a quick glance. A man sits at a table with a beautiful lantern in front of him. His wide smile and relaxed posture gives the impression he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s only when you read the artist’s statement that you come to understand what we’re looking at here: this is John the Baptist near the end of his life, imprisoned for getting on the wrong side of a tyrant. Not pictured is his cousin, Jesus, who is in dialogue across the miles with John in today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew. 

John, behind bars, is having an existential crisis of sorts. He asks a few friends to go out and find Jesus and ask him: “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” In other words, “Is this it, Jesus? Are you our best hope? Or is there something more?”

The question evokes deep sadness and despair. Why, exactly, is John asking this? Does he feel that his work has been in vain? Did he have a different vision for what Jesus would be able to accomplish? Does he wonder if he’s somehow missed an important step or gone the wrong way? 

Jesus doesn’t answer the question directly with a yes or no. Instead, he urges the messengers, “Go back to John and tell him what you’ve seen on the outside. Tell him about the changes you’ve witnessed in people’s lives. The healing that is taking place all over. Tell him about the glimmers of hope that are all around us.” 

The gospel author’s portrait of what healing looked like in the first century is different from how we might capture it today. Disability activists have taught us that not every person in a wheelchair wants to walk and we shouldn’t see deafness and blindness as conditions that need to be fixed. Disabilities were, of course, understood differently 2000 years ago and artist Lauren Wright Pittman speaks an important word when she gives a slight reframe to what’s happening here. She says “[Jesus] was removing barriers so that the marginalized were no longer reduced to begging and sitting on mats, shoved to the edges of society.” The question for our time is perhaps more in line with that observation: how do we continue to heal society so that people with disabilities have barriers removed and can participate fully, unhindered? 

When barriers are removed, those who have been pushed to the margins are restored to community - right where they should have been in the first place. This restoration, along with the proclamation of good news to the poor, is a powerful sign of God’s relentless love and care. As John languishes in prison wondering, “Is this it?” Jesus gently encourages him to fix his eyes on the glimmers of hope that are miraculously breaking through all around them. 

John’s friends depart, presumably to take Jesus’s message back to him. And this is the moment Pittman captures in Hope Like a Dancer. The lantern casts light on the prison walls and John is transported beyond the confines of hopelessness. The six figures dancing are a gift: light in the darkness, laughter and joy breaking through the misery for just a moment. 

This brief moment of joy and peace doesn’t change the outcome for John. Pittman tells us there are only six dancing figures, not the “more perfect” seven you might expect. Because things are not going to be perfect for John. Glimmers or hope may be present everywhere beyond those prison walls, but for John, this is the end of the road. He will lose his life in this struggle with Empire - just as so many others before and after him. But in this snapshot of joy, we can see the truth Viktor Frankl would come to understand centuries later: we humans are able to transform even the most painful unavoidable suffering into meaning-filled moments of clarity, peace, and even joy. With God’s help, we can transcend even the most horrific situations and find meaning, knowing that we are a part of something much bigger than ourselves. 

This healing balm - this ability to transcend - goes by many names in the world’s religions. In Christianity we often speak of salvation - the way that the Christ-force acts upon us, binding up our wounds, and pouring out a healing salve on whatever ails us. 

As his cousin nears the end of his life, Jesus of Nazareth taps into that Christ-force and gives a blessing of sorts. After John’s messengers leave, Jesus isn’t quite through thinking about John. John, who has done so much, who has worked so hard, who paved the way for Jesus’s ministry. And who is now languishing in prison wondering if it’s been worth it at all. 

Jesus tells the crowds about John. He tells them not to forget him. He reminds them that he’s not only been a prophet, but more than that: he’s been a light-bearer in the darkness. He’s been a wayfinder when the road has been a swampy mess. And a hope-monger when all seemed lost. 

With Jesus, we, too, give thanks for John’s life and ministry as we seek meaning in our own lives. May it be so. 

NOTES:

[1] https://reference.jrank.org/biography-2/Frankl_Viktor.html, https://www.viktorfrankl.org/biography.html 

[2] Man’s Search for Meaning, p. 133. 

“The hopes and fears of all the years”

Luke 1:5-13

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

November 30, 2025

Our journey into Advent begins with these words: “In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah….” I have to confess, I never really paid much attention to these words before. They sound a bit like “once upon a time….” Filler words that let us know we’re about to hear a story. I’ve always rushed on - Zechariah in the temple, his wife, Elizabeth, the angel, the promise of a baby who would be named John. This story is full of joy and hope, but can also bring pain to those who have struggled with infertility. If that’s you, rest easy - we won’t be spending too much time with Zechariah or the angel today. Instead, we’re going to sit with this first sentence, “In the days of King Herod of Judea….” 

Sarah Speed’s powerful poem was what made me sit still and pay attention to those opening words this week. You’ll find it in your bulletin if you haven’t had a chance to read it yet. It begins:

I didn’t live during Herod’s time—that brutal, murderous king, 

     God save his soul.

But even hundreds of years later, I know the prayers of his people.

     I know the prayers of the mothers and the children under his rule.

     I know the prayers of the young men under his angry arm.

     I know their prayers, because anyone who has ever lived in this 

     soft world for more than two days knows how to pray for a miracle.

(from “In the Time of Herod” by Sarah Speed)

We don’t live in the time of Herod, but we, too, know the prayers of the people who did, don’t we? The prayers of the mothers shuffling in sick to another day at work because they don’t have any sick leave. The prayers of the child stuck at home trying to catch up on school work because ICE is in the neighborhood so they haven’t been to school this week. The prayers of the elders who are putting off necessary dental work because they can’t afford it. The prayers of men isolated from their families because so many systems failed them but the cradle-to-prison pipeline works all-too-well. 

We know their prayers because anyone who has been paying attention in “this soft world for more than two days knows how to pray for a miracle.” We know what it’s like to pray

“God, break through the yelling and the fear. 

Break through the violence and the oppression.

Get past the Herods of this world, and come be here.”

Like every bleeding heart before, we know how to pray for a miracle.

It never ceases to amaze me how we can turn, time and time again, to this ancient book and find stories that sound like they could be zapped to our phones today. 

Just who was this ancient king who set the stage for the season of Advent? 

King Herod is remembered for two things: as a great builder who oversaw the construction of some of the most fantastic monuments in the world and as a cruel tyrant. He was incredibly paranoid, going so far as to execute one of his own wives and three of sons because he feared they would betray him. He was so afraid that people wouldn’t mourn him properly after he died that he left instructions for several other prominent men to be killed immediately after his death so there would be mass mourning. Some historians say that his paranoia was so intense that he had his own secret police to help control those he found threatening. Josephus says he had 2,000 soldiers as his personal guard. [1] 

Fear dominated Herod’s life. He both lived in fear AND did his best to strike fear in others. Like Herod, we are no strangers to fear. It seems to be everywhere these days. We are aware that giant faceless powers are doing their best to make us all afraid all the time. We are told to fear those who don’t look like us, think like us, talk like us, vote like us - and on and on. We live in a world so fragmented that a simple car horn blaring can make us wonder if we’re about to find ourselves in an altercation. We are often afraid of the things we consume, afraid of Big Pharma, afraid of Big Brother, afraid of Big Government, afraid of climate disasters, afraid of job loss, afraid of the future. I mean, I could go on. But I’ll stop. You get it. We’re no strangers to fear. 

The creators of this year’s Advent series want to invite us to do something that Herod probably never did: take an honest inventory of our fears, honoring and moving through them. Fear is, at its most basic level, a very useful human emotion. It can keep us safe when there actually is danger. Of course, the problem is that we often see danger where none exists. We allow ourselves to be controlled by fear, rather than using fear as the tool it's meant to be. And the more we live in fear, the more our fears seem to come true. Fear begets fear - an unrelenting whirlwind. 

Fortunately, we have faith practices that can help us exit that fear whirlwind when it’s not serving us. Practices like lighting the Advent wreath together. Each week in Advent, we light a candle and each candle represents a different gift of this season: Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love. These words are short and sweet. They are the kind of words we might skip past without paying much attention. They’re words that are found in all of our Christmas carols and throw pillows. They don’t seem fancy enough to stand up in the face of fear. 

But what if we don’t skip over them this year? What if we pause and pay attention to these seasonal gifts? The writers from A Sanctified Art ask us “What do you fear?” and in the next breath they remind us to “insist on hope this Advent.”

Just what IS hope? I bet if I asked every person in our church to define hope (or peace or joy or love) I’d get at least as many answers as we have people. Accepting the invitation to insist on hope this season, I went searching for a definition where I always search for definitions: in a book. 

Hope: A User’s Manual by the Rev. MaryAnn McKibben Dana starts out by telling us what hope is NOT. Hope is not a prediction, optimism, cause and effect, toxic positivity, nor the opposite of despair. Fifty pages into this book, having dealt with all the things that hope is NOT, it’s pretty clear to me that Dana is not pedaling any needlepoint definitions of hope. Everything she has to offer is nuanced, but clear, inviting us into our own prayerful pondering as well. It’s a beautiful book, by the way, and would make a wonderful Advent devotional for anyone looking to dig a little deeper this season. 

By the time we get to section two, I’m on my second cup of tea and Dana feels like an old friend. She begins her exploration of what hope IS with a short chapter titled “Hope is what we do” a phrase she borrowed from Lutheran pastor Mitri Raheb who lives and works in Bethlehem. Raheb shares about living under occupation his entire life and describes himself as a “prisoner of hope.” Dana says she loves his definition of hope as “what we do” because of its dual meaning. It’s both “what we do” as in our daily work like “I’m a teacher” or “I’m a grandfather” and it’s a powerful statement of how we make hope real through our actions. “Hope,” Dana says,”is wrapped up in what we make real. Hope isn’t what we think. Hope isn’t what we feel. Hope isn’t even what we imagine is possible. Hope is what we do in the face of suffering, pain, and injustice. Hope is what we do in the face of depression’s dull weight or grief’s harsh sting. Hope is what we do.” [2] 

She illustrates this by sharing a story about her teenage daughter, who lived with serious depression while in high school. As college loomed, her daughter worried about making the transition. “What if I can’t handle college? What if I spiral like I did in high school?” McKibben Dana says her kneejerk reaction was to soothe, “Oh, you’ll be fine, honey. Don’t worry.” But, for whatever reason, she didn’t. Instead she said, “Well, what if you start to spiral?” At first her daughter panicked and went to all the immediate worst-case-scenario responses. “I’ll fail. I’ll flunk out. I’ll never find a job. I’ll have to live at home forever.” And her mom interrupted her, “No. Pause a second. I mean, really, literally, what will you do first? And then next?” And her daughter took a breath and then said, “I will ask for help. I will talk to my professors. I will schedule a therapy appointment.” [3] And that’s it right there. That’s hope. The knowledge of what we can do. The assurance that we aren’t alone in the struggle. The realization that even when things get bad, we can persevere. Hope is what we do. 

Of course, in this fear-filled world, sometimes hope feels a bit more tenuous. The step-by-step responses aren’t so clear. The way through and out is murky, at best, and completely opaque, at worst. How often have we prayed in frustration, “God, just show me the way. I will do whatever you say, just say something!” No? Just me? Okay then. 

We can feel so overwhelmed that we have no idea where to begin. And if we do feel like we get an answer to our prayers,, just a baby step we can take in the right direction, sometimes we are quick to brush it off because it seems too small. “That one little thing? That’s not going to solve these big problems.” 

Dana knows this move, too. And she invites us to consider that hope takes a longer view than what we might be used to. She writes, “It’s a paradox—each small task we do…does not remake the world. It makes the present moment better, which is no small thing. But hope infuses those modest acts with meaning, not just to alleviate present suffering, but with the audacious goal to construct a new world.” [4] 

She mentions the ancient site at Newgrange in Ireland. This stone tomb was built 5000 years ago - making it older than Stonehenge or the pyramids in Egypt. It’s a giant circle - as wide as a football field and over three stories tall. While the size alone makes it a unique feat of engineering, more impressive is its site orientation. At sunrise on the winter solstice each year, the sun lines up directly with a roofbox so that the interior chamber lights up. It’s absolutely mind-blowing to realize people in the Stone Age built something like this. Archeologists believe it must have taken decades to build the structure, meaning several generations of people passed down knowledge to build something the world had never seen before. Together, bit by bit, they built the impossible. The people who laid the first stones probably didn’t live to see the finished product, but without them, it would not exist.. They didn’t allow the enormity of the task to keep them from getting started. They did what they could and trusted the work would continue. 

Hope is what we do. 

Hope is taking the long view. 

Hope is how we practice our faith in the face of fear. 

Hope is a gift from the Spirit and it’s one we pause each Advent to remember. Let us give thanks for it as we insist on hope this season. 

Amen. 

NOTES

[1] https://historycooperative.org/king-herod-of-judea/ 

[2] 

McKibben Dana, MaryAnn. Hope: A User's Manual (p. 50). (Function). Kindle Edition. 

[3] Ibid., 49. 

[4] Ibid., 73. 

“Amos and Martin”

Amos 1:1-2; 5:7-15, 21-24

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

November 9, 2025

As a 21 year old in my first semester of seminary, I discovered there was a LOT I didn’t know about the Bible. Like the time I asked the professor “what is this exile they keep talking about?” and watched as the entire classroom turned around and stared at me like I was from another planet. It turns out that The Exile (with a capital E) is a major plot point in the Hebrew Bible. I hadn’t known. 

Or the time we were assigned the entire book of Amos. I don’t think I had ever read any of it before. I got to the end of chapter 5 - “let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” - and became indignant. “WHY IS THIS GUY QUOTING MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.?!?”

Wait. No. Other way around. MLK is quoting Amos, of course. 

Such was my introduction to the world of prophetic literature. Seminary is also where I learned that prophecy is not primarily future-oriented, as I had assumed. Biblical prophecy is not like Nostradamus (concerned with predicting events way off on the horizon). Instead, the prophets in the Bible are more concerned with the here-and-now. Biblical prophets like Amos are careful observers of the systems they live in. Their primary, God-ordained task is not to predict the future but to shine a light on the present day. 

Of course, Biblical prophecy also involves statements about the future, but it’s a flexible future. “If you keep doing X,” say the prophets, “you’re going to end up with Y.” But the possibility for change is the point. “If you repent,” say the prophets, “if you turn around and go a different direction, these terrible things will not come to pass. You can go another way.” 

Amos and Dr. King lived millennia apart, but it turns out that the prophetic tradition doesn’t change that much over time. Whether we’re in the 8th century before Christ or the 20th century after, prophets are still keen observers. They still open themselves to receive a Word from God. They are still, to use a Kingian phrase, “creatively maladjusted.” They are still on the side of the poor and marginalized. They are still big-picture thinkers. They are still despised by people in power. They are still reviled while they live and celebrated after they die. 

Another thing about prophets like King and Amos - and this is one we don’t talk about as often because I think it scares us a bit: they’re human. 

Which is to say: they put their pants on one leg at a time. They hit snooze on their alarm clocks. They have been known to laugh a little too loud at inappropriate jokes. They disappoint their families. They disappoint themselves. Prophets get tired. Exhausted, even. They are plagued by moments of frustration and hopelessness. They daydream about checking out and binging reality TV. And I think it’s safe to say that no prophet told their third grade teacher they wanted to be a prophet someday. 

Take Amos, for example. We don’t know too much about him, but here’s what we do know: he was originally from Tekoa, in the Southern Kingdom, but was sent to try and talk some sense into the leaders in the Northern Kingdom. He was not a priest or politician. He was a sheep-farmer and a “dresser of sycamore trees.” What does that even mean? The sycamore we’re talking about here isn’t like the sycamores in our part of the world. Instead, it’s a fruit-bearing with a large canopy. It’s long, low limbs make it an excellent shade tree. And, yes, in case you’re remembering Zacchaeus climbing the tree to watch Jesus pass by, we’re talking about THAT kind of sycamore. Those low limbs make it good for climbing, too. The fruit of these trees is fig-like and grows in clusters that stay very close to the trunk of the tree. Without help, the fruit isn’t very tasty. So tree dressers like Amos would climb these trees and poke or slice holes in the top of each piece of fruit to help them ripen and make them more palatable.. 

How does a sheep-farmer and tree-hugger become one of the most famous prophets of all time? 

Probably much in the same way Michael King did. 

Michael Jr. was born in 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. His father was the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, just as his father-in-law, Adam WIlliams before. Michael Senior’s parents had been sharecroppers in rural Georgia. When Michael Jr. was about five years old, his father traveled to Germany for a worldwide church convention. He came home and changed his name and his child’s name to Martin Luther. 

Martin Jr. was a voracious reader and lover of words. He enjoyed beauty, and by the time he was a teen was known for his keen sense of style.. Like his mother, a trained classical pianist, he was musical. He could sing, play the piano, violin and loved to go out dancing with friends. He was incredibly close to his maternal grandmother, Jennie. When he was 12 she died and he jumped out the second-story window of his house, trying to follow her into death. 

By the time he was 15, Martin had finished high school and headed to university at Morehouse. But first, he traveled North to Connecticut and spent the summer working on a tobacco farm. Like Amos, he got his hands dirty working in the fields. Like Amos, he probably had plenty of time to let his mind wander while his hands worked. 

Now you might think it had always been clear that MLK was on track to be a civil rights leader. And it’s true that there were plenty of things in his upbringing that steered him that way. But ultimately, I don’t think that’s where he thought he was headed at all. 

He had an academic’s heart - or brain, at least. He finished university by the age of 19 and went right on to seminary and then on to Boston University for his Ph.D. in systematic theology, which he finished at the age of 26. While he planned to be a pastor, this was an era where a pastor could safely assume they’d spend most of their hours in their study, not the streets. 

So, no, I don’t think Dr. King would have told his third grade teacher he wanted to grow up and be a prophet. I don’t think he would have told the search committee at Dexter Avenue Baptist Church that he wanted to be a prophet. I don’t think he wanted to be a prophet at all. Amos probably didn’t either. 

And yet - when Rosa Parks was arrested as a part of an ongoing campaign against bus segregation in Montgomery, Dr. King went to the meeting of local leaders. He showed up. And he listened. And when the group said they thought he should be in charge of the bus boycott because he was new to town,  he reluctantly said yes. And then he went to his office and bargained a bit with God, “Okay, listen here. I said yes to this because I think you want me to. I did my part. I showed up. But I don’t have a thing to say and the church is packed. So if you have a message you’d like the people to hear, you’d better speak clearly and slowly so I can write it all down.” 

“These are the words of Amos, one of the shepherds of Tekoa. He perceived these things concerning Israel two years before the earthquake…

He said:

    The Lord roars from Zion.” 

Amos heard the word of the Lord roaring forth from Zion - shouting for justice on behalf of the people: “Stop taxing the needy. Stop taking money on the side and turning the poor away with nothing to eat. And stop gaslighting me with these charades of righteousness. I don’t care about your showy religious festivals. None of it matters if you’re not taking care of the poor.” 

Martin heard the word of the Lord roaring forth from Zion, too. 

Like Amos, he listened and he spoke: 

Oh America, how often have you taken necessities from the masses to give luxuries to the classes. If you are to be a truly Christian nation you must solve this problem…[and] use your powerful economic resources to wipe poverty from the face of the earth. God never intended for one group of people to live in superfluous inordinate wealth, while others live in abject deadening poverty. [1]

And spoke again: 

The gospel at its best deals with the whole man, not only his soul but his body, not only his spiritual well-being, but his material well-being. Any religion that professes to be concerned about the souls of men and is not concerned about the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them and the social conditions that cripple them is a spiritually moribund religion awaiting burial. [2]  

Ours is not a spiritually moribund religion awaiting burial, is it? Is it? 

Then we must be like Martin and Amos and tune our hearts to hear the roar for justice. If we truly want to pray with Amos and Martin, “Let justice roll down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” then we have to not only speak out for justice and show up for justice but get quiet and steady and still and listen for the what the Spirit is saying in our time and place. 

Thanks be to God, we are not all called to be prophets. Amen? 

But some of you in this room ARE called to be prophets. You may think, “I’m not like Dr. King.” And you know what Dr. King probably thought? “I’m not like Amos.” And you know what Amos probably thought….? You see where I’m going with this. We are not all called to be prophets. But some are. Some are. 

The Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans

We have many parts in one body, but the parts don’t all have the same function. In the same way, though there are many of us, we are one body in Christ, and individually we belong to each other. We have different gifts that are consistent with God’s grace that has been given to us. If your gift is prophecy, you should prophesy in proportion to your faith. If your gift is service, devote yourself to serving. If your gift is teaching, devote yourself to teaching. If your gift is encouragement, devote yourself to encouraging. The one giving should do it with no strings attached. The leader should lead with passion. The one showing mercy should be cheerful. [3] 

Who are you? Are you a prophet? A server? A teacher? An encourager? A giver? A leader? One who gravitates towards compassion? Some other beautiful creation altogether? 

Close your eyes for just a moment. See if you can hear the person next to you breathing. If you feel very bold, reach out and see if they’d like to hold hands. 

“We are one body in Christ. Individually, we belong to each other. We have different gifts that are consistent with God’s grace that has been given to us.” 

(period of silence)

Thanks be to God. 

NOTES

[1] King, Paul’s Letter to American Christians, 1956. https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/pauls-letter-american-christians-sermon-delivered-dexter-avenue-baptist-church 

[2] King. Pilgrimage to Nonviolence, 1960. https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/pilgrimage-nonviolence

[3] Romans 12