“On the Edge of Nonviolence”

John 2:13-25

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

January 18, 2026

Where are the edges of nonviolence? Not the limits, per se, because I firmly believe that creative, strategic, nonviolent resistance is every bit as effective (if not more effective) than violent conflict. [1] 

But where are the edges? When does nonviolent resistance cross over into violence? 

Some scenarios feel clear: did someone physically harm or kill someone else? That’s violence. 

But some scenarios are more ambiguous:

• What if a person doesn’t physically touch another person but shows up at a protest open-carrying a gun? Is their behavior non-violent? 

• What about a law enforcement officer who shows up at that same protest with a gun?

• Revving your engine in a threatening manner at someone? Violent behavior? Or just intimidation? Can intimidation be nonviolent? 

• How about property damage? Is damaging property fair game in nonviolent resistance because property isn’t people? Or is it violent because it feels so aggressive?

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As a disciple of Jesus Christ, the edges of nonviolence are often on my mind. After all, this is the guy who willingly allowed himself to be crucified by the state, rather than engage in physical violence. On the night he was betrayed, he said to his disciple in the garden: “Put your sword away. All those who use the sword will die by the sword.” 

As a student of Martin Luther King, Jr., the edges of nonviolence are often on my mind. After all, this is the guy who knew he was probably going to get killed, but kept marching for freedom. In 1967 he said, “The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate.” [2]

Of course, Dr. King didn’t begin with that level of commitment to nonviolence. Back in 1956, when he was a young minister in Montgomery, Alabama, receiving regular death threats on his home telephone, he had an arsenal of weapons and armed guards outside his house. After his family home was bombed that year, he even requested a concealed carry permit for himself. [3] He was, of course, denied, due to his race. But it took many years, some strong-arming by his Quaker friend Bayard Rustin, and a trip to India to walk in Gandhi’s shoes, before Dr. King became more deeply committed to nonviolence. 

As a person living in the United States in 2026, the edges of nonviolence are often on my mind. Some things are clear-cut: when children are abducted and put in cages, this is violence. When people are shot by ICE agents, this is violence. And yet we hear compatriots (some who even claim to follow Jesus) saying things like, “Well, if they don’t want to get shot, they shouldn’t follow ICE agents around” or “There’s nothing wrong with apprehending criminals.” Even though some of the people being “apprehended” are people like Jonathan Garcia, a 17 year old U.S. citizen who was simply working at a Target when ICE agents confronted him, threw him to the ground, and hauled him away in an unmarked van. [4] 

Where are the edges of nonviolence? Earlier this week, I gathered with hundreds of other Kansans at the state house in Topeka to loudly proclaim that “human needs are human rights.” It was a decidedly nonviolent (and tame) gathering. Smiles, hugs, singing, chanting and plenty of inspiring speakers. While observing the crowd from the third floor, I noticed the gentleman next to me was observing in a slightly different way. He had a video camera and was slowly panning it over the faces of all the people gathered in the rotunda. When I asked what the footage was for, I learned he was from Kansas Highway Patrol and he told me he was just there “documenting.” It’s very unclear to me why law enforcement needs documentation of a completely peaceful crowd standing around listening to speeches in their own state house. Especially when armed law enforcement officers are already present. I can only imagine it has something to do with AI and facial recognition software. “Documenting,” indeed. 

Today’s text from John’s gospel forces us to confront the edges of nonviolence. I don’t know about you, but every time I enter this text, I find myself with more questions than answers. Despite all the questions, here are some things we do know:

Some version of this likely happened, as it’s recorded in all four gospels. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all place this story at the very end of Jesus’s life, when he’s come to Jerusalem for the Passover. John, for some reason, moves it all the way to the beginning of his ministry. 

Scholars have differing opinions about why Jesus was so mad. In the time of Jesus, Passover was one of three holidays where pilgrims were expected to travel to Jerusalem from all over the world. Part of the ritual was to offer animals at the temple as a sacrifice and, presumably, you’re not going to haul your animals with you from the next country over. So you’d buy them when you got there. That’s why there’s a bunch of livestock in the temple. Some scholars come down pretty hard on the merchants in the temple, noting that in three versions of this story, Jesus calls them thieves. So the idea is that they were, perhaps, taking advantage of the pilgrims. Other scholars are a bit surprised at the extreme nature of his reaction. After all, there are all kinds of injustices in the world. But this one really necessitates this level of reaction? 

So let’s talk about Jesus’s actions. He comes to Jerusalem for the Passover - either at the beginning or end of his ministry. He enters the temple and begins yelling at the merchants, telling them to get out. He turns over tables. In the Gospel of John, he even fashions a whip and chases the animals out, so the merchants follow their livestock. He condemns them verbally. Interestingly, in John’s version he doesn’t call the merchants thieves. He just condemns them for doing business inside the temple. 

What I always find myself scratching my head about is Jesus’s demeanor here. While I don’t necessarily need my Jesus to be meek and mild, I personally don’t want to be around men who are shouting and flipping tables. Especially if they also have a whip. This behavior feels troubling to me. The whip, in particular, makes it feel like we’re up against the very edges of nonviolence. 

As I said to my spiritual director earlier this week, “If I were in the temple and this guy busted in and started acting like this, I’m not sure I’d want to follow him anywhere. His behavior is a bit unhinged.”

The question that haunts me every time I encounter this passage is why? Why is Jesus acting like this? It’s not typical Jesus behavior. 

It feels like there are at least two possibilities. Probably more. Option one: Jesus is having a very bad day. This makes the most sense in the context of the synoptic gospels. After all, he’s about to be crucified. He’s allowed to act out. Raise his voice. Maybe even flip some tables. All these lonely years of ministry and people still don’t understand who he is, what he’s trying to teach. I think the word my spiritual director used was wailing. Perhaps he’s just wailing, exhausted by the futility of it all. 

Option two: Jesus is being strategic, and this is a prophetic action. Jewish prophets were known for sometimes acting out in dramatic, odd ways to capture attention and drive their message home. So perhaps Jesus is actually not unhinged but very tightly wound and putting on a show. A demonstration, if you will. I think John’s version leans towards this interpretation. In John, Jesus flips tables right after the wedding at Cana. His first public act is a delightful miracle that brings joy. Followed immediately by a dramatic, prophetic act meant to teach a lesson. Both are the types of signs and wonders people would have expected from a Messiah. 

If the author of John is trying to portray this story as a prophetic act, let’s look at it through the lens of nonviolent resistance, shall we? Although this passage has sometimes been used to condone violence, I think that’s a gross misuse of the text. Jesus doesn’t physically harm anyone here. Yes, he fashions a whip, but there’s no reason to think it would have been used to hurt anyone in the temple. It seems it was used in the typical fashion that shepherds and other tenders of livestock would have used it - to move animals from place to place. 

And the author of John includes one very small detail that leads me to believe Jesus was firmly rooted in nonviolent resistance during this prophetic act: he did not flip over the cages of the doves in the temple, which would have hurt them. Instead, he asked their sellers to take them away and leave. He is controlled, calculated. He has no intention of physically harming the doves - or anyone else. That little detail makes this look less like a spontaneous, unhinged outburst and more like a strategic act of nonviolent resistance. [5] 

What if Jesus paused outside the temple that day, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and bowed his head in prayer? What if he was intentional, strategic? Perhaps he knew exactly how far he would allow himself to go. Just far enough so that people would sit up and pay attention to his message - not so far as to physically hurt anyone. Perhaps he was already taking his own advice to heart: be wise as serpents, innocent as doves. [6] Perhaps he was filled with an inner peace, even as he prepared to disturb the peace inside the temple. After all, strategic non-violent actions are often decidedly not-peaceful. 

If his goal was to capture attention, he certainly succeeded. After all, we’re still talking about his actions centuries later. 

Prophets don’t exist to make us comfortable. And nonviolence can sometimes scoot right up to the edge, carrying a whip. But strategic, controlled, calculated nonviolence has undoubtedly made the world a more just place for all kinds of people. We all stand on the shoulders of nonviolent activists who went before, struggling for our rights in so many ways: the right to vote, labor laws, child welfare laws, civil rights for people with disabilities, reproductive freedom, the right to marry the person you love.

Dr. King would be the first to tell us that nonviolent resistance is not gentle. It is frequently impolite. It isn’t always peaceful. When he organized with others in 1963 to wage a full-scale nonviolent attack on the racist power structure in Birmingham, Alabama he was not worried about propriety. He was focused on strategic wins. 

In his Letter from the Birmingham Jail, he wrote:

Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and establish such creative tension that a community that has consistently refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can no longer be ignored. I just referred to the creation of tension as a part of the work of the nonviolent resister. This may sound rather shocking. But I must confess that I am not afraid of the word "tension." I have earnestly worked and preached against violent tension, but there is a type of constructive nonviolent tension that is necessary for growth. [7] 

God, we give thanks for prophets who aren’t afraid to bring the drama and the nonviolent heat. 

May we have ears to hear. And truly listen. 

Amen. 

NOTES:

[1] If you’re skeptical about the effectiveness of nonviolent resistance, I commend to you the work of Mark and Paul Engler, especially their book This is An Uprising. You can also find a lot of their writing online in various newspapers, blogs, etc. https://thisisanuprising.org/ 

[2] https://centeronconscience.org/martin-luther-king-jr/

[3] https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/jan/20/martin-luther-king-guns-pacifism 

[4] https://www.scrippsnews.com/politics/immigration/video-of-ice-detaining-target-employees-in-minnesota-sparks-outrage 

[5] With gratitude to Andy Alexis-Baker’s article Violence, Nonviolence, and the Temple Incident in John 2:3-15 published in Biblical Interpretation 20 (2012), 73-96. 

[6] Matthew 10

[7] https://www.csuchico.edu/iege/_assets/documents/susi-letter-from-birmingham-jail.pdf 

“Unnecessary Miracles”

John 2:1-11

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

January 11, 2026

It’s a weird first miracle, isn’t it? I mean, regardless of whether you really believe in miracles, this one is unexpected. And even if you think it’s just a story, you have to kind of wonder: why does this story exist? What is the author of John’s gospel trying to tell us about Jesus with this story?  

John’s gospel is the only one that records the story of the wedding at Cana. After this first miracle, the water into wine, Jesus goes on, of course, to do many other “signs and wonders” in John’s gospel. He heals, he feeds the crowds, he restores sight, he walks on water, and he resurrects Lazarus from the dead. 

But the one that opens the show - the one that’s supposed to make us sit up and take notice – is this one. The story of a wedding that runs out of wine and the unknown man who is pushed into the limelight a bit reluctantly by his mother – who, like all parents, was her child’s first and best cheerleader. 

And once Jesus decides to step in and remedy the situation, boy does he ever. He asks the stewards to fill up six stone jars. Each jar would have held 20- 30 gallons of water. So envision a  big outdoor Rubbermaid trash can. That’s about 30 gallons. So, six of those. They fill them with water and then Jesus turns them into wine. It’s about 1,000 bottles of wine. And not just any wine – the best wine the guests have ever tasted. 

And he’s not doing this to put on a show. He doesn’t even take credit for the miracle. In fact, only the servants even noticed what Jesus did. He did it because he wanted to be of service. He did it because he saw a problem he knew he could fix, so he did. 

I love how utterly unnecessary this miracle is. I mean, no one was going to die because the wine ran out. It would have put a damper on the party and it would have embarrassed the host, sure. But no one’s life was on the line. It wasn’t that serious. And yet, Jesus stepped in. He made the day just a little brighter for everyone. He saved the day for the hosts – the wedding would have been remembered for their mistake, but after Jesus’s party trick they were remembered for their generosity….saving the best wine for last. 

Jesus says, “I came that they may have life, and have it more abundantly.”

The story of the Wedding at Cana is all about abundance. It’s about how God becomes manifest and enters fully into the everyday moments of human life – births and deaths and weddings and funerals – and cares deeply about what happens there. It’s about the goodness and importance of a truly excellent party – something many of us would do good to remember, since the world is always threatening to try and silence our joy. And it’s about abundance. I mean, really, I don’t know how many people were at this wedding, but 1,000 bottles of wine is a lot of wine. A ridiculous amount of wine. And that’s kind of how Jesus is – just a ridiculously abundant amount of the Holy all wrapped up in one very human body. No wonder he’s a hero to so many of us, even all these centuries later. 

Jesus came and pointed to God. And many after Jesus have come and pointed the way to Christ. Next weekend, we’ll celebrate another great hero of the faith: Martin Luther King, Jr. 

Dr. King was many things to many people. One of his truest and deepest identities, I think, was as a Bearer of Christ. 

He came and pointed the way to Christ. More than anything, that’s what he did. He modeled, in everything he did for us, what it looks like to be a true follower  - a true disciple – of Christ. 

Just a few months before he was killed, Dr. King gave a sermon at Ebeneezer Baptist Church, his home church, in Atlanta. The title was “The Drum Major Instinct.” I want to read you a somewhat lengthy excerpt from it, because the lessons still ring true today. 

 

Everybody can be great, because everybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and your verb agree to serve. You don't have to know about Plato and Aristotle to serve. You don't have to know Einstein's theory of relativity to serve. You don't have to know the second theory of thermodynamics in physics to serve. You only need a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love. And you can be that servant.

I know a man—and I just want to talk about him a minute, and maybe you will discover who I'm talking about as I go down the way because he was a great one. And he just went about serving. He was born in an obscure village, the child of a poor peasant woman. And then he grew up in still another obscure village, where he worked as a carpenter until he was thirty years old. Then for three years, he just got on his feet, and he was an itinerant preacher. And he went about doing some things. He didn't have much. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family. He never owned a house. He never went to college. He never visited a big city. He never went two hundred miles from where he was born. He did none of the usual things that the world would associate with greatness. He had no credentials but himself.

He was only thirty-three when the tide of public opinion turned against him. They called him a rabble-rouser. They called him a troublemaker. They said he was an agitator. He practiced civil disobedience; he broke injunctions. And so he was turned over to his enemies and went through the mockery of a trial. And the irony of it all is that his friends turned him over to them. One of his closest friends denied him. Another of his friends turned him over to his enemies. And while he was dying, the people who killed him gambled for his clothing, the only possession that he had in the world. When he was dead he was buried in a borrowed tomb, through the pity of a friend.

Nineteen centuries have come and gone and today he stands as the most influential figure that ever entered human history. All of the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned put together have not affected the life of man on this earth as much as that one solitary life. His name may be a familiar one. But today I can hear them talking about him. 

Every now and then somebody says, "He's King of Kings." And again I can hear somebody saying, "He's Lord of Lords." Somewhere else I can hear somebody saying, "In Christ there is no East nor West." And then they go on and talk about, "In Him there's no North and South, but one great Fellowship of Love throughout the whole wide world." He didn't have anything.  He just went around serving and doing good. 

This morning, you can be on his right hand and his left hand if you serve. It's the only way in.

Dr. King pointed the way towards Christ, who pointed the way towards God. Neither of them did this because they wanted the credit for themselves. They were heroes because they pointed towards something bigger than themselves. 

As I was pondering these two heroes this past week I started wondering about the word. Where did it come from? 

It seems to have its origins in this idea of a person who is really more than “just a person.” It is similar to the idea of a demigod – a person who is part mortal and part God. Which means, of course, that Jesus’s birth story sets the stage for him to be quite the hero. Part human, part God. 

And that made me think about the wild beauty of Incarnation. This idea that somehow, someway, God came Earthside in this tiny, perfect, flawed, messy, beautiful human being. Emmanuel – God with us. When I was a child, I thought this meant that Jesus was somehow inherently different from all of us. Because he was part-God, he was altogether, distinctly not-like-us. He was different, better, unattainable. 

Later, I started to think of Jesus as more-like-us. More human. More down-to-earth. Less divine. And I even went through a long period of time when thinking of Jesus as somehow Divine was really uncomfortable for me. I needed him to be fully human, fully attainable. Otherwise, what’s the point in trying to be like him? I mean, if he’s God, he’s really got a leg up, you know?

These days, I’ve come back around to the power of Incarnation. This idea that God is fully present in Jesus – even as Jesus is fully human. Not because it makes Jesus somehow different, but because it reminds me that God is fully present in each and every human being. Emmanuel is not some one-time thing that happened long ago in a village far away. Emmanuel – God-with-us – is still happening here and now. And the season of Epiphany, which we’re in right now, is not just about seeing God fully present in the life and work of Jesus. It’s also about looking around and seeing God fully present in the life and work of the people in these pews, our co-workers, friends, families, heck, maybe even in the people we don’t much like. 

As we see all the pain in our world right now - horrific acts of violence ICE agents killing Renee Nicole Good and terrifying kids in schools, and leaders threatening more and more war - I can’t help but think how different the world would look if we all took the Incarnation more seriously. If we all truly saw God in each person we encountered. There would be no more war, no more violence, no more dehumanizing each other - because we would see God in the face of each person we encounter. 

Dr. King was a hero. No doubt. Jesus was a hero. No doubt. And as the late great David Bowie said, “We can be heroes. Forever and ever.”

It’s a little grandiose, I know. Truth be told, I’m guessing most of us, Dr. King and Jesus included, would be horribly uncomfortable with the idea of being a hero.

But if being a hero is about being in touch with that holy truth that we are created in God’s image and beloved children of God? Well, I can get on board with that. Because we are, each of us, somehow magically, mystically, wonderfully Human and Holy. We are somehow mortal and Divine. Dr. King points to that. Jesus points to that. 

If being a hero is all about celebrating abundance…if it’s about looking around and seeing what’s needed and then doing what we can do…if it’s about extending ourselves in love for the sake of others….

Well, maybe we can be heroes. Even if just for one day. 

“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.