"Rule of Love"

Sermon on Acts 8: 26-39

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS 

April 25, 2021

Several years back, I received a phone call from a clergy colleague. He had just been contacted by a couple that had an unusual request for their wedding and he was calling me for advice because he figured, “As a UCC pastor, I bet you get all kinds of unusual requests because I know y’all don’t have any rules about anything.”

I chuckled when he said that because it’s certainly not the first or last time I’ve heard that sentiment from clergy friends. Word on the street is definitely that us UCC folks don’t have many rules. 

After laughing a bit, I gently corrected my colleague and said we aren’t rule-less in the UCC. We may not have bishops or a rule-book, but we do say that Christ is the head of the Church, so we look to that liberating force we call Christ - as experienced in the life and ministry of Jesus AND in one another - to set our agenda and help us make decisions. 

You know, some monastic communities live under a rule with a capital R. It’s sometimes called a Rule of Life. The Rule is an ethic for living that spells out for the community how they are to BE together. That kind of Rule sounds helpful, doesn’t it? Instructions for living a life together. 

In our tradition, we don’t have a written down Rule, so we have to work together with open hearts to discern it. What I’ve observed in the UCC is that our Rule is Love. Jesus told us the most important thing is to “love God and love our neighbor as ourselves,” and we strive to do our best. 

Love sounds great as a bumper sticker, but it can be stickier to put into practice. We aren’t always able to agree with one another about what love looks like in practice. And the world often yanks our fragile hearts in so many different directions. 

Earlier this week we held our collective breath as we awaited the verdict from Minneapolis. George Floyd’s sacred breath was violently stolen from him and so many people prayed that there would be accountability for this crime. You could almost feel the collective exhalation of relief when the verdict was announced - and at the same time we know the work of dismantling white supremacy is far from over. The verdict doesn’t bring back Mr. Floyd’s life, nor does it fix broken systems, nor does it prevent future violence against Black and brown bodies and spirits. 

Our Conference Minister, Dr. Edith Guffey, wrote powerfully about the complexity of emotions many Black people are feeling in the wake of the Chavin trial. She said, 

Yesterday a jury in Minnesota said clearly that One Black Life Matters.

One message, one verdict, that means so much to so many.

It tells us something, doesn’t it?

I am so relieved and so grateful that justice was done.

And yet, while I am grateful, should I HAVE to be?

I am kicking myself for even saying that, today.

Shouldn’t I  just be grateful, take the win, sit down and shut up?

Maybe.

But that’s ignoring how deep the wounds of racism run.

just because one cut didn’t kill us we can’t forget the cancer that is ravaging our body.

This is one case, one jury.

Yes, I am grateful.

I am breathing easier, feeling a little more hopeful.

But the dis-ease is still there…

and the journey continues. [1]

People of color have no choice but to stay with these hard realities - the world won’t let them tap out and take a break. Those of us who are white have to make the daily decision to keep showing up - listening, learning, messing up, and staying with the work. How do we all find the strength to keep dreaming and scheming and laboring and sweating with God to build a more just world for all people and all creation?

I think one way we do this is by submitting to Christ’s Rule of Love.

Today’s story from the Book of Acts is a touchstone text for those who desire to submit themselves to this Rule. When I hear this story, I get this Venn-diagram-slash-flow-chart in my head with Love, Freedom, and Openness. But instead of trying to recreate that for you, what I’d really rather do is tell you the story. 

While I’m telling it, I invite you to listen for these themes and use your hands when you hear them. You can make gestures like these: Love (hand on heart), Freedom (break chains), Openness (open hands). Don’t worry if it looks silly - no one can see you!

Once upon a time, a man named Philip received a message from an angel. Philip was one of the early Followers of the Way (that’s what Jesus followers were called back then). The angel told him to “get up and go” to a particular wilderness road leading from Jerusalem to Gaza. The angel didn’t say anything about WHY he was supposed to go, just that he needed to go….so Philip listened and he got up and went.

On that same road was a man whose name we aren’t told. Instead, the author of Acts describes him as an Ethiopian eunuch who was a court official of the queen. Now we don’t have precise parallels to these categories in our own culture. To say that he was from Ethiopia meant that he looked different than Philip. He likely had darker skin than Philip did. Chances are good that he was Jewish, because there were many Jews in Ethiopia and we are told he’s on his way back from worshiping in Jerusalem. As a eunuch, the man challenged other folks’ assumptions about masculinity and gender. Many LGBTQ folks in our own time have identified with him and claimed him as their kindred. We do know that because of his status as a eunuch there were some religious rituals he wasn’t excluded from. 

But being a eunuch also gave him access to some prestige and power. Eunuchs were often selected to serve as high-ranking court officials. This man is in an expensive chariot and we know he also has access to power as one who has the ear of the queen. The Rev. Simon Woodman describes him as “a complex person: ...he is both at the centre of society, and on the margins; he is wealthy and powerful, but excluded and othered; he is devout and seeking God, but in a religious culture that deems him unacceptable...” [2] 

So we have these two men - strangers - on this wilderness road. And, once again, the angel gives Philip specific instructions to “get up and go” over to the chariot and join it. Once again, Philip listens and goes. The two men enter into a dialogue about the scriptures. They are both seekers - wanting to learn and digest and understand more about the movement of God in the world. Though they don’t know one another we can feel the respect, mutuality, and love in their encounter in that chariot. 

As they are traveling along and talking about Jesus together, they come upon some water. And the man-whose-name-we-aren’t-told says to Philip, “Look, here’s some water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?” Now, some versions of the Bible include a verse here that wasn’t in the original text. In this added-later-verse Philip says to the man, “If you believe with all of your heart, you may be baptized” and the man says, “I believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God.”

We can tell that someone somewhere along the way was nervous about the story as it was originally told - that’s why they added that line. But in the original text, the man simply asks, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” and Philip doesn’t answer. Instead, the action is the answer as the two men go into the water together . 

The text says “he baptized him” and then they emerge from the water together. It’s all done together - both of them experiencing a renewal of their faith through the waters of baptism. Again, we see the mutuality between these two strangers. We see their openness as they listen for the movement of the Spirit. We sense their commitment to following that Rule of love (LOVE), trusting God’s love is big enough for themselves and all people - especially those who society might label as “outsiders.” We feel the freedom they feel as followers of Jesus - freedom to share dialogue, ask vulnerable questions, answer with action. 

To walk in the Way of Jesus - like these earlier followers did - is to be rooted in a Rule of Love. Living in this Rule frees us to faithfully imagine new worlds, just like the man did in this story: “Look! Here’s water. What’s to prevent me from being baptized?”

• What’s to prevent us from creating a world where accountability is the norm, rather than an occasion for surprise? 

• What’s to prevent us from tearing down systems that perpetuate the evil of white supremacy? And proclaiming with our actions, not just our words, that Black, Asian, Indigenous, Latino, immigrant bodies, dreams, lives matter and have sacred worth?

• What’s to prevent us from reimagining the role of police in our society? And demanding institutions that work for all people?

• What’s to prevent us from saying “enough is enough” gun violence? And working together to find creative solutions that lead us towards life, not death?

• What’s to prevent us from insisting that our leaders value the lives of transgender youth and adults? Saying “not on our watch” to hateful legislation that harms?

• What’s to prevent us from smashing the patriarchy? Looking to women and girls and nonbinary humans in all their glorious, beautiful diversity to lead us?

• What’s to prevent us from working together across the globe to heal our planet? Making sustainability the norm instead of an afterthought? 

Rather than answer these questions with words, may we answer them like these two men in Acts did: WITH ACTION.

Open to the Spirit’s voice when she says “get up and go.” 

Following Christ - that prophetic, inspiring, troubling, “liberating force” who comes to set all captives free.

Rooted in God’s Rule of Love which leads us into new life together.

May it be so. 

NOTES:

[1] https://www.kocucc.org/news-events/one-black-life-matters

[2]https://baptistbookworm.blogspot.com/2021/04/philip-and-ethiopian-eunuch.html?m=1&fbclid=IwAR0qRmoEWQPHbAXgpqg_43FJIN4Y9kvWzY1tIbI8vXs9BFS66Lae5-mnKGY

“Re-organized: An Easter Sermon”

Sermon on Luke 24:13-25

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS 

April 11, 2021

Having heard these ancient stories, let’s turn now to a contemporary story from our still-speaking God. I’ve adapted this story by the Rev. Liddy Barlow just a smidge:

Three-year-old Lydia doesn’t remember much about life before the pandemic. She doesn’t remember passing the peace during worship, or crowding together on the chancel steps for the children’s sermon. She doesn’t remember ever getting a hug or a handshake from anyone outside her immediate family.

She does remember that in the fall, her family’s beloved dog Hobbes died. She watched her parents dig a grave to bury him in their rural backyard.

​Lydia understands that there’s a sickness that’s spread all over the world. She knows the sickness means she has to wash her hands and wear a mask. Every night, she prays with her family: “God, please help the world get better.”

​One recent night at bedtime, after repeating their prayer, Lydia asked, “When the world is better, will we keep wearing masks?”

“No, when the world is better we can take our masks off,” her mom replied.

​“And when the world is better,” Lydia asked again, “will Daddy un-dig Hobbes?”

​This spring, [we are] making the slow transition into a post-pandemic reality. It might seem that the world has recovered, has gotten better. In some ways, things are just as we left them: [sanctuaries that appear unchanged when we return after more than a year away, congregations ready to return to their regular routines.]. But we are discovering that not everything is the same. We’ve adopted new habits that will take a while to break, and found new rhythms that we may no longer want to disrupt. Some of our relationships have not survived a long absence. Some of us are coping with the dimensions of a new chronic illness, “long covid,” or wrestling with new trauma and anxiety. And [almost 5,000 of our neighbors in Kansas] have died. There are missing faces in our communities, empty pews in our sanctuaries, fresh graves in our cemeteries. The world is getting better, but not everything can be un-dug.

“Not everything can be un-dug.” As we step into Eastertide, that statement: “Not everything can be un-dug,” is sticking with me. Each year when the Easter story grabs hold of us once again, we find we are not the same people we were the last time we heard it. Easter 2021 finds us differently than Easter 2020 and Easter 2019. We don’t yet know who we will be when Easter 2022 rolls around. 

Depending on what is happening in the world and in our own lives, the story may feel particularly resonant on any given year…..or it might leave us cold, wishing we could tap into the joy but unable to really grasp it firmly. Some years there are parts of us that just can’t be un-dug. And other years we joyfully throw off the dirt, leap out of our graves, and dance in the warm Spring sun. 

No matter who we are or where we are on life’s journey….or how the Easter story finds us this year, we are all welcome here. And the Easter Story, pursues us once again…”ready or not, here it comes!” In fact, we don’t have just ONE Easter Story, we have several. The whole thing is so incredible, we seem to need many different versions just to wrap our heads around it. Not only do we have the different versions in each gospel, of course, but we have different Easter Stories even within a single gospel. The author of Luke isn’t satisfied with just ONE story of the risen Christ, so he keeps spinning stories of how different people were affected by the Resurrected Christ. 

The women, of course, but then, also, Peter gets into the game. And after Peter, we immediately get this story about two from the inner circle that we’ve not heard of before - Cleopas and his unnamed friend. The stories are just flowing so quickly that it’s still the same DAY. Cleopas and his friend seem to have waited for something to happen because they believed Jesus at least a little bit when he said he would be raised from death on the third day. The third day has now come and almost gone and….nothing. At least to their knowledge. So they depart for Emmaus, which we are told is about a seven mile journey. 

As they walk, Cleopas and his friend are joined by Jesus - only they don’t know it’s JESUS. The three travelers make small talk as they are walking alone and these disciples share with the stranger their overwhelming sadness. Their friend, Jesus, has been killed. And they had HOPED he would be the one to bring about liberation for Israel - to remove Rome’s boot from their necks. But now the third day has come and gone and Jesus is really dead and gone and they’ve lost hope. 

They continue to walk and talk and as they near Emmaus, the stranger (who we know is Jesus) begins to spin stories from scripture, beginning with Moses and the prophets. 

Once they arrive in Jerusalem, the disciples extend hospitality to this stranger, insisting that he stay with them for the night. He accepts the invitation and when they sit down to eat, there’s something about the way he takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, shares it with them…...in this act that looks a lot like what we now call Holy Communion, it suddenly becomes clear to Cleopas and his friend that the Risen Christ has been with them this whole time. 

And as soon as they make this connection, he’s gone. He vanishes from before their eyes. And they find themselves so caught up in the Easter story, that they immediately set off for Jerusalem to tell their friends. That’s right, even though they’ve already made the seven-mile journey once today, they are prepared to make it again, after dark. That’s how good the story is and how urgently they need to share it with the others. 

The author of Luke spins this particular Easter story with such beauty and care. It’s the type of story we can come back to again and again, and every time it seems a different part of it reaches out to us. As I sat with the story this past week, I was struck by how these disciples didn’t recognize their friend immediately when he appeared to them on the road. Isn’t that strange? I mean, maybe it’s just told that way because it makes for a good story. Or was there something cosmic about this Risen Christ that made him difficult to recognize? 

Or perhaps Jesus’s friends were simply traumatized, their sight disrupted by the enormity of what they’d just been through. Perhaps they were unable to see clearly, make sense of basic everyday interactions because they were simply unable to function. 

When our bodies and spirits are in a state of alarm, or extreme exhaustion or overwhelm, even basic tasks can become impossible. Lots of people all over the world are experiencing something similar these days. As we struggle through year two of a global pandemic and as we continue to confront the evils of hate, violence, white supremacy and misogyny...we can find ourselves overwhelmed. The fatigue catches up with us and we sometimes can’t remember a word, or complete simple tasks.  Our brains just aren’t making connections like they’re supposed to. We feel scattered, disconnected, and sometimes downright dysfunctional. 

This story of Emmaus reminds me of some excellent advice I received from a lactation consultant when I had a newborn baby. She told us that newborns sometimes get so overwhelmed with the world around them that their nervous systems can kind of short-circuit. When they are overly hungry or tired they might not be able to latch on and nurse properly. Their tiny selves become scattered, disconnected, dysfunctional and they need help getting organized before they can eat. So she showed us some things we could do to help the baby “get organized” - help them calm their nervous systems down so they could function and be fed. 

I feel like that’s what Jesus is doing in this story. Helping his beloved friends get organized so they’ll be able to function and fed. They are so overwhelmed by the enormity of what they’ve been through, even their vision is disrupted. They can’t see clearly. But there’s something about the familiarity of the shared stories, and the walking along together, and the breaking of the bread that organizes their spirits, calms their systems, pulls them back together. 

And once they are re-organized in this way, they are able to see. And once they see Easter standing right in front of them, they are off and running to Jerusalem to share the gift of this good story with the others. Once they are re-organized they are ready for the next big shift, ready for what is coming next in their lives. 

Are we ready for the next big shift? Are we ready for what is coming next? Are we ready to be un-dug and dance in the warm Spring sun? 

We know our lives aren’t going back to how they were in The Before Times, but it can feel hard to anticipate what things will look like in six months or a year. It often feels to me like we are all just so ready for “the end of the pandemic” that we are tempted to rush forward into whatever is coming next without pausing to get organized. I keep pausing to remind myself of the questions I was focused on at this time last year: What is essential? What matters most? How do I keep waking up each day and choosing to love God and love my neighbor as myself? What does it look like to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God in this rapidly changing landscape? 

In our excitement about vaccines and spring and “getting back out there,” we need to also pause and take care. 

We need to care for the enormity of what we’ve been through together and what we’re still going through. We need to grieve that some of the things we’ve lost really can’t be un-dug. That’s real. And in the realness of that hurt and sorrow, the Easter stories find us once again. Our God is relentlessly offers to us - no, offers is not quite strong enough - CHASES US DOWN with these stories of hope. 

And so, beloveds, as we settle into this season of Easter, may we do so with the hope of getting organized - just like little babies do. Not in a color-coded spreadsheet kind of way, but in a deep-in-the-bones way. Clear eyes, open hearts, receptive spirits ready to receive the gifts our Easter God is ready to bestow upon us next. 

We meet this God as we travel, as we share these ancient stories, as we gather around tables together and remember Jesus. We are held in the arms of Love, knit back together when we feel scattered, disconnected, unable to function.. We are re-membered, re-organized, renewed for the next season of life. 

Thanks be to our Easter God. 

"Remember: An Easter Sermon"

Sermon on Luke 24:1-12

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS 

April 4, 2021 - Easter

Susanna groggily pulled her blanket up over her head. A whole week of nightmares and fitful sleep had worn her down. She fell into bed exhausted at the end of each day, but sleep was elusive. Just when she was about to drift off, she would feel the crowds pressing in hear the shouts again, “Hosanna! Save us!” 

When sleep finally found her each evening, peace didn’t. All through the night, scenes replayed again and again, “Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me!” “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” And the ugly shouts of “Crucify! Crucify him!” 

And always the crowds pressing in. 

Too many people in one place at one time. People down low grabbing at their ankles as they walked past. People up in trees, straining to catch a glimpse. People who had overstayed their welcome but hadn’t thought to bring lunch, so they needed to be fed. People who asked questions just because they were looking for a fight. 

In her dreams, he answered all their questions. In her dreams, he told them, again and again, how the end would come. And in her dreams, the end always came in the same way. The noise stopped. The crowds dispersed. The images went dark.

Silence. Stillness. Nothing. 

The end. 

In the end, she was always alone. 

Outside, the rooster crowed and Susanna started to open her eyes. As the sun started to peek up over the horizon, she put her feet on the floor and looked around the room. In the half-light of early morning she fumbled to open her bag and tossed her supplies into it. A few rags, some dried herbs. She carefully wrapped up the small jar of expensive oil in a cloth before lowering it in with the rest. 

As she stepped outside, Susanna saw other figures moving in the distance. Her friends were, at first, two-dimensional in that first light of day. But as they came closer, their familiar faces brought all her feelings to the surface and, unable to help herself, she began to quietly weep.

Joanna drew near and put an arm around her friend. “Shhh, shhhh. It’s going to be okay, Susanna. It’s going to be okay.”

Susanna looked at her sideways. It’s going to be okay? she thought. It’s going to be okay? Joanna, nothing is okay right now. Nothing.

“I know,” Joanna sighed, “But it’s going to be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”

Susanna internally rolled her yes, but tried to force a smile in Joanna’s general direction. No sense in having a fight about this right now. There was work to do. 

The women quietly began their journey through empty streets. 

Just a few short days ago, these streets had been filled with the crowds that now plagued Susanna’s dreams. There had been two parades, really. From the East, the parade she had been a part of. Jesus and his ragtag group of followers. Peasants from the outskirts, looking out of place in the big city. A parade of protest - a parade that asks “why” and says “no more.” 

And from the West, a more conventional parade. Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, and all his horses and men, decked out in grand style. A parade of Empire - a parade that says “listen up” and “because I said so.”

And now...a third parade. A parade of women. No one gathered to watch this one. Certainly not the Roman authorities. After all, the story was basically over and done now. Not much left to see here. Jesus came, the people cried out for freedom, and once again, the powers-that-be tightened their grip. Once again, violence won the day. Once again, the people were left alone, leaderless, despairing. 

Susanna glanced over at Joanna. How can she think it’s all going to be okay in the end? She wondered. Can’t she see this IS the end? It’s over. Finished. 

Jesus had...talked a good game. He had given them the gift of hope. When he spun those stories of a better world...well, you couldn’t help but feel like it was really possible. When he said, “the Kingdom of God is like this” you could kind of squint and really see it there on the horizon. 

There was something about his presence. The way he looked into your eyes like he was seeing every single thing about you without being intrusive. It was like he was here, with us...but somehow beyond us, from another place entirely. When you were with him you felt like you were wrapped up tightly in a cocoon….safe, warm, loved. 

It felt like nothing could ever hurt you. It felt like home. It felt like everything was...okay. 

But now that was all gone. Because Jesus was gone. And as the parade of women approached the tomb where Jesus’s body lay, it really started to hit home for Susanna. This would be the last time she’d see her friend. She had cared for dead bodies like this many times before and wondered if this would feel any different from all the rest. She started to take her bag off her shoulder to get the supplies ready. 

What happened next felt like one of those dreams where everything is disjointed and nothing seems to make sense. 

One of the women cried out that the tomb had been broken into. The heavy stone had been rolled away! They stumbled over each other trying to investigate and when they discovered Jesus’s body was gone, Susanna felt rage rise inside of her. This has been taken from us, too? Why?

And then chaos. A flash of light. Two strange men clothed in white saying things that made no sense. No sense at all. “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you while he was still in Galilee that the Son of man must be handed over to sinners and be crucified and on the third day rise again.”

Susanna couldn’t wrap her mind around it. It didn’t make any sense. Not at all. She turned to look at her friend.

Joanna’s eyes locked with hers...and she suddenly felt that feeling all over her body. Wrapped up tightly in a cocoon….safe, warm, loved. It felt like nothing could ever hurt you. It felt like home. It felt like everything was….okay. “It’s going to be okay,” whispered Joanna. “In the end, I mean. It’s going to be okay in the end, because if it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”

The women held hands tightly, stumbling into the light outside the tomb. 

And suddenly they remembered. Their hearts remembered it all. The healings, the parables, the miracles, the laughter, the despair, the anger at injustice, the meals shared around tables, the long journey they had all been on together, the love.

They remembered it in their minds and their bodies, their guts and their hearts, their cells and their spirits. They remembered it in whispers and shouts and songs and questions and stories and silence and parades. 

They remembered. And in the remembering, they were re-membered. Pieced back together. Knit together in love. Brought back to themselves. 

They remembered. And we, too, remember. 

Christ is risen. Christ is risen, indeed. Alleluia.