“Let it Be”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Luke 1:26-38

December 4, 2022

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be [1]

Do you remember what it’s like to be a child, alone in the dark of your bedroom, and not be able to fall asleep? Some of us may have had this experience last week and for others of us it was years ago now, but I bet most of us can remember what that feels like. Every sound in the house is amplified. Shadows take on new life. Our imaginations go into overdrive. 

In our house we call these “the nighttime worries.”

As we grow older the worries change but the feelings of uncertainty and dread stay the same. Worries about monsters under the bed give way to worries about credit lines over the limits. Ears surprised by the sound of creaking floors become ears straining for the sound of the garage door opening. Our worries change but nighttime worries are still very real for adults, too. 

Paul McCartney has spoken at length about the lyrics to Let it Be. And although many of us have read religious overtones into it, he says it’s simply a song about his own mother, named Mary, coming to him in his dreams with a simple message to soothe his own nighttime worries: “Let it be,” she said. And he felt a sense of comfort and peace. [2]

Now Sir Paul may insist that this song has nothing to do with faith but I have a hard time separating things quite so cleanly into secular and sacred. After all, in this season of the year when we remember the incarnation, what else is the Christian faith if not remembering that the Christ force imbues absolutely everything in this world? Dreams, worries, messages from our deceased parents, three-word mantras, and iconic pop songs can all be places where the Divine brings tidings of comfort and joy. 

Perhaps it is the image of Sir Paul’s mother coming to him in the dark - or perhaps it’s that his mother spoke the same words as Jesus’s mother - but this song is intertwined in my mind with the painting The Annunciation by Henry Osawa Tanner. 

Let me show it to you. (screen share)

There is something about the vulnerability and perplexity on Mary’s face…something about the bold gentleness of the angel Gabriel’s beam of light….that calls to mind Mary McCartney’s simple message of courage in the midst of great fear, “let it be.”

(long pause while we look at the image)

“Let it be with me according to your word,” said the teenager as she pondered all these things in her heart. Gabriel, that radiant column of warm light, shines in the darkness, pointing the way to the one who comes so that we remember darkness can never overcome the light. And when he says, “nothing will be impossible with God,” this young woman simply…believes him?

I don’t know about you, but I long for a faith like that. A faith that overcomes fear. A faith that trusts that nothing will be impossible with God. Although Mary’s words are simple - “let it be” - we know from our lived experience that there’s nothing simple and easy about a faith like this. We catch glimpses of it in fleeting moments, but there are just as many moments of doubt and paralyzing fear. Surely Mary had these moments, too, but the curated version we receive of her in our holy texts is one of quiet confidence. 

“Let it be,” she says. And in the hopeful courage of this young woman’s words we catch a glimmer of possibility that we, too, might be centered in that peace that passes all understanding. 

We typically speak of this story as the Annunciation of the angel Gabriel - announcing to Mary that she would become the mother of Jesus. But artist Carmelle Beauglin, whose beautiful art is featured on the cover of our bulletin today, reimagines this story as Mary’s Annunciation. (show the art)

The angel comes with tidings of impossibility, yes, but it is Mary’s announcement, Mary’s “yes” that truly makes the incarnation possible. 

Beauglin writes:

“Mary’s Golden Annunciation depicts not only a remarkable encounter, but also the moment that divinity in human form was conceived. It is my speculation that the divinity of God entered Mary’s body no sooner than Mary’s “yes” went out from her mouth. In a time when women had few options other than marriage, Mary’s consent to a potentially unwed motherhood is a brave act of subversive agency. In Mary’s “yes,” uttered in her Magnificat, we see the transformation of a young teenage girl from fearful to determined, from simply accepting to deciding, from passivity to agency, from betrothed to surrogate mother of God—an honor rarer than gold. Perhaps the most remarkable annunciation in this passage is not the messenger’s revelation to Mary, but Mary’s ‘yes’ to the call.” [3]

(stop showing art)

Mary’s ‘yes’ - her ‘let it be’ - enters the world despite her fear and uncertainty. Living held within that circle of deep peace doesn’t mean we don’t feel unsettled. It doesn’t mean we stop grieving or worrying. The grief and worry may still be present with us, but we are not alone with it. Instead, we are held within a cosmic embrace that gives us a sense of reassurance, even in the midst of feelings of pain. 

I have a dear friend named Ashley who lost her mother about a year ago. They were very close and she’s shared her journey with grief openly on social media. This week she shared a photo of what she has come to call her “mom light.” There is a window in her house that is over 100 years old. The light comes in just so in the morning, falling across her face in a dappled way. When she sits in that light she feels the warmth of her mother’s love reaching her across the divide. Her grief doesn’t go away, but she’s not alone in it. She’s held within a golden circle of great love that persists even when grief, pain, and worry is palpable.  

My friend says this is how her mother hugs her now. In this beam of warm morning light. She goes to this place and feels contained within that golden circle of peace. Strengthened by love in this place, she’s able to keep putting one foot in front of the other - saying ‘yes’ and ‘let it be’ to life, even as she struggles with grief, loneliness, uncertainly, fear, pain. 

In this season as we await the incarnation - as we ponder seemingly-impossible tidings of great joy - as we wait for the return of the light - may we remember Mother Mary’s words. And may we be held in that great golden circle of her affirmation, saying ‘yes’ to life even in the midst of grief, loneliness, uncertainty, fear, and pain. 

And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me

Shinin' until tomorrow, let it be

I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

And let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be [4]

NOTES:

[1] Lyrics by Lennon and McCartney

[2] https://archive.sltrib.com/article.php?id=52552400&itype=cmsid 

[3] Reflection from artist Carmelle Beauglin in materials from A Sanctified Art, LLC

[4] Lyrics by Lennon and McCartney

“Something precious in the wide expanse”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Matthew 1:1-17 and Isaiah 2:1-5

November 27, 2022

I feel like we should begin by applauding Cassidy for reading all those names. Whew. This text from Matthew isn’t one most of us have had to read aloud….or even that most of us have probably taken much time to read silently. It’s what we might call a “throwaway text.” You’re reading along, you see all those names, your brain turns to mush and you just kind of skim through until you get to some more action. 

The Bible is full of genealogies. Apparently there are 18 of them in the First Testament and in the Second Testament we have 2 separate genealogies of Christ. The one Cassidy so graciously read for us today and another in the Gospel of Luke. If we resist the urge to skip over these texts, it’s actually pretty interesting to dig into them. For starters, the two lists in Matthew and Luke are very different. Just as the account of Christ’s birth is different in each gospel, so are the lists of Jesus’s ancestors. The list in Luke goes all the way back to Adam and the overall feel we get from it is how Jesus came to shine a light for the whole world.

Matthew’s list puts more of an emphasis on Jesus’s Jewish identity, tracing his lineage back to Abraham and highlighting Jesus’s royal status as the great, hoped-for King of the Jews. 

One fun fact about both lists is this: Jesus’s most immediate ancestor is Joseph. He is described as the son of Joseph, husband of Mary. Which is a lovely way the Bible affirms that family is not only about DNA but also about the ways we claim one another as kin. The same texts that tell us Joseph was Jesus’s adoptive father also make it clear that Joseph was Jesus’s REAL father. Love makes a family. 

If you know anything about these genealogies at all, it’s probably this: Matthew’s list includes several brave and spicy women. Though most genealogies in Jesus’s time and culture would have been traced through the patriarchs, Matthew can’t resist reminding us that Jesus is descended not just from powerful kings but some pretty incredible matriarchs, as well. 

We have Tamar, who resisted the confines of the patriarchy by using her unfaithful father-in-law’s weaknesses against him and getting what was rightfully hers. And Rahab, who existed on the margins of her society and bravely took in foreigners, helping the Israelites in their military campaign in Jericho. There’s Ruth, who faithfully clung to her mother-in-law Naomi and stayed loyal to her when she could have just as easily struck out on her own. And finally, Bathsheba, who - like Tamar - was the victim of a misogynistic culture and had the deck stacked against her - and yet she persevered through grief and loss, eventually becoming the queen mother. 

All of these women are complex characters. When I was a child, I was taught that they were unsavory; promiscuous and not ladylike enough to serve as role models. But when we resist the temptation to see this as a throwaway text - and the temptation to see these matriarchs as throwaway ancestors - we find powerful stories of people who exude resilience, survival, tenacity, and strength. 

If you’d like to learn more about the rich stories of Jesus’s matriarchs, you’re highly encouraged to join us for our adult Sunday School class this Advent season, or at least get a copy of the book we’re reading together. There’s more info about that in this week’s bulletin announcements. 

Matthew’s lifting up of the matriarchs in Jesus’s lineage connected with a book I recently finished: Our Missing Hearts by Celeste Ng. In this dystopian novel, an preteen boy named Bird Gardner is missing his mother. She disappeared several years ago and he doesn’t know where she went or why. But he knows he’s not supposed to ask. He and his father don’t speak of her anymore. 

Bird lives in a world where xenophobia has led to an Orwellian kind of oversight into citizens’ lives. Questioning the government isn’t allowed. Protesting isn’t allowed. Anti-Asian hate crimes are rampant. Safety is an illusion. 

Over the course of the novel, Bird eventually reunites with his mother, Margaret, and discovers why she went missing. He learns that for the past several years she’s been quietly traveling around the country, collecting stories. Stories from families whose children have been stolen by the government - taken away from their families under the guise of protecting the children from anti-American sentiments in their homes. 

I don’t want to give away too much of the book, but Margaret would fit right in with these matriarchs in Jesus’s lineage. She’s strong and wise and cunning. And she’s had to make incredibly difficult decisions because she’s living in a world that is designed to keep people like her quiet. But she perseveres and uses her voice to creatively speak words of hope and healing in a world that desperately needs it. And she does this by lifting up stories of people who exude resilience, survival, tenacity, and strength. 

Margaret refuses to see the disappeared children who have so carefully been hidden away as throwaway stories. At great risk to her own safety, she lovingly seeks out these stories, shining a light on their lives and amplifying their stories for all to hear. Her life, like the lives of Jesus’s foremothers, is one of resistance. And hope. 

Dr. Christine Hong, who is one of the contributors to the Advent devotionals from A Sanctified Art, writes about the power of remembering and honoring our own ancestors as an act of hope. She writes: 

In the Korean tradition, male babies are named by the oldest patriarch on the father’s side of a family. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, so it was my maternal grandfather who built my name. Even before I was born, he declared he would build a meaningful name for me (even though I was not a boy). I would receive a name with intention from the oldest living generation to the newest. He gave me the name Jin, which when paired with my surname, becomes Hong Jin, meaning “something precious in the wide expanse.” When I was born, he was not sure when he would get to meet his granddaughter with the vast ocean separating South Korea from California. In those days, it was not so easy or affordable to fly internationally. The name represented the connection he felt to me and my parents, despite what felt like an insurmountable distance between us. What is the Spirit of God if not the hope against hope in our lives? [2]

“What is the Spirit of God if not the hope against hope in our lives?” As this season of Advent begins, we are invited into this age-old story of hope, resistance, faithfulness. It’s a story full of complex ancestors, risky love, and powerful perseverance. It’s a vast story with room for all of our questions, messiness, and uncertainties. 

What first appeared to be a throwaway text is actually a great reminder of the awe-inspiring tapestry in which we make our home. Each of us is a unique thread with our own particular story. There are no throwaway threads - no throwaway stories or throwaway people. Each of us matters within the whole. 

Each thread is what Dr. Hong speaks of, “Something precious in the wide expanse.” Hong Jin. Margaret. Abraham. Isaac. Jacob. Judah. Tamar. Perez. Rahab. Boaz. Ruth. Jesse. David. Bathsheba. Joseph. Mary. Jesus. You. Me. 

From generation to generation. “Something precious in the wide expanse.” 

Thanks be to God. 

NOTES:

[1] Advent devotional, From Generation to Generation from A Sanctified Art, LLC. 

“Look Out”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Micah 5:2-5a; 6:6-8

November 13, 2022

Several weeks ago, I was looking ahead at upcoming scripture texts and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the prophet Micah would be with us today. With so many people in our congregation who have been deeply engaged in the fall election cycle, I knew the results might still be weighing heavily on our hearts this morning. For those who have been knocking on doors, writing postcards, talking to friends about the importance of voting, THANK YOU. I know that the week after an election can lead to a feeling of, “Ok, what now?” 

And so this passage from the prophet Micah comes to us from another part of the world far away from here in both time and space. But the context is familiar to us. Micah’s world was a big ol’ mess. Wars and threats of war. Big power players on the global stage casually creating chaos. And Micah himself writes from a rural area, far away from the halls of power in the capital city. An agricultural region. Then, as now, these flyover regions were places that were often forgotten by those in power….and yet the policies decided in the far away capital were things that intimately affected those who lived in the more rural areas. [1]

You may have heard that famous Karl Barth quote before, admonishing preachers to “preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.” This well-known passage from Micah falling on the Sunday after an election is the perfect set up for following Barth’s advice. 

Really, Barth’s advice is good for all of us, not just preachers. To be engaged, faithful followers of Jesus, we need to approach our whole lives with the Bible in one hand and the news of the day in the other, don’t we? That’s how we figure out how to actually walk in the ways of Jesus, not just think about it. 

Two weeks ago we observed All Saints’ Day and we remembered our call to “look up” at the cloud of witnesses who surround us, the saints who have gone before. Last week we heard the story of the healing of Naaman and were reminded that we also need to “look down” to learn from those that we might mistakenly think are beneath us and to allow the earth to teach us, too. 

This week, Micah reminds us of the importance of looking out. Looking all around us to see what work is ours to do. Looking out for those who have been pushed to the margins or forgotten. Looking out by being on guard against pride. Looking out for each other by reminding one another what matters most. 

Micah speaks to the elites of his day, reminding them that living faithfully can be boiled down to three brief imperatives. “Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with God.” It really is as simple and as hard as that. 

This verse is a touchstone for Christians and Jews alike. And on the Sunday after an election, it’s a particularly grounding reminder. It’s easy to get our emotions really amped up when an election happens. But Micah reminds us that the work doesn’t actually change once the results come in. “Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with God.” Those are our marching orders. When the people we want to win win, that’s what we’re supposed to do. When the people we didn’t want to win win, that’s what we’re supposed to do. My friend and colleague the Rev. Dr. Lori Walke said it eloquently earlier this week:

Election Day is never the end of the work. It's when we find out whose feet we'll be holding to the fire.

This is true even of candidates who would've made our work easier.

Feel your feelings, but the work is ever before us. [2]

Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly. That’s the work. No matter who’s in charge. 

And as we gather for our congregational meeting after worship today, it strikes me that Micah is also a perfect compliment to the work we’ll be doing during that meeting, too. 

In our tradition, we come together to prayerfully discern who we are and what ministry is ours to do as a congregation. We do this when we make big choices together and when we elect our leaders. We do this when we create our annual budget, which funds our ministries. All of these choices are about prioritizing what matters most. We do our best to approach these tasks with intention and wisdom - to ensure we’re being excellent stewards of our resources together. 

You know, back in 2020 when we first found ourselves re-inventing church and trying to figure out how to do absolutely everything in a new way, I heard some of you quote this verse in conversations we were having. We had to figure out which things were most important to us as a congregation and as individuals. And we remembered the guidance of this ancient prophet, Micah, as he told us what God is looking for, “Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly.” And so we focused on those things. We kept at them. 

And I have to tell you, I am so grateful for the faithfulness of this congregation over the past several years. The way you all showed up for one another and for the wider community is truly inspiring. We continued to feed the hungry, learned and grew together as we fumbled through weird online ways of engagement. We felt awkward as we eventually began meeting again with masks and distancing. We made difficult decisions and sacrifices to protect the health and well-being of the most vulnerable. We tried new things - some of which worked and some that didn’t…and that was okay. We certainly didn’t do everything perfectly but we stayed faithful to the call. We kept trying to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly - acutely aware that we’d mess some things up and get some things right and that we’d be accompanied by the Spirit the whole way through. 

When I think about what we’ve all been through as a society these past few years, I can scarcely believe we’re still functioning. We’ve lost so much - stability, predictability, routines and traditions, even people we love. There is so much to grieve. 

And at the same time there is much to celebrate. One of the things I am thankful for each and every day is the faithfulness of God in the midst of all this chaos. The one who has walked faithfully alongside us. God knows we’ve been humbled again and again as we’ve grappled with our mortality and deficiencies as humans. And through it all, God has walked with us, giving us the strength and support we need to keep showing up. To keep seeking ways to do justice and love mercy in our world. Even when we were exhausted. Even when we didn’t know how. Even when just putting one foot in front of the other seemed impossible. 

When I think about the chaos in Micah’s world and the chaos in our world, I give thanks for prophets who speak words of truth into difficult times. The ones who remind us what really matters. The ones who say, “Okay, friends. It really is as easy and as hard as this.” The ones who speak in needlepoint phrases we can remember. The ones who remind us that sometimes we need to hold together things that seem opposite each other. You know, like doing justice - which is all about making sure everyone gets what they deserve - and loving mercy - which reminds us that we also are to give others what they haven’t earned at all. We need both and Micah reminds us of that. 

“Do justice.” Keep looking at the systems and asking hard questions. Keep jumping into action and doing whatever is in your power to help those who might be left out. Keep focusing on what’s right. 

“Love mercy.” But don’t get so obsessed with what’s ‘right’ that you forget to be generous of heart and kind. Don’t get so hung up on justice that you harden your hearts. Remember what it feels like when grace is extended to you and seek to give that same grace to others. Approach life with a deeply loving heart. Not the kind of love that says ‘anything goes’ but the kind of love that expects much and makes space for growth and new life. 

And through it all, Micah reminds us to walk humbly alongside God. How could we be anything but humble when we know that the Spirit accompanies us? We don’t have to be big and puffed up. We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to be exactly who God made us to be: weird and wacky and wonderful and trying and failing and getting it right - sometimes all on the same day. 

We can take sabbath rest, knowing that God will keep the world spinning even when we don’t. And we can also boldly speak and act in Christ’s name, knowing that as his disciples we are called to be his hands and feet on earth. We can keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other, as we trust that the Spirit animates all our days. We walk with our feet firmly on the ground and our spirits reaching to the skies as we rejoice that we - and every other person we encounter - are created in God’s image. What a thing to remember. 

Micah reminds us what matters: justice, mercy, humility. And Micah keeps it so very simple (and so very hard) with those verbs: do, love, walk. 

But the thing that truly ties it all together is there at the very end: “with God.” That’s what gives us the ability to look out. To look out for others who need support. To look out for ourselves as we continue to do the hard work of being human. To look outside of our little bubbles and silos and engage with those who are different from us. To remember that elections come and go - pandemics come (and go - please, go) - prophets and rulers come and go - families change, churches change, bodies change. 

And the call is the same. God invites us to faithfully, humbly, keep walking alongside her. She did not abandon Micah and his people and she will not leave us. 

Do justice. Love mercy. Keep walking. May it be so. 

NOTES: 

[1] I am indebted to the BibleWorm podcast this week and Rev. Robert Williamson, Jr. for this observation about Micah’s rural context. 

[2] Rev. Dr. Lori M. Walke’s Facebook post on Nov. 9, 2022. 

“Look Down”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c

November 6, 2022

If you were with us in worship last week, you’ll remember that we spent time “looking up” at the great cloud of witnesses. We remembered our ancestors as we observed All Saints’ Day. We spent time in quiet contemplation and prayer giving thanks for the ways they showed us how we want to live our lives. 

This week, we’re going to be looking DOWN. 

For those here in the sanctuary, go ahead, look down. Do you see anything down there that seems out of place at all? 

(People will bring forward jars of dirt/pebbles, water, fall leaves, and gauze.)

One of my favorite things to do in autumn is look up at the gorgeous leaves on the trees AND look down to see if I can find some especially pretty ones to take home. I put a few of the ones I found yesterday in this jar so we can all enjoy them together. 

Today’s story from 2 Kings reminds us that the Spirit moves in all places, and that if we don’t look down from time to time, we’re going to miss her movements. 

Once upon a time there was a man named Naaman, who was commander of the army of Aram. Aram was neighbor to Israel and they were at odds. Aram has just defeated Israel in battle and we’re introduced to this Aramean military commander, Naaman. We’re told that he’s a powerful, decorated warrior. But also that he has a skin condition - that was troubling to him and others. 

The Arameans, when they defeated Israel in battle, took a young girl captive. We aren’t given her name, unfortunately, but she plays a key role in this story. The girl sees the struggle of her captor, Naaman. And so she gives Naaman’s wife a tip: “If only my lord were with the prophet in Samaria (Israel)! He could cure his skin ailment!”

We don’t know what motivates her to share this miraculous bit of information. Perhaps she’s just an incredibly kind person and is looking out for the well-being of all, even her enemies. Maybe she, like Joseph of the Technicolor Dreamcoat before her, simply understands that if you find yourself captured by the enemy it’s better to make yourself indispensable. We don’t know.;

What we do know is that Naaman listens to her. 

Kind of. 

If Naaman had simply done what the girl had suggested, this whole story would be quite short. And maybe we wouldn’t even know it. 

But Naaman goes a little sideways. He listens but in a kind of “Uh, huh. Uh, huh. Uh, huh,” sort of way. Maybe he was scrolling through his social media while she was talking because he doesn’t quite get it right.

Instead of going directly to the prophet in Samaria, he goes UP the chain of command to the king of Aram. And maybe the king of Aram was ALSO scrolling on his phone because he doesn’t hear it quite right EITHER. Instead of sending Naaman to the prophet in Samaria, he sends him to the KING of Israel. 

And so, off Naaman goes to Samaria, seeking healing. (Here’s a bandage to represent healing, by the way.) He takes with him a passel of gifts that is, I think, meant to be comical. “Ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, two Bentleys, ten sets of garments, including a couple of Armani suits.”

Now LISTEN. What did the girl say? She said, “GO SEE THE PROPHET IN SAMARIA.”

But here we are: Naaman went to see the king of Aram, who sent him to the king of Israel. With all these extravagant gifts as a peace offering or straight up bribe, I suppose. 

The king of Israel reads the letter from the king of Aram. And now this is like a game of telephone. The letter says, “This is my servant, Naaman. I sent him to you so you can cure him of his skin ailment.”

Nothing about the prophet. YOU can cure him of his ailment. 

These generals and kings are just giant adventures in missing the point. They are so sure that the answers are to be found within the hierarchy. So sure they should always be looking at their own level or higher that it doesn’t occur to them to look down. To look down and TRULY listen to the words of a foreign servant girl. To look down and go directly to the prophet in an enemy nation and ask for help. 

The king of Israel is displeased. He thinks it’s a trap. “What? Cure you? I can’t do that! Only God can do that!”

Somewhere off in the hinterlands, the prophet (yes, that one), Elisha, is scrolling mindlessly through his phone when he feels a tingle in the back of his neck. Elisha hears about what happened with the king and sends him a message, “No worries. Send him to me. I’ll show him that there’s a true prophet in Israel.”

So off Naaman goes with his horses and chariots and Bentleys down to Elisha’s house. He pauses at the entrance and Elisha sounds out a messenger. Here’s another servant, friends. Another low-status person with answers. The messenger says, “Go dip yourself into the Jordan River seven times and be healed.” (Jar of water)

Naaman is incredulous. And here he shows his prejudice. Is he willing to talk to the king of an enemy nation? Okay. Is he willing to even come to a prophet’s home of a religion that isn’t his? Okay. But now - now! - he’s stopped to this level and the prophet doesn’t even come to greet him but sends a SERVANT to tell him to go take a bath in the local river? This is a bridge too far for this powerful man. 

“Listen, here. The rivers back in my homeland are mightier than your puny little Jordan River here. If I’m going to wash myself in a river, I’ll just take myself back to MY land, thank you very much.”

And he turns to stomp out, grumbling about the absurdity of it all. 

That could have been the end. But there are a couple more nameless servants who come bearing truth. Naaman’s own servants say to him, “Look, sir. If the prophet had told you to do something really hard, you would have done it, right? Why not just try this simple thing? What do you have to lose?”

And so, Naaman listens. This time he’s put his phone away and he actually HEARS the words completely. He listens to those who he thinks of as “beneath him” and goes to the river. Looking down at the land and the water there, he steps into the Jordan. He washes seven times. He finds himself healed. And he gives thanks to the God of Israel saying, “NOW I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.”

And everyone lived happily ever after. The end. 

But I still have this jar of dirt left. Hmm. 

This story is about looking down. And part of that looking down is reminding ourselves, “Don’t be like these powerful guys. Don’t miss the healing that’s out there because you’re only looking UP these imaginary hierarchies for answers. Look up, look down, look all around for wisdom. Listen to the voices of those that society has pushed to the margins. Listen to people you think are ‘beneath you.’ Listen to children, those with accents different than yours, those you think of as servants. It turns out everyone has wisdom to share. And if you don’t look up, down, and all around you’re going to miss out.”

Another part of that looking down is about the dirt here in this jar. And about our connection to the one we call Mother Earth. Elisha could have come out with sparks and flame and fire and magic tricks. But it turns out Elisha the prophet didn’t do much at all. 

Except this: the prophet knew where to find the healing waters that were already there, freely available to anyone who was paying attention. Part of the looking down that this story reminds us of is to look to our Mother, the Earth. To treat the ground we walk on daily with reverence. To remember that Earth provides what we need for life, sustenance, and even healing from so much of what ails us. We cannot lose our connection to this incredible place we call home. 

We have to keep looking down, giving thanks for the goodness that flows from the earth, and listening to the prophets who remind us of our unending connection with and dependence upon this planet. 

May we keep looking down. Amen. 

"Look Up"

 “Look Up”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Hebrews 12:1-3

October 30, 2022

I once visited Edinburgh, Scotland and was astounded that the locals walking through the streets weren’t staring up at the enormous castle on the hill all day long. They were just walking around, mostly looking down at the ground, while I was walking around like this (looking up). How could you live with that huge castle looming over you, day in and day out and not look up all the time?

I suppose it’s like anything else. If it’s a part of your daily backdrop, you stop noticing it. 

When people come to visit Kansas they sometimes look up, amazed that we’re all walking around with our heads down most of the time. The sky here is so….big! The sunrises and sunsets are astounding. What we lack in trees and skyscrapers we make up for in an ever-changing tapestry of moisture and light overhead. Even the youngest Kansan can look at the clouds and tell you a bit about what the weather today. The clouds become our castle on the hill. We stop noticing them. 

But clouds are truly magical, aren’t they? I mean, is there anything better than laying on your back and having nothing else on your agenda than staring up at the clouds as they move across the sky? And what about the miraculous experience of flying through the clouds when you’re in an airplane? Amazing. 

The author of the book of Hebrews speaks of a cloud of witnesses surrounding us. Cheering us on in our human journey. For generations now, we Christ-followers have spoken of this cloud of witnesses as those who have gone before us. Those who have showed us how we want to live. The ones we believe are still with us in ways we can’t quite understand, encouraging us, hovering nearby in love. 

We think of those in the great cloud especially on All Saints Day, which comes every year on November 1st. On All Saints’ we remember how God’s love unites us with those who have already moved into the cloud. We may not see and hear and touch them in the same way we once did, but they are still with us. If we look up, we’ll see them. 

All Saints’ Day is about looking up. Remembering those who have gone before us and showed us how we want to live our lives. The ones who taught us about what really matters. Those who are now in the great cloud of witnesses that we’ll all be a part of one day. In remembering them, we also find ourselves thinking about how we want to be remembered one day. How can we use the time we have in this life to share a little bit of the goodness that was once shared with us? How can we be saints, too?

For the next several minutes, you’re invited to spend some time looking up, remembering the saints. You might want to close your eyes or jot down your thoughts. There are two questions to reflect on and we’ll show them on the screens here in a moment. 

As you reflect, I’m going to come around in the sanctuary with cotton balls - little clouds. Once you’re done reflecting, you can come over to one of the hanging clouds and put your cloud into the top. If you’re on Zoom, please share something like “done” in the chat when you’re finished and I’ll place your cotton ball for you here in the sanctuary. 

Let’s move into a time of reflection now as we look up together. 

A saint is anyone who has showed or taught us how to live. 

Who has been a saint in your life?

How can you be a saint to others?

May Christ open our spirits as we come before God in prayer. 

“Getting it right. Getting it wrong.”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Joshua 24:1-3a, 13-15 and Acts 2:42-47

October 17, 2022

Is God’s word perfect? 

Well, I suppose it depends on what you mean by God’s word for starters. 

Like many of you, I grew up being told that the Bible was God’s word. Or maybe, more accurately, words. God’s perfect words.

By the time I went to seminary I was pretty sure this couldn’t hold because, well, you know, there are a lot of contradictions in the Bible. And some other stuff that’s flat out horrifying. So how could it be perfect?

The Bible is, in my mind, clearly a book written by humans seeking to understand God, just like we do. In these sacred stories we see that sometimes our faith ancestors got it right….and sometimes they got it wrong. There’s no perfection here, just humans being human.

Today’s two texts from Joshua and Acts really showcase the ups and downs of humaning. In the book of Acts we have this utopian vision of Jesus’s early followers getting it right. They shared all their possessions. They took care of everyone who had acneed. They made space for everyone at an ever-widening table. There they are, doing what we say we’re trying to do: “love one another - every single other.” 

It’s a powerful story. A vision of what humans can do when we take seriously the call to shape our lives in the ways of Jesus and try to “be the church” together. To share what we have - generously and with gratitude. To care for one another, bearing each other's burdens and sharing each other's joy. To nurture a community that provides a warm and welcoming home base for asking questions, serving, working for justice, and building God’s Beloved Community. 

It’s a powerful story of what it looks like for faithful people to “get it right.” 

Of course, if you keep going you’ll find that this little utopian moment didn’t last forever. Unity gave way to questioning who’s really in and out. And by chapter 5 we’ve got stories of people holding back “just a little” from the common purse for themselves and being struck dead because they lied about it. So much for sharing everything with glad and generous hearts, huh?

The Bible is full of these stories of getting it right and getting it wrong. And sometimes it seems to be all jumbled up together in one breath. The passage from Joshua is a bit like that. We only heard an excerpt of the 24th chapter today but if you look at the whole thing you’ll find a condensed history of the people of Israel up to this point. The book of Joshua is the story of the Israelites’ conquest and settlement of the lands they believe God gave to them.

If you know a verse from Joshua it’s probably the one we heard today, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” It’s a sweet little nugget. But the stuff that comes before it in Joshua? Hoo boy. 

I can’t help but hear this text in conversation with the double-pronged holidays we just observed earlier this week: Columbus Day and Indigenous Peoples Day. Two observances that tell very different stories about the history of the land we call home. 

There is no getting around the fact that the cultural and physical genocide of indigenous people in the West was not in spite of Christianity but, in large part, because of it. It’s not that Christians didn’t do enough to stop the atrocities, it’s that Christians were leading the way.

Passages like Joshua 24 provided the framework that allowed sinful theologies like the Doctrine of Discovery to flourish. The Doctrine of Discovery was created by papal bull in the 15th century to justify European powers stealing land from indigenous people in what is now North America. The teaching provided theological justification for colonizers by claiming that Christians had not just the right but holy responsibility to either convert or conquer all non-Christian people. Lord, have mercy.

We look at these statements now with horror but it’s easy to see how you get there from the Book of Joshua. The theology of the Book of Joshua is essentially that the Israelites are God’s chosen people and that God promises to give them two things in exchange for their faithfulness - many descendents and land. In Joshua God ensures that the Israelites conquer the land by force the people conquer the land by force - time and time again giving them military victories. Until we eventually arrive at the place we heard in today’s reading where the people are celebrating that they are able to live on land that they didn’t labor on, eat from trees and fields they didn’t plant, live in homes they didn’t build, and generally reap all these magnificent benefits because they stole them directly from the people who had lived there before. 

Ick. 

Nowhere in Joshua does it say that we’re supposed to somehow extrapolate that God wanted Europeans in the 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th centuries to do the same thing. This was written solely as the history of one group of people and their (flawed, I would argue) understanding of how God was operating in their lives. It was never meant to give license for other colonizers to do the same thing, but again and again we have done just that. 

Those of us who participated in Indigenous Peoples Day at K-State this past week heard first-hand about how these theological fallacies have directly impacted the place we call home. Our own Tanya González welcomed guests to the university in her role as Interim Associate Provost and spoke with wisdom about the history of the university. 

Tanya said

This university, like all universities, has a complicated past, one that is embedded in colonialism and its legacies of racialization and inequity, but that also claims a commitment to educational access and public good. Today, Kansas State University continues to uncover our stories and truths through land and people

acknowledgments; through scholarship, creative activity, and discovery; through teaching and learning; and through connecting to our partners in education, to our communities in Kansas and beyond. We know, after all, that it is only by recognizing the truth that we can find healing and transformation.

Kansas State is an institution like our own congregation, with a complex history. It’s an institution whose history features people sometimes getting it right and sometimes getting it wrong. We often talk about the complexities of our own congregation’s history - founded by white Congregationalist settlers from back East who came to Kansas Territory with the noble goal of making Kansas a Free State. While they succeeded in that endeavor, they also succeeded in stealing land from people who already lived here. 

Institutions have a way of concealing when humans get it really, really wrong. But we are called, as followers of the Light, to look closely at who we have been, who we are, and who we want to be. It is only through careful reflection on the past that we can chart a different future together. 

Kaw language scholar Storm Brave spoke on Monday about the history of her people, the Kansa, and their relationship to this place that we now call Kansas. She talked about broken treaties, broken promises, and what it’s like to know that the dominant culture worked very, very hard to completely eradicate your culture for generations. Ms. Brave said, “I’m not sharing this to offend anyone, but if it does offend, you have learned something and that’s what history is for.” 

Learning is what history is for. And so we struggle with the history of our institutions, our local communities, and our faith ancestors. People getting it right and people getting it wrong. All mixed up together.

I asked at the beginning of this sermon if God’s word is perfect. The Bible seems far from perfect to me, and I’m okay with that.

But I want to close by noting that “God’s word” doesn’t always mean the Bible. Sometimes when we say God’s Word we mean The Word spoken of in John 1, “In the beginning was the Word.” The Christ force that infuses all creation, light shining brightly, never overcome. 

Christ invites us not to perfection but honest reflection in the light. A willingness to shine a light, even on the hard stories that we’d rather forget. The ability to step into the light and let our own stories be heard. The light illumines, warms, softens, clarifies. 

May we be strong enough and brave enough to keep stepping into the light and seeing with new eyes. Sometimes we’ll get it right and often we’ll get it wrong. 

May we remember that perfection is never the goal and that Christ accompanies us as we practice being faithful humans together. 

“From Bread and Cup to Faith and Giving”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Matthew 26:26-29

October 2, 2022

Every year in October we put a special focus on the Christian practice of stewardship, which I define as remembering that everything we have belongs to God and we are called to examine how to best share our resources to help build the God’s Realm of Justice and Peace here on earth. You know, just a light topic. 

Each year, our stewardship committee provides opportunities for us to reflect on how our own generosity sustains this particular community, First Congregational UCC. We hear testimonies in worship and we’re invited to make financial pledges of support for the coming year. This helps our church leadership create a budget that funds all our ministries. 

We often use a theme from the UCC and this year’s theme, “From Bread and Cup to Faith and Giving” wins the award for the longest title I’ve ever seen. I tried to think of a way to shorten it, acronym-ize it, something. But there it is in all its glory. 

But it’s a good one. Because our sacred texts are overflowing with stories about gathering around the Table, being fed and nourished, and then sharing the goodness we’ve found there. We’ve been discussing them for the past several weeks in our adult Sunday School class and the conversation has been rich. The “table” theme means we’re also going to get to have some fun fellowship hours in October - next Sunday you’re invited to bring a special bread to share that reflects your heritage and the Sunday after that the Deacons and Ministry of the Decorative Scissors have a crafty project for us. 

The Table is at the center of our faith. No wonder Jesus chose to use it as he prepared to leave his disciples. The story of the Passover meal, which we heard earlier, is all about freedom. The story of manna in the desert reminds us to trust God. And who can forget how Elijah was saved from his despair when the Spirit offered a nap and a snack?  Who can forget the loaves and fishes, which are all about abundance and caring for one another? We are a people of the Table. 

As we’ve talked about the Table in classl, we’ve reflected on how we first learned what Communion is and what we’ve learned by practicing it in various faith communities over the years. One of the things I’ve always loved about World Communion Sunday is how it helps us remember that although we follow Christ in this little corner of the world, we are truly a part of a global movement for healing. At the last church I served we had a table that was about 16 feet long and I often liked to ask the congregation to visualize it stretching out, out, out all the way around the globe and forwards and backwards in time. 

I don’t know what Communion means to you, but, one of the things I’ve noticed is that I tend to connect more with HOW it’s done rather than the words said about what it means. I mean, I guess we could all go read a treatise on the intricate theology of Communion, but it seems to me that this embodied practice is meant to be experienced. And it is through that experience that we come to understand - on a gut-level - what it’s all about. 

In our tradition, of course, the Table is open to all. No exceptions. A few years ago I was talking with a colleague from another tradition about having a shared worship service. We pondered having Communion but I said I wasn’t sure if that would work since, in his tradition, they don’t keep an open table. He was surprised and said, “Oh, but we DO keep an open table. The table is open to all baptized Christians.” I said, “Hmm. Well ours is ALL the way open. Like, I’ve served self-professed atheists, unbaptized folks, and Muslims who came forward.” It turns out we meant different things by all. 

We say the words that all are welcome at Christ’s Table every time we gather, but we also SHOW it in several ways. First, we do our best to offer bread in the sanctuary that everyone can eat. Ours is gluten-free since we know that’s a restriction for some people. And rather than offering a separate option for the gluten-free folks we ALL eat from the same loaf together. So no one set aside as separate. 

Second, we remind our folks who are Zooming that they can use whatever food or drink they have on hand. Jesus used the common foods of his day, so if you have coffee and a cinnamon roll, I think Jesus would approve. And while we invite people in the sanctuary to come up to receive the elements, we always send servers out to serve those who aren’t able to come forward for any reason. 

Third, we not only welcome people of all ages at the Table but we regularly invite and encourage children to serve Communion. I don’t know about you, but I find it extra-meaningful when a child serves me Communion because I am reminded of how much Jesus loved children and, well, kids, I kind of feel the same way. I think you’re pretty awesome. I know others around here do, too. 

As I’ve been thinking this week about how the HOW of our Communion speaks to the WHY of what we’re doing, I had something come into my mind that I wanted to share with you. Years ago, David and I were members of a Disciples of Christ congregation. They had a big metal bucket at Communion and people were invited to throw their loose change into it as they came forward so it could make a “joyful noise unto the Lord.” I loved watching kids throw their change in gleefully because I’ve often found Communion to be too stuffy and formal. After all, Jesus and his friends probably shared jokes and spilled wine and laughed at the table, right? 

But what troubled me about this joyful tradition was the way it conflated a financial offering with receiving Communion. It felt a little bit like paying an admission fee to get to the Table. 

I’ve thought about that church sometimes when I see our “Fill the Breadbasket” container here on Communion Sundays. I love that we’re reminding ourselves of the way coming to the Table, in turn, strengthens us to go out and feed others in a tangible way. We are fed so we can feed others. “From Bread and Cup to Faith and Giving,” right? 

But I wonder if we should consider moving the baskets to the side aisles. So that we get it in the right order. We don’t GIVE so that we can RECEIVE Christ’s presence. We RECEIVE Christ’s presence to overflowing and then we go out and GIVE to others. It’s a small thing that feels important. 

Jesus knew that small things were often the big things. Jesus knew that showing was almost always better than telling. Jesus knew that bodies matter, so he gave us a ritual where we literally take the Christ-force into our bodies to remind us that everything is holy. Jesus knew that gathering at the table with friends and enemies is what human-ing is all about. Jesus knew that we are prone to forget important things so he gave us this concrete thing to do to help us remember. Jesus knew that we are all hungry in so many ways, so he helped us remember to stay in touch with our need. 

Christians ever since have been gathering around tables together to be fed, nourished, sustained. And although many of us have missed the point by spending wayyyy too much time arguing about intricacies like who is welcome, what exactly happens to the elements, who is qualified to serve, and on and on - the Table remains. 

And the Table is always about what comes after. It’s about returning here again and again to remember who we are and who God is. It’s about being fed so we can feed others. It’s about moving from Bread and Cup to Faith and Giving. 

Thanks be to God.