“No Matter What”

Exodus 16:11-18,31,35

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

November 10, 2024

“The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.”

There’s a powerful scene at the very end of the 2021 sci-fi-satire film Don’t Look Up. It’s a movie about scientists who are trying to warn everyone else about a literal meteor that’s about to hit Earth. The movie itself is hilarious at points in a “you have to laugh or else you’ll just spend all your time crying” kind of way. It pokes fun at our 24-hour news cycle, misinformation, corporate greed, clueless politicians, and more. No matter what the facts in front of their faces show, people simply aren’t willing to believe a meteor is coming for them. Even when they can see it directly overhead. 

And at the end of the movie, the main characters and their loved ones gather for dinner. They come together around the kitchen table. They turn off the news. They tell stories about mundane things. They reminisce. At one point, they all hold hands and wonder if they should pray. But no one really knows how to. The sole religious person among them finally prays: asking for grace, forgiveness, and most of all, for God’s love and care to soothe them and give them courage through the difficulties that lie ahead. 

And then the talk turns to apple pie and whether storebought or homemade is better. The scene is overlaid with a montage of images from what’s happening out there in the rest of the world - the meteor is crashing, people are running, babies are being born, children are laughing, couples are kissing, animals are panicking. But around this kitchen table it could be any other day. They are talking about apple pie and coffee. They are holding hands. The coffee cups on the table are shaking and, finally, the walls begin to peel away. 

As poet Joy Harjo writes, “Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.”

**********

It’s no accident that so many of our sacred stories are about eating and gathering around tables. As Harjo says, “No matter what, we must eat to live.” 

Jesus’s first miracle is water into wine at a wedding party. And later, of course, the loaves and fishes. Elijah asks the widow to make him a bit of bread with her meager ration of flour and oil. The lovers in the Song of Songs sing about pomegranates and milk and honey. There are parables about fig trees and the giant party thrown for the prodigal son when he returns home. The leaders in the early church fretted and argued about how to sit down at tables together when some of them followed more restrictive dietary laws than the others. Jesus cooks up a breakfast of fish on the lakeshore after the Resurrection. And we still remember that last meal with his disciples every time we gather at the table for Communion. 

Even the prayer that Jesus taught his followers reminds us we all have to eat to live: “give us this day our daily bread.”

**********

The Israelites didn’t have tables to gather around when they were wandering in the wilderness. 

They had left their tables behind. And their grain. And their yeast. And their bowls. And their ovens. They dropped it all and left home - striking out in hopes of a better future. They were told they were headed for the land of milk and honey. They were told things would be better on the other side. They were told that all they needed to do was believe, hope, and follow - and that they’d finally be free. 

Imagine their surprise when it turns out the Promised Land wasn’t just next door. I was talking with my pastor friend Leah earlier this week and she made the observation that there’s really no reason they should have been wandering in the desert for 40 years. They should have been able to make that journey a lot faster. But, hey, if there’s one thing we know about humans it’s that we’re not always able to do things the way we’re supposed to. We mess up. We disappoint. We wander in circles, making the same mistakes and getting lost in the same way. We fail. We fall short. And often we manage to do it over and over and over again. 

And in all that wandering, Harjo’s words rang true: “No matter what, we must eat to live.” 

And so the people of God found themselves in the wilderness without a table to gather ‘round. No chairs to pull up. No tea cups to warm their hands. No pitchers of water to share. No bread fresh out of the oven. Nothing. They were depleted. Lost. Exhausted. Despondent. 

The story goes that God showed up: quail in the evening, manna in the morning. Bellies were filled. Needs were met. Stories were shared. Perhaps you’d even like to imagine families gathering around a big boulder here or there - makeshift tables in the wilderness. 

*************

On Wednesday morning, manna showed up here at church. I came down at 8:00 a.m. to turn the lights on in case anyone needed to stop in for a hug or prayer before beginning their day. As I left the house that morning, I grabbed a box of brownie mix from my pantry. It just seemed like the kind of day where brownies might be helpful. 

I turned on the oven in the kitchen and suddenly realized, “Wait. I can’t make these brownies. I didn’t bring an egg.” And I couldn’t run out to the store because I wanted to be present at the church in case anyone stopped by. Ugh.

Before 9:00 a.m. Linda showed up. We shared a big hug and she told me she had come to put the coffee on. Before long, she was bustling around the kitchen - coffee, tea, storebought snacks - all lovingly set out for anyone who might need them that day. 

And then Jackie showed up with groceries for Second Helping. Linda and I visited with her as she put them away. We all noticed that it was good to have something tangible to do in the wilderness - groceries need to be brought in, volunteer slots still need to be filled, people still need to eat to live. Also? It turns out there were extra eggs in the Second Helping groceries and Linda assured me I could have one for the brownies. At one point I heard the voice of a man that was unfamiliar to me. And I heard Sandy talking to him and sharing info about the Common Table meals and walking him out to the Blessing Box to see what else they could find out there. 

Before long, the kitchen smelled like chocolate and then Janet showed up with an armfull of carbs from Parkside. It all went onto the table - coffee, tea, water, fruit, brownies, croissants, and more. It was more than really anyone needed but that table anchored the day. People continued to wander in and out all day long - numb, confused, sad, angry, surprised, unsure. And the kitchen table stood steady. 

“The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.”

**********

People are hungry right now. They were hungry a week ago. They’ll be hungry next week, too. 

Sometimes that hunger is physical: a craving for something that tastes good, a basic alarm bell in our rumbling tummies reminding us it’s time to fuel up, or the deeper hunger when we don’t have access to the food we need. 

Sometimes that hunger is emotional: we need to be held, soothed, heard, understood, seen. 

Sometimes that hunger is spiritual: we need to know we’re not alone in the wilderness, that something exists beyond what we can see in front of our own faces, that we don’t live our lives in vain. 

“No matter what, we must eat to live.”

**********

And so we keep gathering around kitchen tables. We sit with family, friends, and strangers, too. We pass the plates and refill the glasses and make sure everyone has what they need. When we notice people lingering around the edges, we scoot over and pull up a chair for them. We make new friends. We re-tell the stories we learned from our ancestors. We pray and tell jokes. We compliment the chef and ask if we can help with the dishes. 

Quail in the evening and manna in the morning. We say we don’t quite understand how the Spirit makes it happen - except we do understand a little, don’t we? We show up and make the coffee. We bring carbs to share. We walk each other to the Blessing Box and we show up with groceries for Second Helping. We open up our arms and hearts to receive one another - keeping a special eye out for those who have been pushed to the margins. We remind each other that there’s no need to hoard - that there’s actually enough for everyone if we just remember to share. 

It took our ancestors a lot longer than it should have to reach the Promised Land. Some of them never made it. Time and time again they disappointed one another. They had to stop to lick their wounds. There were shouting matches and tears. They argued about the best route. They failed to learn from their mistakes. They lost hope. They found it again. They carried the sick and tired when their feet gave out. They took turns chasing the children and carrying the babies. They wandered in circles. They found themselves back at the beginning. They cried tears of frustration. 

They kept gathering around tables. Because the world begins and ends and begins and ends ane begins at the kitchen table. 

Beloveds, it is my prayer for you that you that in all our many beginnings and endings and everything in between, you will continue to find the sustenance you need. 

And that you will keep showing up at tables to share what you have - especially with those who need it most. 

May it be so. 

“In Times of Trouble”

Luke 1:46-55

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

November 3, 2024

Mary was brave. But even a brave person will feel unsettled when an angel of the Lord appears. 

I’ve never seen an angel myself - at least not one that bellows out “Greetings!” - but since the angels in these stories often follow their greeting with “Don’t be afraid!” I’m guessing it’s a distressing experience.

Surely Mary was afraid. Being told you’ve been carefully selected to give birth to the Messiah? Stressful information, regardless of your situation. But for an unmarried teenager in a society that frowns on pregnancy outside of marriage? Yikes.

Afraid or not, Mary listens to the angels, asks fewer questions than many of us would have, and then accepts the charge. 

Soon after, she departs for the hill country, off to visit her relative, Elizabeth. Who - it turns out - is also pregnant. The two women share an intimate moment of joy and excitement over their shared pregnancies and then Mary sings the song we’ve come to know as the Magnificat.

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What I found myself wondering as I read this familiar story this week was this: where is Mary’s mother? 

Wouldn’t a mother’s guidance be helpful in this situation? We know that Mary’s already engaged to Joseph, so it’s possible she’s already started living with her future in-laws. But Mary’s mother isn’t just absent from this story, she’s absent from all of scripture. She’s not there beside the manger or anywhere else in the story of Jesus’s life. 

Grandmothers, you may want to write a stern letter to the editor complaining about this oversight.

We know, of course, that so many details of this story didn’t go down the way they are portrayed here. The stories about Jesus’s birth in our gospels conflict with one another and were written years after his death. Plus, he was born a nobody from nowhere, so who would have been paying attention to the details anyway?

The stories may not be factual reports, but they are still important. As I’ve heard some preachers say, “I don’t know if this story happened, but I know that it’s true.” Meaning: there are important truths conveyed in these Biblical stories even if we lack eye-witness accounts. 

So it’s possible her mother was there all along. We don’t know. But her absence in this story makes my heart ache a bit for young Mary. I am reminded of my favorite painting of The Annunciation by Henry Ossawa Tanner. Mary sits on a bed in the dark with a gleaming shaft of light beside her. She looks up at it with a face full of questions. And she looks so very young and so very alone. 

**********

 

Welcoming new life into the world is a funny thing. Even as a mature first-time parent who was ecstatic to meet my child, I was surprised, during my pregnancy, to discover an emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on lurking in the shadows. 

I eventually figured out it was grief. Co-mingled with joy, to be sure, but grief, nonetheless. Because I could see that becoming a mother meant a significant chapter of my life was ending. Welcoming something new meant letting go of what had been. 

All Saints Day is one of the times in the church year when we lift up the power of grieving - specifically the complex feelings of loss we walk through when someone we love dies. This is how we most often think of grief - grief over someone who has died. But grief takes many other forms, too: grief over the loss of possibilities, changing relationships, endings (happy and sad).

We can experience grief when we lose a pet, end a marriage, change jobs, move away, or give up a long-held dream. Whole societies experience grief when we go through something like a global pandemic, wars, acts of violence and natural disasters, a season of political unrest. We may feel ill-at-ease, sad, shocked, anxious, confused, guilty angry, terrified, numb. Grief tiptoes up on us when we’re least expecting it. It can wash over us like a tidal wave or drip steadily on the windowsill of our hearts. And it can be all jumbled up with hope, excitement, and joy. 

In short: grief can feel like a mess. 

Which is why I wish Mary had her mother. And I wonder where her mother is. And I wonder if there is grief jumbled up there in Mary’s brave heart when the angel comes to visit. Because wherever her mother is, she’s not there with Mary on that bed in the dark. 

*********

But Mary - wise, brave, resourceful Mary - steps outside the frame of the painting right away. 

She may not have her mother, but she knows this is no time to be alone. She weaves her own community - traveling to be with her relative, Elizabeth. In doing so, she also ensures Jesus will not be alone. He will be born into community, entering the world connected to his cousin, John, who will come to play such an important role in his life. 

And the song Mary sings while with Elizabeth - the one we’ve come to know as The Magnificat - connects her to her ancestors, too. It’s a remix of Hannah’s song, from First Samuel. And Hannah’s song has echoes of Miriam’s song from Exodus 15. All three are songs about God’s faithfulness in times of trial and how God’s heart is most-especially with the vulnerable. They are prophetic songs - songs of a world turned upside down. The last are first and the first are last. The hungry are filled with good things and the rich are sent away, wanting. And they are songs about community woven across generations: Mary sings of “the promise you made to our ancestors — to Sarah and Abraham and their descendants forever.”

We can imagine Mary singing this song to her infant son. For all we know, it’s a song that Mary’s mother sang to her. 

It’s a song that connected Jesus to not only his mother’s voice but the hearts of his ancestors. A song that showed him his place in the world - anchored firmly in a long line of prophets, misfits, and outsiders hoping against hope for a better world. A song that spun a vision of the world as it could be - a vision of God’s realm come on earth. 

Is it any wonder, then, that as an adult Jesus spun stories about lost sheep finding their way back to the fold, tiny seeds growing into mighty bushes, day-laborers encountering a generous landowner, outsiders pausing to help strangers on the side of the road when insiders shirked their duty, and two lost sons and their lost father finding their way back to one another? 

This was the song Jesus inherited from the saints who went before him. And it’s the song we inherit, too. 

In times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to us singing her ancient song of wisdom, bravery, and hope. She sings through her loneliness and fear, seeking community with kin and ancestors. She listens for the songs of the saints who went before, taking strength from their faith and hope. She sings through grief and pain, excitement and joy - she sings a song of life lived in community, the wisdom of our ancestors, and hope for a better world for all children. 

May the song continue through us. 

“Abundant Life: Compassion”

Mark 10:17-31

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

October 13, 2024

Jesus is repeating himself. 

“It’s really hard for rich people to enter God’s realm.” 

Blank stares all around. 

“It’s really hard for rich people to enter God’s realm.” 

Maybe some more blank stares. 

“It would actually be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.” 

Horrified faces. 

I guess he finally hammered it home with the visual of a camel going through the eye of a needle. It is, in fact, a memorable object lesson. 

Despite Jesus’s clear repetitions and careful explications, we Jesus-followers have still managed to mangle this passage over the centuries. 

The problem, I think, comes down to a couple of key phrases. Phrases that - let’s be real - we need to get our heads around. Because they don’t just come up in this story - they come up over and over again in Jesus’s teachings. 

First: eternal life. In Greek “aionios zoe.” When I say “eternal life” what do you think most people think of first? ________ We usually think of this as being about what happens after we die. Namely, that we go on in some way after our bodies die. And it’s not that this would be wrong - it’s just that it’s not a complete definition. Zoe means life. That’s clear. But the Greek aionios doesn’t have a parallel in English. Yes, it can be about a quantity of time, going on forever. But it’s just as much about the quality of time. It’s not only about life after death, it’s also about the quality of our lives here and now. 

Second: the kingdom of God. I usually call this the Realm of God. Again, I think a lot of people think about the afterlife, specifically heaven; the good place in the sky where we’re finally united with God. But there’s little evidence to suggest this is about the afterlife at all. Instead, Jesus teaches about God’s Realm as if it’s something we could reach here and now. A way of being fully aware of God’s presence with us - and our presence in God. He gives the sense that it’s here among us, if we could all get on the same page and grasp it together. 

Misunderstanding these two small phrases has huge implications. Because this text becomes something it’s not. Biblical scholar N.T. Wright explains that Jesus’s contemporaries would have had an understanding of two ages - the here and now and the age to come. This conversation is about the age to come - aionios zoe - meaning the “new world that God is going to usher in, the new era of justice, peace and freedom God has promised.” [1] The rich man is asking how he can ensure he gets to be a part of this new world. Wright says:

Among the various results of this misreading has been the earnest attempt to make all the material in Jesus’s public career refer somehow to a supposed invitation to “go to heaven” rather than to the present challenge of the kingdom coming on earth as in heaven. [1] 

All that heavy emphasis that some parts of Christianity place on getting into heaven? It turns out Jesus didn’t talk about that much at all. He was much more concerned with what’s happening here on earth. 

There’s a beautiful tiny phase in this passage that’s often overlooked. When the rich man asks Jesus what he must do to ensure he’s a part of God’s new era of justice, peace, and liberation, it’s clear he’s been on a good path. He’s been keeping all the major commandments. But Jesus wants to clarify that living fully into God’s vision of abundant life is about more than just checking off boxes. Living in God’s Realm is about a total transformation - a willingness to make ourselves vulnerable and live in ways that are supremely counter-cultural. I think Jesus knows this is impossible before he even says it. But his delivery doesn’t feel snarky or even like a challenge. Instead, the text says that before he tells the man to sell all he owns and give it to the poor, Jesus looks at him and loves him. 

It’s such a beautiful moment of compassion. Jesus looks at the guy and loves him. 

In that loving gaze - I see so clearly how Jesus stands between the here and now and the age to come. He has one foot firmly planted in the human experience. Jesus knows before the words leave his mouth that this rich man isn’t planning to sell everything he owns and give it all to the poor. He knows that we humans struggle to live faithfully, to trust in God’s abundance, to stay focused on the ways we are bound together. He has one foot in there here and now. 

And at the same time, he’s got his other foot firmly planted in God’s Realm. He can see God’s vision of justice, peace, and liberation. He can envision a world where the first are last and the last are first. He can even see how we get there. Jesus is between both worlds and the immensity of that is right there on his face for everyone to see. 

From that vantage point between worlds, Jesus could see the tensions we feel. How much we want to do the right thing and how hard it is. How deeply we feel compassion for others and how we often aren’t sure how to help. How hard it is to trust in abundance when possibilities feel limited. How we want to hide from our own vulnerabilities and, in doing so, miss out on the fullness of life that comes with knowing God is with the last, least, and lost. 

When we try to sit down and make a plan like the man in this story, we often find ourselves tangled up in knots. But Jesus reminds us that living in God’s Realm isn’t something we can just make happen all on our own. It’s something we co-create with the Spirit. God casts a vision and we make choices each and every day to step into it. The path isn’t linear - in fact, so much of what we’re asked to do as we fumble our way toward God’s Realm seems impossible and scary. 

When we start to feel off-kilter and unsure, I think we can plant ourselves in the compassionate gaze of Christ. He looks at us in all our confusion and wanting-to-do-rightness and loves us. If we can allow ourselves to stay in his sights, we have a much better chance of seeing glimpses of God’s Realm in the here and now. 

Speaking of glimpsing God’s Realm in the here and now: I want to end with a story I heard last weekend at the Kansas-Oklahoma Conference annual gathering. The Rev. Dr. Courtney Stange-Treager from the UCC Cornerstone Fund was one of the guest speakers who shared about generosity. Courtney shared with us that one of her favorite phrases when discussing generosity is “God Math.” Things that don’t seem like they would add up suddenly do. Fears about scarcity are banished and God’s abundance becomes clear. It all adds up, even though we didn’t think it would. 

Courtney told a powerful story about God Math in action. Back in 2017, nine people got stuck in a riptide at Panama City Beach in Florida.[2] It all started when two young boys got pushed too far out into the water. Their parents went in after them but also got sucked out. Other family members joined in the attempt to rescue them. Eventually, people started forming a rescue chain and a total of 70 or so people made one giant human chain reaching out into the ocean to save these strangers. 

The people that jumped into action didn’t have time to make a plan. There were no committee meetings or careful calculations. No mission statement or benchmarks. They were simply moved by compassion for these strangers in need and jumped into the fray. Together, they did what none of them could have done alone. It took all of them, working together to each do their small part to save this family. That’s why Courtney called this an example of God Math: people moved to jump up, jump in, hold hands, and all work together for good. We may not always have a plan. In fact, if we did sit down and make a plan, we might talk ourselves out of it. But we trust in a vision of something larger than ourselves, and we are moved by a sense of deep compassion for those in need, and we do together what we couldn’t do ourselves. 

It’s a little like what Jesus says in this story, “With God, all things are possible.” 

Held tight in Christ’s compassionate gaze, may we all live with one foot in the world as it is and another as it could be, trusting in God’s vision of a more just world for all. 

NOTES

[1] Wright, N.T. How God Became King: The Forgotten Story of the Gospels. 44-45. 

[2] https://www.cnn.com/2017/07/11/us/human-chain-florida-beach-trnd/index.html 

“Be Curious: Wonder”

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

October 6, 2024

Earlier this week, I was making chicken pot pie for dinner and discovered I had a bit too much filling for my pie but not quite enough to make a whole second pie. So I looked at all this creamy, brothy goodness and decided I could use it to make some chicken noodle soup. I cracked an egg, threw in a dash of milk, salt and pepper, then flour. Stirred with a fork until it looked about right, squished it out onto a floured cutting board and used a pizza cutter to quickly slice it into noodles. 

Anytime I make noodles or pasta from scratch, I have the same thought: how can something with only two or three ingredients create something so delicious? It feels like an absolute miracle. Just a few basic ingredients - flour, eggs, some liquid - suddenly you’ve got thick noodles or fettuccine, ravioli or dumplings. Throw them in soup or serve with some quality olive oil. Dump on a can of tomatoes or toss in a handful of spinach and some chickpeas. An absolute wonder, right? 

There are so many parts of our daily lives that are absolutely wondrous. And we rarely pause to notice. Last week in adult Sunday School, Dan and Courtney came to talk with us about the Jewish high holy days. One of the things Dan mentioned is how the Jewish tradition has dailly blessings for all kinds of everyday things. Blessings for waking up, blessings for changing a diaper, blessings before eating your veggies. Maybe there’s even a blessing for making noodles? If there isn’t, there should be. Some strains of Christianity have this, too. There’s a 19th century collection of Celtic Christian blessings called the Carmina Gaedelica and it’s useful if you ever want to bless the kindling of fire, milking a cow, shearing sheep, or beginning an ocean voyage. 

These blessings, passed down through the generations, help us remember to pause and notice the holy in our everyday lives. Children memorize them and see their parents recite them - and, in this way, they are taught to value the practice of wonder. 

It turns out that practicing wonder is one of the most important things a child needs for their spiritual development. More than memorizing Bible verses, more than being lectured about right and wrong, even (dare I say it?) more than going to church on Sunday. What children need if they’re to grow into adults with a strong spiritual foundation is space and encouragement to cultivate a sense of wonder. Incidentally, this is one of the reasons we created the Sacred Space for elementary-aged kids in our balcony. There’s space up there for the kids to sit in a pew and listen to the service if they’d like. But there are also quiet toys to fidget with, paper for drawing and coloring, quiet nooks where they can read books, and comfy pillows where they can simply rest and let their minds wander. In a world where we are all often overscheduled, it’s important to have spaces where we can slow down, lean into stillness (and even boredom!), ponder, daydream, and just BE. Worship can be that for children (and adults, too) if we create a space that encourages this type of holy wonder. 

Children, of course, are wired for holy wonder. And they don’t even need adults to begin their spiritual development. I grew up in a family that was not religious and we did not go to church until I was a teenager. Nevertheless, I can remember having long talks with God and an active spiritual life as a young child. The world was full of wonder and I had a strong sense that God accompanied me each day. I didn’t need an adult to teach me - I just needed space to allow the Holy to do her work. 

As we get older, we sometimes lose the gift of wonder. We might rush around and forget to make space for it. And when we find ourselves bored, we grumble instead of welcoming an opportunity for curiosity.

The rituals and traditions of the church can be a great place for wonder to grab and surprise us - if we allow it. For example, when we sing together: even if you don’t sing, you have an opportunity to listen with curiosity, or to thumb throught the hymnal and look for other songs that catch your eye. I’ll never be offended if your mind wanders during the sermon - perhaps the Spirit is planning to speak to you directly and you need tune in. And when we gather for communion - goodness, there’s so much time when you may be impatiently waiting to get on to the next thing. OR you could approach the sacrament with a sense of wonder, inviting holy curiosity, and making space for the Spirit to surprise you. 

The elements we use for communion are filled in wonder, in fact. Like the egg noodles I made earlier this week, the communion elements feel like everyday miracles to me. Bread: it’s just grain, liquid, and some yeast. Juice is, of course, simply grapes and water. And the wine Jesus used it his time would have been created by allowing the invisible world work it’s magic. 

It turns out that both bread and wine are fermented. And although we are mostly used to buying our bread and wine, the ancient practices would have been quite different, of course. One of the amazing things about fermentation is that it can happen even without adding yeast or another kind of starter. This process is called wild fermentation and it works for bread, veggies, yogurt, beer, and wine. Naturally-ocurring bacteria and yeast can be given space to do their thing and the results can be delightful. Each batch of food or beverage created will have its own unique flavors and depth. 

We have no way of knowing how humans began fermenting our foods because it happened so very long ago. Historians suspect that mead might have been discovered when someone saw a bit of honey and water bubbling inside a tree stump. Yogurt may have been a happy accident when travelers packed up milk in an animal bladder of some kind and - surprise! - it wasn’t milk anymore when they got to their destination. No one’s quite sure if bread or beer came first - maybe we were soaking grains to make bread and left them too long and beer was brewed. Or perhaps we needed a use for our leftover bread and threw it into some water and the microbes surprised us. [1] 

However it all happened, fermentation is a beautiful dance of creativity and relationship. It honors the relationship between humans and the planet: fermentation helps us reduce waste, conserve resources, and co-exist safety with the invisible world of microbes all around us. We know it also helps us keep the microbes in our bodies healthy and flourishing. Fermentation helps preserve food because it crowds out the bad germs and makes room for the good guys to grow.

Fermentation is also a beautiful testament to the relationships we share with one another. For millennia we’ve taught these methods of preservation to our children and our neighbors. Humans have gotten together to experiment, create, and ferment big batches for parties and celebrations. And we’ve gathered over tables heaping with wine and, beer, kim chi and miso, sauerkraut and pickles, injirah and labneh to laugh with friends and family. 

Over the millennia, we’ve improved our skills. Artisans know that sometimes the best way to ferment is by using a hybrid method - catching those wild microbes AND carefully introducing a curated starter to finish the job. If you grab a bunch of grapes, they will eventually ferment on their own because the fruit already has microbes on it. That’s the wild fermentation. But it turns out that this process will only develop a wine with a very low alcohol content. If you want to make it into a stronger wine, you can finish the job by introducing a starter later in the process. This is called sequential fermentation and it’s a marriage of both methods. A vintner who uses sequential fermentation will get the local flavor, surprising complexity, and variety from the wild method. But they’ll also create consistency and depth by finishing with a starter. [2] 

Maybe humans are a bit like this, too. Even if we never stepped foot in a church as a child - the wild Spirit would still find her way to us on the breeze. She would work slowly and relentlessly in our lives - breathing new awareness, possibility, and wonder into each of us. We would all have our own local flavor - our own faith stories, our own carefully fermented wisdom and wonder. 

But when we come together in a community to wonder together - well, that may take the alchemy to another level. In church, we introduce the starters in our faith - scripture, shared prayers, practices and rituals. We allow the hymns and ancient stories and practices to take hold and move in our lives. Our faith may acquire a new depth and grow stronger over time.

Whether we are the product of wild fermentation or an ancient starter or some combination of the two - we are all invited into the wonder of a fermented faith. As we eat this bread and drink this cup, may we remain ever mindful of the wonders of the world around us and our place within the miracle of creation. 

May it be so. 

NOTES

[1] I learned the theories in this paragraph from Our Fermented Lives: A History by Julia Skinner

[2] https://winemakermag.com/article/758-wild-yeast-the-pros-and-cons-of-spontaneous-fermentation 

“Be Curious: Learning and Knowledge”

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31 

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

September 29, 2024

How many decisions do we make in a day? I asked Google but couldn’t find a definitive answer. Apparently, “somebody, somewhere” decided that 35,000 seems like a good number, but my guess is it could be much higher than that depending on your day and on how we define decisions. All I know for sure is that decision-making sometimes feels exhausting. 

I mean, just think. How many decisions have we made this morning? Existential-life-altering decisions aside, even if we just think about deciding whether to jump right out of bed or hit snooze, whether to shower before or after breakfast, whether to have coffee or tea, whether to sit in the living room or at the table while eating breakfast, whether or not to go to church…..to say nothing of tiny split-second decisions like “do I turn left or right at this intersection?” and “do I say ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’ to the person sitting next to me in the pew?” Many of the decisions we make happen effortlessly - thank God - but others keep us awake at night. 

This is one of the reasons I like to shop at Aldi, incidentally, where there is ONE kind of peanut butter and ONE kind of tortilla and ONE type of ketchup. Fewer decisions to make. Whew. 

Once upon a time, there was a young man who found himself, quite suddenly and quite unexpectedly, king of a nation. He was the son of the king, but a younger son, so he had no reason to think he would ever ascend to the throne. As his father aged, he became unable to rule and there were behind-the-scenes machinations which resulted in the young man becoming king. Shortly after ascending to the throne, the young man went on a religious pilgrimage and was visited by God in a dream. 

God asked the young king, “What would you like from me?” And the young king responded that he desired an understanding mind so that he could govern well, and the ability to discern carefully between good and evil.

Overwhelmed with the massive amount of decisions a leader has to make, this young king was wise enough to know that if he asked for wisdom, everything else would follow. [1] 

The young man was King Solomon, son of Bathsheba and King David; poster boy for Biblical Wisdom. Several books in the Bible have historically been attributed to Solomon. A rabbinic teaching asserts that Solomon wrote the Song of Songs when he was a young man, the book of Proverbs when he was in middle age, and Ecclesiastes when he was an elder. [2] The Wisdom of Solomon, which is an apocryphal text, was also traditionally attributed to Solomon, though it’s been common knowledge for centuries that he likely didn’t really write it. 

Together, these books plus Job, portions of the Psalms, and the apocryphal book Sirach are designated by Biblical scholars as “Wisdom Literature” - books of scripture that help us grapple with the idea of Wisdom. 

So….what is wisdom anyway? It depends on who you ask. Psychologists would probably tell you that wisdom has something to do with the way knowledge and experience combine to help a person make good decisions. It’s definitely something more than innate intelligence or book-knowledge and it seems pretty clear that wisdom is intimately related with decision-making. Wisdom is the ability to carefully discern right paths. Wisdom is the ability to adapt and understand things at a deep level. 

In the Bible, Wisdom is personified as a woman. In Greek she is called Sophia. Sometimes in the Hebrew Bible she is simply called Woman Wisdom. The personification of Wisdom is not unique to Judaism or Christianity. In Greek mythology we have the titan Metis and goddess Athena. In Roman mythology, it’s Minerva, whose symbol, the owl, is one we still associate with wisdom. Wisdom isn’t always a woman, though. In Norse mythology, Mimir and Odin are both associated with wisdom. And in Ifá (from the Yoruba peoples in what is now Nigeria), wisdom comes to humans as Orunmila - one who connects people to the divine. [3] 

Across many religions, there is broad agreement that wisdom - however we define it - is immensely important, connected to God, and accessible to us through some kind of mediator. Speaking of mediators, I would be remiss, of course, if I failed to mention that in the Christian tradition, Jesus has been strongly linked to Wisdom. Early Christians looked to the Hebrew Scriptures for precursors to Christ - trying to understand exactly how Jesus came to be. This is why, at Christmastime, we sing so many songs with texts from Isaiah! And one of the figures from the Hebrew Bible that early Christians believed pointed the way to Christ was Woman Wisdom. [4] 

Woman Wisdom in the Hebrew Bible is present with God at the beginning of creation. In fact, you may have noticed in today’s text that “in the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth,” the author of Proverbs claims that Woman Wisdom was the first thing created by God...even before the light and the dark, the sea and the earth. 

Present with God from the beginning of time, Woman Wisdom is a constant presence in the lives of God’s children. She stands in the town square and at busy intersections calling out to us loudly. Her only desire is for us to listen to her and walk in her ways. The vision of Wisdom painted by the authors of the Hebrew Bible goes far beyond book-smarts + good judgment. Wisdom in the Hebrew Bible is a force to be reckoned with: holy, all-encompassing. Wisdom originates in the Divine but is always reaching out to humanity and cannot be contained. Wisdom is a free gift from God, given to us again and again and again. If we find a way to tap into Wisdom we will be connected to a force that represents all that is good, all that is faithful, all that is loving, all that is just. 

She’s kind of a big deal. 

Now, I could do a whole ”five things you can do to seek wisdom” thing here and that would probably make for a cool sermon. I could talk about the spiritual practices that can engage our spirits and help us turn toward Wisdom. 

But, instead, what I want to do is call our attention back to the contemporary reading we heard a few moments ago. UU Minister Robert Fulghum tells a story about kids in his neighborhood playing hide and seek. Fulghum is looking out his window one day and notices a kid who has been hiding in a pile of leaves right under the window for a long time. Too long. The other kids are about to give up searching for him – he’s hidden too well. Unsure of how to be helpful, but desperately wanting this kid to understand that the game just doesn’t work if everyone hides too well, Fulghum yells out, “GET FOUND, KID!” And the kid scurries off. [5]

Woman Wisdom is like that. She stands in the busy market square, at the biggest intersection in town yelling at us “GET FOUND, KIDS!” 

In this season where we’re exploring curiosity together, it is right and good to think about how we can seek Wisdom….but it is equally important to notice that Wisdom is seeking us. When we are frustrated, exhausted, anxious, unsure about the thousands of decisions that we make each day, we are not alone. It’s not just us and our intelligence and knowledge and lived experience guiding the way.

Woman Wisdom stands there day after day after day after day trying to remind us that God is seeking us. God reaches out to us with heavy and high hopes that we humans can walk in right paths; do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly; love our neighbors as ourselves. 

God is the force that never stops reaching out to us, encouraging us and helping us as we carefully discern right actions. (God is also the one who picks us up off the floor and dusts of off when we’ve made catastrophic mistakes.)

Wisdom comes to us in the still small voice we hear in our hearts. Wisdom comes to us when community comes together to listen and learn and discern wise paths together. Wisdom comes to us when we are distracted with other things - shouting and cajoling and begging us to pay attention to what she has to say. 

Wisdom is God’s gift to us. We are not left to our own devices. We don’t have to rely solely upon ourselves. We are supported, inspired, uplifted, and guided by Wisdom, who is always seeking us. 

Thanks be to God. 

[1] see 1 Kings 3 for a full account

[2] http://mplsjewishartistslab.weebly.com/uploads/2/4/2/5/24253472/solomon_the_wise_-many_views.pdf

[3] https://www.howard.edu/library/reference/cybercamps/camp2002/YorubaFaith.htm and http://www.religioustolerance.org/ifa.htm 

[4] https://www2.kenyon.edu/Depts/Religion/Projects/Reln91/Gender/Gnosticism.htm 

[5] from All I Really Need to Know I learned in Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum