“Amos and Martin”

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

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

November 9, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably much in the same way Michael King did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said:

    The Lord roars from Zion.” 

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

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

Like Amos, he listened and he spoke: 

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

And spoke again: 

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

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

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

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

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

The Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans

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

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

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

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

(period of silence)

Thanks be to God. 

NOTES

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

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

[3] Romans 12

 

“All Saints’ Story Time”

1 Samuel 3:1-10

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

November 2, 2025 - All Saints’ Day

All Saints’ Day is a time set aside for giving thanks for those that we have loved and lost. And it’s a time to pause and consider our own mortality. How do we want to be remembered someday? What gifts do we want to share with the world while we’re still living?

As I told the kids, the customs that have grown up around All Hallows’ mean it’s also a time for imagining ourselves into stories. And so, I want to tell you a very old story on this All Saints’ Sunday. This story is about connections between the generations and the way we mentor others in faith. It’s a story about growing up in our faith. It’s a story about how the veil between this world and the next is often thinner than we might realize. And it’s a story about the power of listening - to the Spirit and to each other. 

The night is quiet. The boy is about 10 years old. He’s curled up there on his sleeping mat, just near the front of the sanctuary,  next to the Lamp of God. The scene reminds me a bit of when I was a little girl and I loved to fall asleep by the Christmas tree in December. Warm light, silent night, and a feeling of holiness as I drifted off to sleep. 

Why is a child sleeping in the sanctuary? Well, this isn’t just any child, nor is it just any sanctuary. We’re in  Shiloh, about 30 miles north of Jerusalem. Shiloh’s claim to fame is right here next to the sleeping boy. Long before Jerusalem was the home to the Temple, this was the most sacred site for our faith ancestors. This is where the Ark of the Covenant lives. In fact, the boy sleeps near it every night. The Ark of the Covenant represents the presence of God with the Israelites. When the Israelites wandered in the wilderness, they carried the Ark with them. When their wandering finally stopped, it came to rest here in the sanctuary at Shiloh. 

Why is a child sleeping in the sanctuary? For this particular boy, it might not be just because of the Ark and the Lamp. This sanctuary holds additional meaning for the boy. This sanctuary is the place where his mother, Hannah, came a decade ago to pray for God’s help. She desperately wanted a child and, through her tears, she promised God that if she had a child she would dedicate his life to the service of God. Eli, the priest at Shiloh, had seen Hannah praying that day and offered her a blessing before she left the temple. In this way, Eli had been in the child’s life before he was even conceived. 

After his birth, Hannah rejoiced. She named him Samuel which means “I have asked him of the Lord.” And when he was old enough to be weaned, Hannah kept her word to God. She brought Samuel to the temple at Shiloh and gave him to Eli’s care, so that he could learn the faith and, eventually, become a priest himself. 

And that’s why this particular child is sleeping in this particular sanctuary. 

The story goes that, in this time, God’s voice was hard to hear. Surely God was still speaking, but maybe the people just didn’t notice. We are told that the priest Eli was growing older and couldn’t see as well as he used to. Perhaps this was more than just his physical eyesight. Maybe it was his spiritual attunement, too.  

And just who is this priest, Eli? Our faith ancestors who wrote these stories down didn’t hold back with their critiques of bad leaders, so we can assume that no news was mostly good news. Eli had been a trusted leader of the people and, it seems, a good mentor for the young Samuel. There was just one small problem. Two, actually.

Eli’s sons Phinneas and Hophni were a concern. Despite the decency of their father, these two had grown into an indecent problem. They had grown a bit too comfortable in the Temple. Instead of treating their access to this sacred space with respect, they took advantage of their privileges to a gross extent. They skimmed money off the top of the offering plates and slept with the women who worked in the temple. Eli heard about these things and chastised his sons - but the abuses of power continued. 

Things were going better with Samuel. Perhaps Eli was teaching him more carefully than he had his own sons. Samuel seems to have been growing into a fine young man - making both his parents and Eli proud. 

And so I suppose it’s not too surprising that when God spoke Samuel’s name that night, he heard it loud and clear. At first he didn’t know what he was hearing. Despite his priestly upbringing, Samuel didn’t yet know God personally. Everything  he had learned so far had been filtered through the lens of his elders. 

Surely his mother Hannah, who had prayed so earnestly at his birth, taught him to pray as a young child. We don’t know much about Samuel’s father, but we do know that he managed to take his family on an annual religious pilgrimage to Shiloh, so we can assume he also cared deeply about his son’s religious formation. 

And we know that Samuel must have spent countless hours being apprenticed in the ways of the priesthood by Eli, his mentor. The priest taught the boy the old stories and helped him learn how to preside over the rituals. He taught him the arts of speaking carefully and listening well. He taught him how to be judicious and kind. He taught him how to not only answer questions, but ask good ones, too. 

Like any teacher, Eli made mistakes from time to time. Perhaps wasn’t as enthusiastic as he could have been about the more difficult parts of their shared calling. But he treasured the opportunity to have a student. He had not done as well as he had hoped with his sons. He tried, but ultimately failed, to share with them his passion for God but they went astray. And so he was particularly grateful for this second chance with Samuel. The boy had been an answer to Hannah’s prayer, but he felt a bit like the answer to Eli’s unspoken prayers, too. 

As the years continued to pass, Eli realized that Samuel was a blessing in other ways, as well. They had been through the rituals so many times now that Samuel could probably even lead them himself if he had to, and someday he would. And just last week, he had seen Samuel telling a little girl about the ten commandments etched on the tablets. As she asked questions, Samuel answered them patiently and correctly. Eli’s heart swelled with pride. 

Samuel was a blessing in more practical ways, too. As Eli’s eyesight continued to fade, the boy began taking on more duties around the temple. At the end of the day, Eli no longer had to straighten the sanctuary or check on the lamps. It was hard for him to see in the dark, and so Samuel had taken over all these tasks and he handled them beautifully. 

And so it was that on this particular night, when Samuel crept into Eli’s room, Eli was surprised. It had been years since the child had interrupted his sleep asking for reassurance or another blanket to stay warm. He was so big now. Almost grown. He hardly needed anything from the old man. 

But on this particular night, Eli realized he had at least one more lesson to teach the boy. He hadn’t realized that - despite all his book learning, despite the hours of practical education in what it takes to be a priest - Samuel had never heard God’s voice before. When he realized what was happening, he gently told the boy to go back into the sanctuary and listen again. “This time,” he said, “When you hear your name, respond, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’ Listening is such an important part of being a leader, Samuel. Listen to what the Lord has to say to you. And never be afraid to follow the instructions given.”

Samuel did as his mentor taught him. He lay down once more on his sleeping mat in the darkened sanctuary. The Lamp of God was still burning. The Ark was still right where it should be. And if he listened to the silence hard enough, he could almost hear the sounds of a young woman’s whispered prayers and tears. 

Laying there, Samuel remembered all that his elders had taught him. He remembered the words of the song his mother used to sing to him as a young child, “God raises up the poor from the dust; God lifts the needy from the ash heap to make them sit with royalty and inherit a seat of honor.” 

He remembered the sweat on his father’s brow as he loaded up the cart each year to make the long journey to Shiloh. 

And he remembered the hours he had spent with his mentor, Eli, learning everything he needed to know to grow into the priest he would become. 

Full of the faith of his elders, he opened himself to the silence and waited. 

“God’s Economy”

Exodus 16:2-4, 9-18

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

October 12, 2025

There are some things you can know with your head, but you don’t really KNOW them until you’ve lived them, right? 

Like what it feels like to be hungry. You can think about what it’s like to be hungry, but unless you’ve actually lived the reality of not knowing where your next meal is coming from - well, you don’t really know what it’s like. 

The people in today’s story KNEW what it was like to be hungry. The whole congregation has been traveling together in the wilderness for about six weeks now. And the provisions they packed are running out. They’re hungry. Not in some “oh, I’m kind of worried our situation is precarious” kind of way but in a deep, know-it-in-your-bones, I-actually-have-no-idea-how-I’m-going-to-feed-my-kids-tomorrow kind of way. 

And so they know not only hunger but desperation. The frantic clawing of fear. 

And as they continue on this journey, they begin to know something else, too. They start to know regret. 

As absurd as it might sound to us, they dream of captivity. They wish that they could go back to being enslaved. They wish to trade their freedom for the security of three square meals a day. 

From the outside looking in, we can’t really know their desperation. The clawing anxiety. The hunger. It’s not even uncertainty they’re feeling - because things are looking pretty certain. It’s certain they will die unless there’s some kind of miracle. 

Moses and Aaron say to the people, “In the evening, you shall know it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt, and in the morning you shall see God’s glory. Because God is with you. God has heard your desperate cries. You are not alone.”

And so the people come to know something else that it’s hard to know unless you REALLY know it. Unless you’ve experienced it first-hand. They come to know God’s faithfulness. God’s provision and care. They come to know and trust that they are not alone. That they live in God’s world - who has created and is creating. They don’t know it as an intellectual exercise. They know it’s true like you know the sun is real - because you feel its warmth beating down on the back of your neck. Because they’ve lived it. 

We are told that God sends nourishment in a miraculous way. Bread and meat appears for them each day. And so they come to know God’s presence deep in their bellies. Because the raw, aching, gnawing grip of hunger abates. And they come to know that it was, indeed, God who brought them into freedom. And God who walks with them still. Morning and evening. Day by day. 

I’ve sometimes heard Biblical storytellers begin their stories like this: “I want to tell you a story from the Bible. I don’t know if this really happened, just like this, but I know that it’s true.”

This is one of those stories. It contains truth even if the details blow our mind a bit. Because the truth is: this isn’t just a story about something that happened in the past. It’s also a story about something so many of us have experienced here and now and in our own lives. 

We have experienced God’s faithfulness through miracles big and small - like finding an antidepressant that finally works (praise God!), or a phone call from an old friend at just the right time. We’ve had our days when a stranger offered a word of care that lifted us up, bound us back together, and gave us the strength we needed. We’ve known desperation - and received manna. And we’ve been manna for others, too. 

The SPECIFICS of this particular story, handed down to us by our faith ancestors, are fascinating. Moses tells the people that they are to gather what they need for everyone in their tent. 

Now, I’ve often heard this story told that “the people disobeyed” and some tried to hoard the food by gathering too much while others were lazy and didn’t gather enough. But, actually, the text doesn’t say that. The text simply says they went out to gather and some gathered more and others less - which is exactly what you might expect since some people had 2 people in their tent and others had 10. The text says when it all got measured, everyone had the exact right amount that they needed for their family. Whether this was some kind of cute, baby miracle or just how it worked out, we aren’t told. But the message is clear: God provides exactly what every person needs. Faithfully. 

Biblical scholar Robert Williamson, Jr. points out that these details make this more than a story about just manna. It’s also a story about the world God is inviting us to be a part of. God shows the people a new economy in this ancient story. [1] A way of living together where everyone has what they need. No longer are they enslaved to quotas of production and a system of scarcity that enriches a few while leaving so many in desperation. [2]

And God doesn’t invite the people to just imagine this or THINK about it. God invites them to try it out. To practice it. To really KNOW it by living it. Williamson says it’s as if God is using this liminal, wandering, wilderness time to show the people how it could be - how it should be - in this new world they are building together. 

One of my favorite social media follows is Vu Le, who is a brilliant leader in the nonprofit management world and absolutely hilarious. This week, he wrote about how we need nonprofits to “reclaim our vision for the amazing society we want to build from the ashes.” [3] He reminds us that there are some people in our society who have a very clear vision of the future. Tech billionaires know exactly what kind of world they want to build. Mark Zuckerberg wants a world where we’ve outsourced human relationships to AI chatbots. The CEO of Oracle envisions a world where everyone is “on their best behavior” because we’re all under constant surveillance. And Le says that Elon Musk and Peter Theil envision a world where we no longer need democratically elected governments because we’ve traded them in for a technocracy. 

Le reminds us that billionaires not only have a clear vision, they have the resources they need to make it happen. And that’s why it’s so important for those of us who have an alternative vision to keep shouting about it every chance we get. Le paints it like this: 

I think our ability to rise out of this horrible period and build something better depends on our ability to reclaim our vision and to inspire the rest of society to do the same. I want us to have a world where everyone has their basic needs like food and shelter taken care of. In this vision we’d already have made reparations for past injustices like slavery and stolen Indigenous land. Concepts like capitalism, racism, misogyny, transphobia, poverty, war, borders, and so on would be hard for people to remember or even imagine.

I want us to reconceptualize work so that we’re not beholden to it and our worth isn’t judged by how “productive” we are. I want people to spend most of their time creating art—writing poetry, painting, dancing, and making music, whittling small animals out of bars of soap, etc.—and for fun, not because they’re hustling trying to pay rent. Housing would be a basic human right, along with healthcare and education and other things people need to thrive. [4]

Isn’t that a beautiful vision for the future? I wonder if the people in Exodus started to dream dreams like that? I wonder if they went out in the  morning to forage for their daily bread and found themselves humming a little tune, imagining a future where everyone had enough. I wonder if they envisioned a world with more frolicking and less violence, more art and less fear. 

It sounds an awful lot like God’s Dream to me. You know, economics comes from the same Greek word as household. The economy is more than just the stock exchange ticker on the bottom of the news. The economy is a global household where resources are created, gathered, used, consumed, shared. Because we all truly share one global household together.

Through this ancient story, God reminds us that we are invited to consider what it would look like to live in a manna economy. A world where everyone has enough. A world where scarcity is a thing of the past. A world where God’s dreams can be realized. And just as the Israelites were invited to practice there in the desert, we are invited to practice, too. This is what it means to Be the Church. To live as if God’s economy were already so. To listen to the Spirit and encourage one another as we strive to build God’s Beloved Community together. 

You know, when we become members of this congregation we pledge to support it with “our prayers, our presence, our gifts, and our service.” In that way, we are practicing God’s Dream here. Practicing in this little corner of creation so that our hands and hearts might be shaped for ministry in the wider world. We practice here so that we can know - really KNOW through living it - that God is present. That God is faithful. And that we, too, can show up with our prayers, our presence, our gifts, and our service. Here and everywhere we go. 

This month, as we consider our financial pledges for the coming year, we are given this story as a conversation partner. 

It’s a story about God’s faithfulness. It’s a story about the One who dreams a world into being where everyone’s needs can be met. It’s an invitation to ponder how we can be a part of that through our own sharing of resources. And it’s a reminder that giving of any type - whether it’s time or money - isn’t JUST about keeping the lights on or getting volunteer slots filled. 

True generosity is an invitation to reorder our relationship to God, one another, and the world around us. It’s knowing - really KNOWING, deep in our bones because we’re living it - that there is enough in this world for all. Our job is to tune our hearts to God’s economy of abundance. 

In practicing generosity, we come to know - really KNOW - God’s faithful provision as we hear the ancient promise: 

There is enough. 

You are enough. 

Rooted in God’s love, we can build a world of enough - together. 

May it be so. 

Notes: 

[1] Bible Worm podcast for Oct. 10, 2021

[2] Isaiah 43: 18-19

[3] & [4] https://www.nonprofitaf.com/lets-reclaim-our-vision-for-the-amazing-society-we-can-build-from-the-ashes/ 

“From a Distance”

Luke 10: 25-37

October 5, 2025

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

 

In 1963, Michael Collins joined the 3rd class of NASA astronauts. In 1966, he exited and re-entered the earth’s atmosphere for the first time. In 1969, he orbited the moon 33 times as a part of the Apollo mission. And in 1974, he shared this observation in his memoir:

 

I really believe that if the political leaders of the world could see their planet from a distance of, let's say 100,000 miles, their outlook would be fundamentally changed. The all-important border would be invisible, that noisy argument suddenly silenced. The tiny globe would continue to turn, serenely ignoring its subdivisions, presenting a unified facade that would cry out for unified understanding, for homogeneous treatment. The earth must become as it appears: blue and white, not capitalist or communist; blue and white, not rich or poor; blue and white, not envious or envied.

 

I am not a naïve man. I don’t believe that a glance from 100,000 miles would cause a Prime Minister to scurry back to his parliament with a disarmament plan, but I do think it would plant a seed that ultimately could grow into such concrete action.

 

Michael Collins was a Catholic altar boy, so I have to think he had some familiarity with scripture. And I hear the echoes of the Apostle Paul in his words: “The earth must become as it appears: blue and white, not Jew or Greek; blue and white, not enslaved or free; blue and white, not male or female.”

 

Most of us will never be able to look at the earth from 100,000 miles away like Collins did. But all of us who profess to follow Jesus must struggle with the promise and demand found in the Apostle Paul’s words. Because there is a promise AND a demand there. It feels cuddlier to only focus on the promise part – as if Jesus will somehow magically wave a wand and take away all of the divisions in the world and make the Prime Ministers spontaneously scurry back to their parliaments with disarmament plans, and make the ICE agents unmask their faces, and make the war contractors toss and turn at night and realize that profiting off the murder and starvation of innocent children is not actually how they want to live their lives after all.

 

To hear only the promise in Paul’s words is to hold out hope that Christ will somehow magically bring all of this to pass.

 

But if we listen to Jesus himself, we start to see a slightly different picture. Jesus spent his time healing and sowing compassion, yes. But he also spent his time teaching us how to live. And when we pay attention to his words, we start to also hear the demand woven into the Paul’s promise of human unity.

 

******

Like Michael Colllins, Jesus was also big into thinking beyond boundaries. And today’s story is no exception. It’s one of the “greatest hits” of Christian scripture and it’s a two-fer. Not only do we get the well-known parable about the Samaritan on the Jericho road, we also get Jesus plainly stating the Greatest Commandment: to love God and love your neighbor as yourself.

We call it the Greatest Commandment, but at first glance it seems to be three commandments rolled into one. Love God. Love your neighbor. Love yourself. 

A wise person once told me that he had puzzled over this seeming contradiction for years: why, when asked for the SINGLE most important commandment, does Jesus accept the lawyer’s reading from scripture as the answer? It’s clearly three things, not one! Eventually, this person told me, they came to the conclusion that perhaps those three things are not as discrete as they seem. Perhaps, because we are made in God’s image and because God lives and moves within us, perhaps loving God, loving our neighbors, and loving ourselves aren’t as distinct as we think. Perhaps we are loving God whenever we love our neighbors. Perhaps we are loving God when we choose to love ourselves.

Perhaps the firm boundaries between me and you, us and them, heavenly and earthly are more porous. Perhaps when viewed from 100,000 miles up – or through Jesus’s eyes – the separation melts away a bit. And we can start to remember that loving God and loving our neighbors as ourselves truly is a single commandment.

It seems the lawyer himself was also a bit puzzled by the simplicity of this greatest commandment. Despite lifting it directly from scripture himself, he still has questions. He asks Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Nothing like a legal type to get technical with the language. But Jesus takes it in stride, showing us once again what a fantastic teacher he is. He knows that stories teach and he weaves a story for this man. Simple enough for the youngest child to understand, yet it drives the point home in a way only a parable can.

 

The parable is, of course, that story of the Good Samaritan. For many of us, it’s well-worn and familiar. But it would have been quite shocking to those first hearers.

 

In essence, Jesus uses this parable to blow expectations wide open. The answer to the question, “who is my neighbor?” is both simple and terrifying. The answer is, “the person who takes care of you.” Or, as Frederick Buechner put it, “anybody who needs you.”

 

It’s not about where you live. It’s not about who looks like you. It’s not about who you vote for. It’s not about what denomination you are. 

 

No, it’s not about any of those things. Jesus says that our neighbor – you know, the one we’re supposed to love as ourselves – is the person who shows us mercy. Jesus says that our neighbor is the one that needs our care. The Samaritan is our neighbor not because he’s an outcast (though you could certainly find that argument many other places in Scripture) but because he offers care. The man in the ditch is our neighbor because he needs us.

 

It's such a simple and profoundly human story. All of us, every single one of us, has basic needs. We need water to drink and food to eat. We need to have our wounds tended to. We need to have a safe place to sleep, out of the elements. When you look down from 100,000 miles above, we humans all start to look a whole lot alike. We all need peace. We all need love. We all need each other.

 

I know you know this already. I know I’m not telling you anything new. But we seem to live in a world that threatens to undo these simple truths at every turn. Our spirits are constantly attacked by news of people turning against one another. We humans forget that we are all made in God’s image. We forget that every single one of us deserves a chance to simply live freely in a just world. 

And this is not an accident. Those who hold power are doing what Empire has always done. They consolidate their power by attempting to turn the rest of us against one another. They stoke fear and violence. They hide their faces while committing atrocities in broad daylight. They send troops into sleepy neighborhoods. They drop bombs and block supplies. And as each of these daily horrors is enacted, the message we receive is constant: protect yourselves from the enemy. 

But Jesus comes with a different way. Jesus doesn’t stand under the lights on a big stage. Jesus doesn’t ride in fancy jets or an armoured car. Jesus stands among the crowds, with everyday people like you and like me. He speaks their language. He loves to hear their questions. He reminds them that, like the lawyer in today’s story, they already have the answer within them. He affirms their curiosity. Again and again - by quoting scripture, through acts of compassionate healing, and with the power of stories - he reminds them of the main thing: Love God. And love your neighbor as yourself.

Zoom out to 100,000 miles if you can. Look at the beauty of this good earth spinning in space. Pause to take in the miracle that we exist here at all. Notice, like Collins did, that when you’re at that distance, this marble spinning in the black expanse looks quite different. The all-important borders are invisible. Those noisy arguments and yelling heads on our screens? You can’t hear them at this distance. 

The tiny globe continues to turn, Collins says, “serenely ignoring its subdivisions, presenting a unified facade that [cries out] for unified understanding… The earth must become as it appears: blue and white, not capitalist or communist; blue and white, not rich or poor; blue and white, not envious or envied.”

Blue and white, not a citizen of this country or that, not Russian or Ukranian, not Israeli or Palestinian, not a member of this political party or that one. You can’t see anyone’s immigration status from space either. 

What becomes very clear from this vantage point is that we are all of us neighbors. Spinning in the vastness of space on this planet we call home. 

The promise - and the demand - is as clear today as it was 2,000 years ago. There is neither Jew nor Greek, enslaved or free, male or female. There is humanity. Created in God’s image. Full of need, full of gifts. Languishing on the side of the road and mercifully stopping to provide care. 

Just us. Here. Together. 

May we accept the good news of the promise and fashion our lives to meet the demand. May we love God and love our neighbor as ourselves.