“On the Move”

Luke 24:13-35

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

April 27, 2025 

Death doula Sarah Kerr says,  “When someone dies, the first thing to do is nothing.

Don’t run out and call the nurse. Don’t pick up the phone. Take a deep breath and be present to the magnitude of the moment.” [1] 

This is the spirit in which I imagine the female disciples made their procession to the tomb on Easter morning. Sabbath had forced them to slow down - to do nothing. They didn’t run out and call the nurse or pick up the phone. And on Easter morning, with the dawn of a new day, they had moved through that first shocking, sacred moment of grief and were on the on the move. Headed to the tomb to care for the body. 

After they found the tomb empty with Jesus having “wandered off” as one of our kids put it so succinctly last week - they ran to tell the other disciples. We’re told that there was very little joy and celebration that first Easter morning. Instead, the male disciples chided the women for this ridiculous story and refused to believe them. Peter, alone, ran to the tomb to see what was going on. 

In her Easter sermon last week, my colleague and friend the Rev. Dr. Lori Walke pointed out that the first Easter was, essentially, joy-less. Instead, Lori says that first Easter morning was mostly filled with “Perplexity, terror, and disbelief. Not exactly the Easter vibe we’ve come to know and expect.” [2] 

The joy-less, bewildered vibe seemed to have continued throughout that first Easter day. At some point late in the day, two disciples take off from Jerusalem, heading to Emmaus, about 7 miles away. We’re not told why they were going. Perhaps they were worried the authorities were coming for them and they were on the run. Maybe they had simply been away from home too long and needed to return to the demands of their daily lives. Maybe they were restless and just didn’t know what to do, so they were on the move. 

As they walk, they discuss everything that’s taken place. And they run into a stranger. Now you and I, Dear Reader, are told that this stranger is the Risen Christ himself. But the disciples don’t recognize him. And so Jesus asks them what they’re talking about and they say, “Are you the one guy in Jerusalem who hasn’t been following this story?” And Jesus says, “What story?” And the disciples explain it all to him - the way Jesus was teaching about liberation, the arrest, the trials, the execution and the strange events of that very morning. They express their bewilderment and confusion. 

Hilariously, this stranger who, moments ago had no idea what was happening, now interjects and begins to explain it all to them. Not just the events of the past week but the stretching way back to Moses and the prophets (hey, it takes a minute to walk seven miles). But the disciples still don’t recognize who they’re talking to. 

As they approach Emmaus, it’s almost evening, so the disciples invite the stranger to stay with them for the night. As they sit down for dinner, Jesus took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. And this is the moment that it all clicks into place. Suddenly the disciples “eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and he vanished from their sight.” 

The disciples may still be bewildered, but they are more focused and organized now. They know what they need to do. They jump up and head right back to Jerusalem. Despite the fact that they just walked seven miles. Despite the night closing in. I imagine they left dirty dishes on the table and I hope they remembered to put the fire out before they left. When they get back to Jerusalem, they tell the other disciples that Jesus truly is risen, just as he said. And they tell all about how they walked and talked with him and ate with him. The way they describe it is one of my favorite lines in all of scripture: “Then they told what had happened on the road and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.”

They told how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread. 

The disciples walked with Christ for miles. They connected over their shared sacred texts. They sat down to eat together and it was in that simple action that it all clicked into place. They suddenly knew - deep in their guts - that they had seen this film before. Jesus took, blessed, broke, and shared the bread and it all came back to them. 

Isn’t that just how it goes sometimes? Humans store memories in so many ways - and often a smell or a gesture or a repeated sound suddenly makes it all come together for us. 

Biblical scholars Robert Williamson and Amy Roberts point out these two disciples needed three things in order for it to all finally click into place. They needed the frameworks of 

1. Scripture - as they shared and interpreted the scriptures together on the road;

2. Embodied ritual - the tactile act of sitting down to share a meal and Christ being made known in the breaking of the bread;

3. and Community - they marveled over what was happening together and they ran to tell the others. 

Although the circumstances are extraordinary, I think this story is still so resonant and relevant because it’s a story that answers a question humans still struggle with: What do we do when we’re bewildered and confused? How are we supposed to focus when we can’t see the path forward?

Well, we huddle together over campfires and we gather around tables. We tell each other stories about what matters most. We take care of ourselves and each other - we rest at the end of the day when the sun goes down and we take care of our basic needs, like bellies that need food and children that need tucked in. And we offer hospitality, especially to those who might not have a safe place to rest for the night. We keep putting one foot in front of the other and we trust Christ will show up. 

Pope Francis’ final sermon, given a week ago on Easter, beautifully describes what it looks like to be on the move, trusting that we’ll encounter Christ. I want to close today by sharing the beginning of it with you: 

Mary Magdalene, seeing that the stone of the tomb had been rolled away, ran to tell Peter and John. After receiving the shocking news, the two disciples also went out and — as the Gospel says — “the two were running together” (Jn 20:4). The main figures of the Easter narratives all ran! On the one hand, “running” could express the concern that the Lord’s body had been taken away; but, on the other hand, the haste of Mary Magdalene, Peter and John expresses the desire, the yearning of the heart, the inner attitude of those who set out to search for Jesus. He, in fact, has risen from the dead and therefore is no longer in the tomb. We must look for him elsewhere.

This is the message of Easter: we must look for him elsewhere. Christ is risen, he is alive! He is no longer a prisoner of death, he is no longer wrapped in the shroud, and therefore we cannot confine him to a fairy tale, we cannot make him a hero of the ancient world, or think of him as a statue in a museum! On the contrary, we must look for him and this is why we cannot remain stationary.  We must take action, set out to look for him: look for him in life, look for him in the faces of our brothers and sisters, look for him in everyday business, look for him everywhere except in the tomb.

We must look for him without ceasing. Because if he has risen from the dead, then he is present everywhere, he dwells among us, he hides himself and reveals himself even today in the sisters and brothers we meet along the way, in the most ordinary and unpredictable situations of our lives. He is alive and is with us always, shedding the tears of those who suffer and adding to the beauty of life through the small acts of love carried out by each of us.

For this reason, our Easter faith, which opens us to the encounter with the risen Lord and prepares us to welcome him into our lives, is anything but a complacent settling into some sort of “religious reassurance.” On the contrary, Easter spurs us to action, to run like Mary Magdalene and the disciples; it invites us to have eyes that can “see beyond,” to perceive Jesus, the one who lives, as the God who reveals himself and makes himself present even today, who speaks to us, goes before us, surprises us. [3] 

Spirit of Love, may we, like the Mary, Peter, John - like the disciples on the road to Emmaus - and like Pope Francis keep moving - even in our fear, our disillusionment, our bewilderment. May we truly know that Easter is not a “fairytale” and Christ is not a statue in a museum. Instead, Christ lives and moves among us even now. It’s highly likely that he’s “wandered off” once again and so it is our call to seek him in the nooks and crannies of our daily lives. Christ is on the move - and we are called to join him. Amen. 

NOTES: 

[1] https://thissimple.wordpress.com/2018/08/26/the-first-thing-to-do-when-someone-dies-by-sarah-kerr/ 

[2] https://loriwalke.substack.com/p/a-courageous-easter-to-all?r=tq877&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&triedRedirect=true 

[3] 

https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/homilies/2025/documents/20250420-omelia-pasqua.html 

“Remember”

Luke 24:1-12

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

April 20, 2025 - Easter

A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun goes down, and hurries to the place where it rises. The wind blows to the south, and goes around to the north; round and round goes the wind….All things are wearisome; more than one can express; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, or the ear filled with hearing.

What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, “See, this is new”? It has already been, in the ages before us. 

I confess that starting an Easter sermon by reading from the Book of Ecclesiastes isn’t exactly traditional. Ecclesiastes is not the most uplifting book in the Bible. But it is filled with practical wisdom. Little tidbits that just seem to make sense. Like this zinger: “There is nothing new under the sun. It has already been, in the ages before us.” 

I can’t help but wonder if something like that question went through the women’s minds on that first Easter morning when they went to the tomb. 

We’re told they made their solemn procession at deep dawn. Can you see it? When it’s still so dark out that you can barely see to steady your steps, but there is a sense that the light is finally changing - just the tiniest bit. These were the women who had been with Jesus for a very long time - Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary mother of James, and the others who had come with him from Galilee.

After Jesus was executed, a good and righteous man named Joseph of Arimathea went to the Roman governor, Pilate, and asked for Jesus’s body. Joseph took the body down off the cross, wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a new tomb. By this time, the sun was setting and the Sabbath was beginning. The women from Galilee did what they had always done: they stopped working to honor the Sabbath. They set aside their spices and ointments and waited for dawn. 

It’s likely this wasn’t the first time the women had done the work of preparing a body for burial. People didn’t live as long back then. Disease, malnutrition, the violence of Empire took so many at an early age. Death was a daily fact of living - and it was women’s work to tend to the physical realities death leaves in its wake.

And so they may have looked at the sun, just peeking up over the horizon now and thought something like, 

“There’s nothing new under the sun.

Rome continues to tighten its grip on us. We are never free - not really. And this man that we loved, this Jesus who came speaking of justice and liberation - well, they killed him, just like they always do to the prophets. 

And people die. That’s not new either. We love fiercely and then their human bodies give out. Or they’re taken from us. Disappeared into a realm that we can’t get to. Gone too soon. Leaving us behind. 

There’s nothing new under the sun. And we - we’re still here. We do what we’re supposed to do. We pause and rest on the Sabbath. We say our prayers. We listen for the rooster’s crow. We put our feet on the floor. We retrieve our tools. And then we go, together, to clean up after death.” 

**********

Empire. Authoritarinism. Violence. Death. These were not new. These are not new.

The poets write about these realities, still. All around the world. 35 years ago the Irish poet Seamus Heany wrote about the story of a Greek mythological war from 3500 years ago, reminding us:

Human beings suffer,

They torture one another,

They get hurt and get hard.

These are constants. 

Human beings suffer,

They torture one another,

They get hurt and get hard.

And, boy, do those constants feel heavy and present in our own time. Day after day we watch new horrors unfold in the news. Human beings, beloved children of God, snatched off the street and pushed into unmarked vans. Human beings sent off on airplanes without any hope of due process, packed into a jail or concentration camp on the other side of the world. Targeted solely because their skin isn’t the “right color” or they are caught speaking the “wrong language.” “Leaders” washing their hands of any responsibility for the atrocities being committed. A convicted felon refusing to be held to the rule of law, while simultaneously demonizing others as “thugs.” 

Empire. Authoritarinism. Violence. Death. There is nothing new under the sun. 

**********

As the women arrive at the tomb, they see something unexpected. The large stone covering the entrance had been rolled away. They went inside and discovered the body was gone! And so they assumed it had been stolen - maybe by garden-variety grave-robbers. Or maybe just one more jab from Rome, “Can they not even allow us the dignity of resting in peace after they’ve murdered us?”

While the women considered the possibilities, two men in gleaming clothes appeared before them. The women dropped their spices and fell to the dirt, terrified. But the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”

**********

“Remember,” the strange men said. “Remember what he already told you, back in Galilee. Remember?”

This remembrance is what unlocks the power of Resurrection for the women at the tomb. 

Remembering what they already knew - that death did not have the final say, that new life would find a way even in the midst of great evil - the women ran to tell the others. 

They thought they were in the middle of a story about the ubiquitous presence of Empire, Authoritarinism, Violence, Death - but they had forgotten what they had already been told. That death was not the end of the story but one step on the journey. The story doesn’t end with Empire, Authoritarinism, Violence, Death -  it continues on with Beloved Community, Liberation, Hope, Resurrection. 

The thing is: this wasn’t NEW information. They had already learned it. They just needed a reminder. “Remember what he told you…” They already had what they needed to meet the moment. And in showing up to bear witness to the pain, they were the first to witness new life. 

**********

This story is a beautiful illustration of Sankofa. For those who aren’t familiar, the Sankofa is a mythical bird from the Akan culture in Ghana. The word Sankofa literally means “go back and get it.” I’ve heard Ghanians say that parents will use it to playfully scold children who leave their socks all over the living room, “Sankofa! Go back and get it!” 

But the truth found in this symbol goes much deeper. Symbolic depictions in the Adinkra writing system often look like a bird with a long neck, kind of like a swan. Her body and feet are facing forward but her head is swiveled backwards on that long neck. Her head is pointed backwards and she carries a small egg in her mouth. 

She is going back to retrieve wisdom from the past while simultaneously moving steadily forward. Sankofa - the power of remembering that we already have what we need to keep moving forward. The wisdom of going back to retrieve it. 

This is what the gleaming men were telling the women on that first Easter morning, “Sankofa. Go back and retrieve it. Remember what he told you while you were still in Galilee. Empire, Authoritarinism, Violence, Death - yes, but that is not the end. The story continues: Beloved Community, Liberation, Hope, Resurrection.”

This is one of the great gifts of Easter: 

Sankofa. Go back and retrieve the wisdom. 

Remember. Carry it carefully in your heart. 

But don’t hold onto it too tightly. This egg of wisdom may seem fragile, but under the right conditions, an egg is incredibly strong. This truth won’t break or falter. It’s meant to be shared. Go back and retrieve it. But then carry it forward. 

Remember. Death is not the end. The story continues. 

May we remember we already have what we need. 

May we share that good news with others. 

May it be so. 

“What do we do with Zacchaeus?”

Luke 19:1-10

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

April 6, 2025

“Zacchaeus was trying to see who Jesus was, but, being a short man, he couldn’t.”

How would you like to go down in history known primarily for a physical characteristic you have absolutely no control over? I mean, what’s the first thing children learn about Zacchaeus from the song? “Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he.” 

We know so little about Zacchaeus. How strange that one of the few things we are told is that he was short. People have made up all kinds of reasons why this detail may have been included - some have said that it was more a commentary on his moral failings than his height. He was short on character. Or that he was young - short in years. But since we’re told he wanted to see Jesus and couldn’t see over the heads of the others in the crowd and climbed up in a tree - well, I’m guessing he was just….short. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And perhaps this little detail was simply included as a jab at Zacchaeus, who was almost-certainly not well-liked. I’ve never understood teasing someone about their height - something we have zero control over. But we know it happens. 

Making a spectacle of himself by climbing up in a tree probably didn’t help matters much. An adult climbing up in a tree? In public? With everyone watching? I mean, you can just imagine people snapping photos and posting them online, making fun of this guy. 

What a mess. What do we do with a guy like Zacchaeus? 

He’s just so utterly unlikeable. He’s one of us but he thinks he’s better than us. He’s a Roman boot-licker, working for the enemy and using his position of “authority” to bully the rest of us. Doesn’t he remember where he came from? 

And why is he so crooked? We all know that the tax collectors skim money off of what they collect, keeping it for themselves. Have you seen his house? He’s got a five-car garage and I heard it’s filled with Teslas. Plus his wife and his daughters have obviously had a lot of work done and you know that doesn’t come cheap. I feel bad for those girls, growing up in a family with a jerk like that for a dad. 

What do we do with a guy like Zacchaeus? He’s one of us….but…..not. 

We don’t understand him. How could a person be so morally bankrupt as to work for the enemy? And get rich doing so? We just don’t get it. How does someone end up like that? What’s wrong with this guy? 

Take a look at the art on the cover of your bulletin. Zoomers, we’ll share the image so you can see it easily. 

My eye is initially drawn to Jesus. Don’t you just love his vibrant clothing? The artist, Lauren Wright Pittman, says his clothes are “patterned with suns, representing righteousness, and water, representing mercy.” My eye follows Jesus’s gaze to Zacchaeus up there in the tree. These two are usually the focal point of this story. The story is a beautiful invitation to consider the ways we might be like Zacchaeus. And the ways Jesus shows up and offers unconditional love and acceptance. When we identify with Zacchaeus, it’s a feel-good story, for sure. 

But if we keep looking, we notice Jesus and Zacchaeus aren’t the only people in this painting. Did you see the other two people off to the side? Arms crossed, grumpy faces, giving Zacchaeus major side-eye. “What do we do with Zacchaeus? We don’t understand him. How does someone end up like that? What’s wrong with this guy? Did he just have bad parents? Or maybe he’s just stupid. That’s probably it. He’s probably just too stupid to know any better. What an idiot.”

What do we do with a guy like Zacchaeus? 

In the artist’s rendition it’s pretty clear what the people have decided to do with Zacchaeus. Scorn. Hand-wringing. Derision. Judgment. Shunning. And I have to say, I don’t blame them. He was stealing their money. Or at least they thought he was. The text is actually kind of unclear about that. Maybe he’s just fibbing when he says he’s given half of what he has to the poor. Or maybe this encounter with Jesus is what has changed his heart and NOW he’s going to start repaying those he’s cheated. Or perhaps he’s actually a righteous man and hasn’t cheated anyone. The Greek is unclear. We’ll never know. 

But what is clear is that Jesus doesn’t care. For reasons that we don’t understand, Jesus affirms Zacchaeus, pulling him down out of the tree and giving him the honor of playing host. Jesus affirms him. Loves him. Jesus says (loudly enough so everyone can hear), “Today, salvation has come to this household because he too is a son of Abraham.” 

“He, too, is a son of Abraham. He’s one of you even if you don’t like it. Even if you don’t understand him. Even if you don’t know what to do with a guy like Zacchaeus, I’ve got it under control,” Jesus says, “Salvation has come to his household, too.”

We don’t know what happened to Zacchaeus after that day. We don’t know what they talked about at dinner. We don’t know what his motivations were or if he continued to collaborate with the enemy. We don’t even know if he was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t cheating anyone. There’s a lot we don’t know. 

I’ll be the first to admit - I still don’t know what we do with Zacchaeus. I look at this picture and see myself back there in the crowd somewhere grumbling about injustice. Heck, some days I’m right up front yelling about it. I don’t know what we do with a guy like Zacchaeus. 

But when I look at this image, my eye is drawn to Jesus. Right there in the center of it all with his beautiful, bright clothes. Robed in the sun and the water and all that is good and loving. 

And I am reminded: I may not know what to do about Zacchaeus, but maybe that doesn’t matter so much. Because Jesus is handling it. Jesus knows what to do with Zacchaeus. He’s taking care of it. 

And so I continue to pray, “Show us the path, Jesus. Come and handle Zacchaeus. Cause we sure don’t know how. Amen.”