“Tangled Up in Revelation”

Revelation 7:1-17

August 31, 2025

First Congregational United Church of Christ of Manhattan, KS

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

When I am riding my bicycle home from work, I often ride up Manhattan Avenue and a memory comes back to me: it was a hot August day and I had just moved into my dorm room on campus. I was about to begin my first year of college and I was on top of the world. I was out and about, navigating the world on my own - no parents, no worries. I felt pretty great about myself. In fact, I had just done something that felt very grown up. I rode my bike from Moore Hall down to Aggieville to pick up some school supplies at the bookstore. 

And as I rode my bike back to my new home, something a little strange happened as I got close to Petticoat Lane. I was riding along, riding along and suddenly……EEEERCH. Bam! I fell over on my side. Scraped my knee. Wounded my pride. 

Did you know that your shoelace can get caught around your gears when you’re on a bike? 

Yeah, neither did I when I was 17. Some lessons you have to learn the hard way, I guess. Since that day, I have always checked my shoelaces before getting on my bike. 

Falling off your bike hurts. But there might be one good thing about it: it keeps you humble. Right when you’re feeling all grown up, like you’ve got things figured out, you can be humbled by a simple shoelace. 

Now I promised you a sermon on Revelation - not shoelaces and skinned knees. So let’s dig into this book that so many of us love to hate. I promise I’ll circle back to bicycles and humility before we’re done. 

If I were to go around the room and ask every single person their favorite book in the Bible, I’d venture to guess that Revelation wouldn’t likely come up. Am I right?

Revelation isn’t winning any popularity contests. But it turns out there’s actually a lot of important stuff in here, if we’re willing to do the hard work of uncovering it. But before we can do that, I think we have to at least name some of the things that keep us away from it. 

First, it’s scary. I can remember gathering up courage and peeking at a few paragraphs here or there as a child….and then slamming my Bible shut. Back then, I thought this was some kind of magical book, akin to a Magic 8 Ball, maybe, and that if I read it too often, the horrors in it would come to pass. I was really terrified by this book as a child. For anyone who thinks of this book as a prediction about the future, it’s horrifying. I mean, even though God wins in the end, a lot of scary stuff happens before we get to that point. 

Fortunately, Revelation was never meant to be a prediction or even prophecy. Instead, it’s a odd and unique type of literature called apocalyptic. 

That’s why you’ll sometimes hear it referred to as the Apocalypse of John or John’s Apocalypse. Apocalypse means revelation. Or it’s sometimes translated as “unveiling.” Which is interesting, because apocalyptic literature often obscures more than it reveals. At least at first. 

Revelation isn’t the only piece of apocalyptic literature in the Bible. There are other examples in various places like Daniel and Matthew. Apocalyptic is a coded way of speaking to an oppressed group of people about their oppressors and God’s ultimate power over them. 

Believe it or not, Revelation is meant to be a love song of hope. Through very carefully crafted symbols and coded speech, the authors of apocalyptic literature unveil a parallel universe – unseen by the average person – where God is in control and working diligently to dismantle forces of evil. It’s meant to be uplifting, not scary. 

Of course, the fear factor isn’t the only problem with this book. Many of us stay away from it because we just can’t identify our God with some of these images. There’s a lot of blood, violence, and some horrible misogyny to boot. 

Anyone know the hymn “Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?” We don’t sing that one around here. I don’t think that being dunked in lamb’s blood is very appealing to most people these days. But those kinds of bloody images are all over the place in Revelation. John’s God is angry, violent, filled with wrath. If you think God in the story of the 10 Plagues in Egypt is bad, just wait until you see how God acts in Revelation.

Even without all this blood, though – even if John’s Apocalypse wasn’t terrifying and pointing to a violent God – there’s yet another issue that can feel troubling. And that’s this: in this book John reveals a God who is 100% all powerful. We hear the language from today’s reading echoed centuries later in the text that Handel set to music – “King of Kings! And Lord of Lords!” 

A ruler is one thing - the ground of our being, our ultimate source, our leader and guide. Okay. Sure. But once we get into a particular vision of a Ruler who is all-powerful, all-mighty, totally omnipotent, some of us start to feel a little squirmy. It can be hard to look around a world filled with genocide and school shootings and ICE raids and believe God is all-powerful. Many of us find ourselves needing to choose between a loving God who is unable to control everything and an all-powerful God who allows terrible things to happen. 

Personally, I long ago chose a God of love whose power is limited. And that’s a difficult version of God to reconcile the one John unveils in this book. It really is. 

Here’s the thing about Revelation, though. And this was the discovery that made me feel like I could dip my toe in, or maybe even wade back into these pages looking for something worthwhile. Ready?

Revelation wasn’t written to us. We’re not the audience. The author says so right up front: this book is to the seven churches in Asia in the first century. It’s not written to us. 

But even more than that, this was the real game-changer for me: Revelation was specifically written for a group of people who were persecuted, oppressed, given very little authority over their own lives, forced to live within the confines set by the Roman Empire. They were persecuted for their identities. They were kept in poverty. They lived with the constant threat of violence. John’s Apocalypse was written as a word of hope and possibility for people who were living in a world on fire all around them. 

Wait. Maybe the 21st century has more in common with the 1st century than we initially thought. 

Regardless, you have to have a secret decoder ring to catch all the references. Biblical scholars have certainly tried to unpack it all over the years. And when they have, the overwhelming message to these struggling people is: hold on. Help is on the way. God has not forgotten you or forsaken you. Your God is working behind the scenes right now, fighting for your freedom. God has not abandoned you and God will bring you safely to freedom’s shore. 

Those are intended to be words of hope and consolation for people who are embittered and embattled. And they must have provided comfort to our ancestors or they wouldn’t have made it into the Bible. Perhaps there is a way they can provide consolation to us, too, if we keep our hearts and minds open. Or perhaps not. My guess is: some of us may find Revelation comforting and some of us never will. It’s not a one-size-fits-all, that’s for sure. 

Revelation is a messy book. And it seems every time I come back to it, I find something new and confusing. And perhaps the confusion, the messiness, the inscrutability of this book is important, too. We don’t understand it. Not all the way.

It’s kind of like what happened to 17 year old me when she was riding her bike down Manhattan Avenue. I went from feeling totally grown up to very silly in an instant. Humbled by a shoelace. 

Reading Revelation can feel like that. It can keep us humble.  

No matter how hard I try, I am not likely to ever really “get” Revelation or name it as one of my favorite books of the Bible. And no matter how grown up I feel or how carefully I ride, I am bound to get tangled up and fall off my bike from time to time. 

Revelation reminds us that no matter how much we seek God’s face, God is ultimately unknowable. Just when we think we’re starting to get a handle on it, something shifts and we discover we were wrong. Or confused. Or that there’s so much more to God that we’ve never even seen before. 

 

I love what D.H. Lawrence said about the book. Lawrence said, “When we read Revelation, we feel at once there are meanings behind meanings.” Isn’t that lovely?

Maybe part of what compels us to Revelation is precisely that we can’t understand it. There is a beauty in letting go of conquering the text and simply letting the wildness of the images wash over you.

Revelation may obscure more than it reveals. It may shroud more than it unveils. We can feel adrift upon its pages – as if there’s no real way to find solid footing. Its true meaning seems impossible to grasp. Like water slipping right between our fingers. 

In all our musings about God: this particular book keeps us humble. And that’s not a bad thing. 

“I get by with a little help from my friends”

Job 1:1, 2:1-10

August 24, 2025

First Congregational United Church of Christ of Manhattan, KS

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

At the risk of embarrassing myself, I’d like to share the story of the first time I listened to the entirety of Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band - the album by The Beatles. Now, it was released in 1967 but will you forgive me if I tell you I didn’t hear it all until 2009? I was going through a big Beatles phase and I queued it up for my regular commute to Indianapolis. It turns out it’s only about 45 minutes long, so I listened to the whole thing in one sitting and LET ME TELL YOU that is definitely how it was designed to be heard. It’s a whole experience from beginning to end. By the time I got to the final track, A Day in the Life, I had tears streaming down my face as I pulled up in the seminary parking lot. I mean, wow. 

One song near the beginning made me laugh a bit, though. Do you know this one?

What would you think if I sang out of tune?

Would you stand up and walk out on me? 

Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song.

And I’ll try not to sing out of key. 

I giggled because I had never heard that version of the song before. I grew up on Joe Cocker’s version which has a very different feel. You gotta sing along with me if you know it because I’m not Joe Cocker and I need help.

What would you do if I sang out of tune?

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Lend me your ears, then I'll sing you a song

I will try not to sing out of key

Oh, baby I get by with a little help from my friends…

Okay, so if you’ve heard both versions you know that it’s hard to believe they’re the same song. The Beatles version is kind of goofy, upbeat, straightforward. Cocker’s version is EPIC and soulful with soaring guitar lines and passionate percussion. What I didn’t realize until I listened to them again this week is that one of the reasons they sound so different is that they’re in different meters. The original is in 4/4 time -  neat and organized (sing example). Cocker’s cover is in 3 / 4 time - and organized is not a word that comes to mind (sing example). 

Some of the best covers of all time are the ones that stray pretty far from the original: Johnny Cash’s cover of Nine Inch Nails’ Hurt, Dolly’s I Will Always Love You covered by Whitney, and the totally revamped Proud Mary by Tina Turner. 

It turns out that sometimes the original needs a little help. Sometimes you need to really feel comfortable remixing and moving and playing with art to freshen it up. And sometimes a cover can even rescue an original that wasn’t that great to begin with (I’m looking at you original version of Respect by Otis Redding).

I’ve always felt like the Book of Job could use a little remixing. Because the original is…..well….I’d encourage you to read it and form your own opinions if you haven’t ever read it. I’ll attempt to give a little summary, with the disclaimer that it’s not my favorite book in the Bible, so if I seem grumpy about it, well, that’s highly likely. 

Job opens like this: the heavenly beings are bored and the Adversary and God get into an argument about a man named Job, who is righteous and blameless. The Adversary sees an opportunity to have a little fun and says to God, “Well, of course he’s a nice guy. You’ve been protecting him. We’d all be nice if our lives were perfect like Job’s. But I’d be willing to wager that if things started to go poorly for your friend Job he’d start singing a different tune.”

And, just like that, the stage is set for Job’s torture. The answer to that ancient question, “why do bad things happen to good people?” is this: “Because the heavenly beings thought it would be interesting.”

Not a great answer, from my perspective. I find the entire book of Job so very troubling. This poor man. He loses everything...his livestock, his home, all of his beloved children. And all because of a cosmic bet. 

For 40+ chapters we watch Job receive terrible counsel from his “friends” and argue with God. In the end, we’re meant to believe that there’s a happy ending. Because Job learns humility and learns to trust that this very mean God has his best interests at heart, he gets everything back. Though it’s hard to say how one gets their deceased children back, precisely. All’s well that ends well….I guess?

I have to say, although I don’t find particularly helpful answers to the question of why bad things happen to good people in this story, I do appreciate that it’s in the Bible. It gives me some comfort to know that people have been struggling with this question forever. And, in a weird way, I find it reassuring to know that even the people who wrote these stories and canonized them into our holy scriptures couldn’t answer the question fully. 

Another thing about this book that I find to be immensely helpful is that it’s a crash course in how to be a good friend. Or, perhaps more accurately, the Book of Job shows us what NOT to do. Can we remix Job’s friends a bit, maybe switch the story to 3 /4 time or add a better bass line to make it more useful? 

Let’s start with the original. Even a cursory skim through the text reveals an immediate problem with Job’s three friends. There are TOO MANY WORDS. Like, WAY too many words. Anyone who has ever been going through hell and back knows that the last thing you want when your life is wrecked is a friend who shows up to deliver a speech. Especially an esoteric philosophical discourse. NOT HELPFUL. 

They start out strong. Job’s friends come and sit with him for a full week, “and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was great.” But then they do what so many of us are tempted to do when things are terrible. They start trying to FIX IT, explain it away: “God’s ways are not our ways. Whatever is happening is God’s will and even though we don’t understand it, it’s for the best.” And also, “Job, you must have done something wrong. Search your heart. Figure out what your sins are. Confess them to God and then everything will get better.”

You’ve heard these speeches before, right? When a person loses a child: “I guess God needed another angel in heaven.” When someone receives a brutal diagnosis: “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” When someone is assaulted: “Maybe next time you’ll remember the buddy system.” Or abused: “Why don’t you just leave?”

How might we remix the Book of Job, perhaps imagining ways his friends could have been more helpful? 

The first potential remix for Job’s friends: talk less, listen more. A commentary I read earlier this week said that Job’s friends were doing pretty good….until they opened their mouths. When someone is really struggling, we can listen closely and try to reflect back the person’s emotional and spiritual state. I had a chaplaincy professor in seminary who taught about the importance of meeting people where they are. If someone is down here in the depths? Don’t come along and yank them up. Instead, listen and notice their current state of being. And then join them in the depths until they’re ready to start climbing out together. 

A second possible change for Job’s friends to consider: talk less, do more. Instead of trying to explain all the pain away, see if there are ways to offer tangible support. And when we offer that support, do it in a concrete way. Instead of saying, “Let me know if I can do anything to help,” try, “I’d like to bring you dinner. How about Tuesday?” We should always allow refusal, but it’s better to ask them to opt OUT instead of IN because it’s really hard for most of us to admit needing help.

Regardless of whether you know how to be practically helpful, don’t turn away. Even when you’re worried you might say the wrong thing or don’t know what to say, show that you care in some way. Send a note in the mail. Leave a message and make it clear they don’t need to call you back. Tell them you’d like to come visit. You can sit and say nothing. Turn on the TV and stare at it silently. Just BE. Together. 

Finally, I know I’ve talked about this one before but it’s so good it really does bear repeating: do you know about the “ring theory”  coined by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman? If not, I encourage you to Google it. [1] In brief, ring theory says that when something terrible happens to someone, they are at the center of a series of concentric rings. The next people out are immediate family, extended family, close friends; acquaintances, colleagues, neighbors. The person in the center gets to complain as much as they want to anyone else. And the people who are on the next ring out will also be struggling because it’s a lot to support the person in the center. They also get to ask for support...but only to people further out. The rule is, “Comfort in, dump out.” When we are trying to be a good friend in the midst of a difficult time, it’s important to be mindful of where we are located in this series of rings. “Comfort in, dump out.”

In a world where so very much seems to be out of our control, making the daily decision to show up for those who are hurting is a heroic act. When things get hard, we sometimes want to turn inward. And there are certainly times where we all need some space. 

But we humans are made for community. We are made for love and friendship and care. When we show up for each other, there is nothing sweeter. When we get it wrong, the Holy whispers words of grace to us, encouraging us to try again tomorrow. 

You know, we welcomed new members today and when we do that we always remind ourselves of the promises many of us made when we became members of this congregation. Membership in a church is holy friendship - an opportunity to come together in a world that privileges individualism and say, “This covenant - this binding together in holy friendship matters to us. We will show up for each other, pray for each other, encourage one another, speak hard truths when needed, bear each other’s burdens and share each other’s joys. We won’t do it perfectly, but, with God’s help, we’ll keep trying.”

Learning to be a good friend may take a whole lifetime….and every moment we spend practicing is time well-spent. Because we need a little help from our friends. 

[1] http://articles.latimes.com/2013/apr/07/opinion/la-oe-0407-silk-ring-theory-20130407

“The Sin of Sodom”

 

Genesis 18

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

August 10, 2025

This morning’s topic is sin. Specifically the sin of Sodom. Which is, incidentally, probably not what you think it is. But we’ll get to that a little later. 

First, though, I wanted to talk about sin in the United States of America. 

Earlier this week, I sat around a table with other faith leaders here in Manhattan. Meeting the needs of our neighbors is always high on the list of agenda items, and the conversation turned to those in our community who don’t have safe and adequate shelter. As you might expect, folks who live and work in the downtown area have noticed those without homes more lately, probably because there are fewer options for safe shelter in the summer months. 

In the winter, we have the Center of Hope, but homelessness doesn’t take a break when it gets warmer outside. And numbers have been creeping up at Common Table, too: 70-75 mightly dinner guests were the norm in July. Those who volunteer regularly at Common Table or Center of Hope or the Breadbasket any of the other social service agencies in town, know these neighbors by their names. We recognize them as beloved children of God - just like the rest of us. Full of beauty and complexity - full of good jokes and inappropriate ones, too - ready to open a door or share a smile - sometimes surly or angry, sometimes joyful or mischievous. Our neighbors are beings with hopes, dreams, fears, worries, desires, needs. Just like the rest of us. 

I said I’m going to talk about sin. I’m getting there. 

So, as we were discussing our neighbors at this ministerial meeting, someone mentioned that they had recently been in a meeting with some downtown business owners. And the same topic - our neighbors - came up. Only in THIS meeting, our neighbors were referred to as a “vagrancy problem.” 

Now, I am not naive. I understand that groups of people - all kinds of people - are imperfect and can cause problems. But this language - this referring to our neighbors as a “vagrancy problem” is sinful in a couple ways. First, there’s no humanity in it. People should not be referred to as a problem. Full stop. Second, the problem here is not our neighbors. The problem is that we live in a world where some have so much and others have so little. The problem is that low-wage jobs don’t cover the high cost of housing in our community. The problem is that people born into poverty typically do not have adequate means to access education and training to get out of poverty. The problem is that safety nets for those experiencing mental health and addiction issues are worn so thin, they’re barely hanging together.

We talked about what we can do as faith leaders to help change attitudes about our neighbors. And I said, “You know, we have so many stories in our faith traditions about hospitality and about caring for those on the margins. Those stories are incredibly powerful. But fewer and fewer people participate regularly in a community of faith. I hope that the people in our congregation know those stories and take them to heart. I hope they would feel them bubbling up inside if they ever heard someone refer to our neighbors as a ‘vagrancy problem.’ I hope they would speak up and gently correct the person - maybe even by telling a Biblical story.”

Our stories are powerful. And our stories are currently very much at odds with some of the other stories we’re hearing out there in our country. 

Speaking of sin, earlier this week I found myself exploring the ICE website. I know, I know. I sacrificed my algorithm so you don’t have to. I found myself there because I saw a social media post from the Department of Homeland Security and it was so shockingly atrocious that I had to verify it was real. 

It said: “Serve your country! Defend your culture! No undergraduate degree required! Join dot ice dot gov” 

I’m sorry to say, it was real. I’m also sorry to say that if you click through to the ICE website you get an image of Uncle Sam pointing his finger at you, saying “America Needs You! America has been invaded by criminals and predators. We need YOU to get them out.” And then it advertises a signing bonus of up to $50,000 and student loan repayment of up to $60,000. 

And if you click through ad actually look at the jobs available, hoo boy, many of them have a starting pay of $90-  $110-  $120,000 a year. $100k a year to commit atrocities, but we can’t find money for……take your choice - fill in the blank. 

These other stories are also powerful. Stories of xenophobia and fear of outsiders are currently running rampant. Stories that attempt to justify the dehumanization of our neighbors. Stories that pit us against them. Stories that try to conflate “serving your country” with locking people up in cages. And “defending your culture” with kidnapping children and disappearing beloved parents, aunties, and grandfathers. 

A culture that glorifies white supremacy and Christian nationlism? This is not the culture Christ-followers have been taught to defend. 

Instead, our stories - the ones Jesus taught - point to a different way. A way rooted in kindness, compassion, and care. A way that reminds us to love every single other. A way that compels us to shout on behalf of those who have been silenced. A way that insists there is enough and spare - for everyone. A way that insists we keep hope alive even when we are in the depths of despair. A way that reminds us, as Rabbi Dr. Joachim Prinz said, “Neighbor is not a geographic term. It is a moral concept.” [1]

What did Jesus say was the most important thing? “Love God. And love your neighbor as yourself.” And who are our neighbors according to Jesus? Well, there’s a whole story about that and you can find it in Luke 10, but we’ve got to get keep keepin on here or we’ll never get to the sin of Soddom. 

Now, I know what you’ve been taught about Sodom. If there’s one thing anyone knows about this story it’s that it’s about the sin of homosexuality, right? 

Wrong. 

That’s not the issue here. 

What IS the issue is that when strangers show up at the gate, enter the city for the night, and seek shelter, the citizens of Sodom react as though they are under direct attack. 

“Sodom Needs You! Sodom has been invaded by criminals and predators. We need YOU to get them out!” 

While Lot has welcomed the strangers (who are angels, we’re told) warmly, the men of Sodom want nothing to do with them. Lot welcomes them at the gate, insists they stay in his home rather than on the streets, feeds them dinner, and comes to their defense when danger comes knocking at the door. 

The men of Sodom angrily yell at Lot: “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us, so that we may know them.” Or some translations say, “so we can have sex with them.” The Message says, “so we can have our sport with them.” But let’s be more accurate: they were threatening to rape them. And, as we know, rape isn’t really about sex, it’s about power and control. And in this instance, it’s about an attempt to exert power over vulnerable guests. It’s about fear of the other that leads to violence. It’s about “defending our culture” from outsiders. 

Incidentally, I don’t want to gloss over Lot’s horrific behavior in the 19th chapter of Genesis. I’m still salty that he’s never called out for his sin (see what I did there?). When the mob arrives at his doorstep, asking him to sacrifice the guests to the rapacious crowd, Lot attempts to protect them by offering up his daughters instead. I know. It’s awful. There’s nothing I can say to redeem his actions here. 

The men of Sodom are angry at Lot for another reason, though. They say, “Who does this immigrant think he is, judging us? Do what we say or we’re gonna hurt you worse than we planned on hurting them.” In other words, “Don’t forget, Lot. You’re an outsider, too. And we don’t like outsiders around here. Go back where you came from.” 

There is a broad consensus among biblical scholars that the sins of Sodom were inhospitality and arrogance. These men thought they were better than everyone else around them, especially foreigners. And rather than welcoming the strangers in their midst, rather than seeing travelers as neighbors imbued with the image of God, they saw them as threats. They labeled them “problem” and dehumanized them. In their fear and loathing, they lashed out in a show of dominance and with threats of violence. 

There’s nothing uplifting about the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. It’s a sad, scary story. Lot begged God to save the city, if he could only find 10 decent people there. 

In the end, he couldn’t save them. They were too far gone. 

It’s not an uplifting story. It’s a cautionary tale. A tale about what can happen when a group of people listen to the wrong stories for too long. A reminder that our sacred stories compel us to live lives rooted in hospitality, bravery, compassion, and respect for all our neighbors. 

It’s up to us to stand up for kindness and decency. It’s up to us to look around and see who is being left out or is at risk, and make sure they’re taken care of. And let’s promise to do it in a less problematic way than Lot did, okay? 

We have our sacred stories of neighboring to light the way and give us strength. 

When the voices of fear and hate are loud, we give thanks for our alternative narratives of love and care. May we never stop telling the stories. And may we never stop listening with open hearts. 

NOTES:

[1] https://www.joachimprinz.com/civilrights.htm