“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.