“In God we live and move and have our being.”

Acts 17:22-31

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

May 3, 2026

If my preaching professor were here, I’d be squirming right now because what I’m about to preach isn’t really a sermon at all. Dr. Allen taught us to preach using a 27 step document (I’m not kidding) that involves a deep, deep dive into the world of the Biblical text. He set a high bar, so I just want to acknowledge that if he were here today, he wouldn’t think what you’re about to hear is a sermon. There is so much historical context that I could give you about today’s passage from Acts, and we’re not going to do any of it. With apologies to Dr. Allen. Maybe another time. 

What you’re going to get, instead, is testimony: the ancient Christian practice of sharing one’s experience of God. 

This one line from Paul’s interaction with the Athenians has always captivated me: “In God we live and move and have our being.” 

For at least 25 years or so, my “truest thing” about God is that God is always present. God is with us, in us, around us at all moments, whether we realize it or not. I believe we are “living and moving and having our being” within this Great Love-Force. Sometimes we even seem to remember that’s true. 

Actively remembering this reality is the best way I can think of to define prayer. I think of prayer as intentionally reorienting ourselves to God’s presence. 

Although I am a person who loves words, I find that my most powerful prayer practices are wordless. For me, it’s often more about cultivating an image, color, sensation and focusing my attention there. Over the years, several of these images have become go-tos. And I want to share some of those with you today. 

Sing along with me if you know this song: “He’s got the whole world in his hands. He’s got the whole wide world in his hands. He’s got the whole world in his hands. He’s got the whole world in his hands.”

When I feel overwhelmed or weary - when things seem too big, I close my eyes and imagine God having hands big enough to hold me. I always see them like this (hands cupped) and I imagine myself climbing up inside of them like a baby or a tiny kitten. I curl up and rest there. 

“In God we live and move and have our being.” 

That feeling of smallness coupled with safety comes to me in another image I have for the Divine. God is like an ocean to me. 

Perfect, warm day. Sun hiding behind a big fluffy white cloud so I won’t get sunburned. I am a ways out from the shoreline, beyond where the waves break, and I am floating. Above me is sky, below me is water, and the horizon stretches forever. Sometimes I lie on my back and let the water support my entire being. Sometimes I bob along with just my head and shoulders out - looking towards the horizon. The water is warm. I don’t have to expend any effort. I am held within the vastness of safety and care. 

“In God we live and move and have our being.” 

Speaking of floating and water. Sometimes I orient myself towards God by thinking of a river or stream. I’d like to say this one is a beautiful crisp and clear mountain stream, but I grew up on the banks of the Muddy Missouri. The water isn’t clear, but it sure is powerful. From time to time you will see something huge like an enormous branch or log floating past in the murky green water.

The water looks like still glass but when you see something floating, you can tell it’s actually moving rapidly. I think about what it would be like to be a log like that. Held in the current, floating along wherever God sends me, still yet moving, active yet serene. Moving as a part of something bigger into the future together. 

“In God we live and move and have our being.” 

Several of my favorite images for God have come to me during spiritual direction sessions and this is one of them: God on the Grandmother bench. I imagine myself sitting on a bench in a park somewhere. I always see this from the back of the bench in my mind. I’m there with an older woman, a grandmother type. We sit and talk. She counsels me. She listens to my worries and fears. She celebrates my joys. And when we run out of words, I lean my head over onto her shoulder and rest. We don’t even need to talk. We just sit together on the bench and I feel her love. 

“In God we live and move and have our being.” 

The final one I already gave away a bit to the kids earlier. This is probably the prayer I use when I’m feeling totally overwhelmed or wiped out. When I don’t even know what I need. When I really don’t even know where to start. When I can’t see the next step clearly. I reorient myself towards God by covering myself entirely in a favorite blanket. (BLANKET) And I do mean entirely. I cover myself up all the way over my head. I am totally cocooned. I sometimes imagine the blanket is God’s wing and I’m sheltered like a baby bird. Safe. Warm. Held. Waiting for God to show up and transform me. Or maybe just give me a place to rest until I feel like I can peek my head out again.

“In God we live and move and have our being.” 

God of blankets and benches, oceans and rivers, we give you thanks that you are always with us, surrounding us in your eternal love and care. Help us to remember to turn to you for strength, wisdom, and guidance. Help us to re-orient our lives in such a way that our hearts are tuned to yours, working for your justice, your peace, your shalom in our own little corners of the world. We give thanks that you truly hold the whole world in your hands. We are grateful that we live and move and have our being within your great circle of love. Amen.