“Forward and back and everywhere in between”

Genesis 2: 4b-15

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Manhattan 

May 31, 2026

There are moments in each of our lives, I suppose, where we hear a familiar text in a new way. Perhaps a song we’ve heard a hundred times - only we suddenly realize we’d heard a lyric wrong before, and we laugh at our silliness when we realize it. Or a poem that we heard as a child - but at a different stage in our life, we understand it in a new way. Or an old, old story that we thought we knew inside and out - only to discover there are details we’ve never quite noticed before. 

I had a moment like this in the sanctuary of a big, beautiful church in downtown Denver. I was there for the Festival of Homiletics, which is just a fancy name for one of the nerdiest gatherings you’ve ever seen. Hundreds of preachers from all over the country, together for a week to do nothing but listen to good preaching, and hear lectures about good preaching, and maybe sing some hymns during the breaks. 

The text for the day was the one we just heard from the second chapter of Genesis. The second of two creation myths in the Hebrew Bible. This isn’t the one where God creates the earth in seven days - this is the other story. The one focuses on how humans entered the story, first with an earth creature who was all alone - then the Creator saw improvements could be made, and provided animals to keep it company. But the earth creature still seemed to be missing something - a partner to journey through life. And so the Creator put the earth creature into a deep sleep and opened up its belly, drawing forth one of its ribs. The rib was used to make another earth creature, a companion for the first. 

Sitting in that Denver church, I heard something in this ancient story I’d never heard before: the first earth creature gave birth to the second when the Creator made an incision in its abdomen and pulled forth a new life from its belly. To my ears, as a parent who had given birth in a surgical suite under a knife, this sounded like a birth I knew intimately. It sounded very much like a c-section. How had I never noticed this before? 

There it was, plain as day: the creator put the first earth creature into a deep sleep, just like the anesthesiologist had come to my rescue after 30+ hours of labor, offering medicine that would enable my body to withstand a surgical birth. Then the creator made some kind of incision and pulled forth a rib that was fashioned into another human - just like that incredible surgeon came to our aid when my baby’s life was in danger, waking to a phone call in the middle of the night and rushing to the hospital, to expertly make an incision in my abdomen and pull forth my sweet child. 

I saw myself in this foundational story in a way I never had before. I thought, “Hey, this sounds just like a c-section! I know what that’s like!” Once again, I was filled with gratitude for the generations of scientists and midwives and doctors who had studied and pushed the boundaries of human knowledge in ways that make childbirth safer for parents and children. It felt really beautiful to see a modern medical marvel overlaid on an ancient creation myth in that way, like time had the ability to fold in on itself, bringing all things together. 

If you’ve ever been present at a birth or a death, you may be familiar with this sense of time folding in on itself. Strange things happen to time in these moments of human transition. Hours become minutes, seconds become days. There’s an otherworldly sense to these sacred moments when life begins and ends. It’s as if we get pulled outside the regular timeline and into something beyond our understanding. 

Even in births less traumatic than the one I experienced, there is often a sense that death is near. And when a person is nearing death, you can also sense a feeling of birth hovering around the deathbed. A sense that they are being born anew into something we can scarcely understand. The two bookends of life are intertwined. They are, of course, the only two things every living creature has in common - a beginning and end, birth and death. 

In both death and birth, we speak of “transition.” At the deathbed, you sometimes hear, “he’s making the transition now, the end is near.” And when someone is giving birth, there is a phase called “transition” when contractions come fast and furious. In transition emotions and exhaustion can feel overwhelming as the body makes final preparations to bring a new life into the world. 

These times of transition - in birth and death - are often not smooth and linear. There are ups and downs, fits and starts, pauses in progression, and frustration that we can’t control the pace. 

For all our advances in medicine, there are still parts of birth and death that can feel chaotic, mysterious, and very much outside of our control. And this is true not only for physical births and deaths, but for transitions of all kinds: it turns out that when families, communities, societies make huge changes it can also feel chaotic, mysterious, and very much outside our control. Living through a period when so many foundational things seem to be ending - or at least changing beyond recognition - can feel deeply unsettling. Birthing new ways of being, creating new systems, and holding on for dear life in periods of rapid change is incredibly difficult labor. 

My sense is, whenever we humans go through a period of rapid and immense change, we can feel like we’re the only people who have ever lived through a transition like this. And while it’s true that there has never been a moment in history precisely like the one we’re in now, there have always been times of rapid change. Periods of rapid unraveling and breathtaking progress..

Of course, like birth and death, those times of unraveling and progress are often linked together in a confusing, awe-inspiring jumble. 

Take, for example, the period of immense technological change in 19th century Europe. With advances in technology, came huge transitions in how and where people lived and worked. People moved from farms to growing cities to work in factories, where machines changed the rhythms of daily labor. Railroads, steam power, and mass production transformed travel and trade, while rapid urban growth created both new opportunities and horrific living and working conditions. Progress and disintegration - birth and death - all wrapped up together. 

In her book about medical advances in the 19th century, historian Lindsey Fitzharris describes these transitions through the lens of one man’s life and work. [1] Joseph Lister, a British medical doctor and surgical pioneer, was born to a Quaker family in a quiet village outside of London in 1827. He is best remembered as one of the pioneers of germ theory and antisepsis: figuring out how infection takes hold and spreads, and, more importantly, how to create more sterile environments that keep infection away. 

Before the mid-1800s, surgery was a horrific ordeal. I’ll spare you the graphic details, but just know that there was no anesthesia. In the 1840s, doctors in the U.S. began experimenting with ether as a surgical tool. By 1847, news had traveled across the Atlantic and the esteemed surgeon Robert Liston agreed to try this newfangled anesthesia in his next surgery. Crowds gathered to observe the surgery that day in London and the young Joseph Lister was among them, watching a  new era be born. 

You might think that the advent of anesthesia was a huge medical advancement. It was. But, like we said earlier, progress is rarely linear and birth and death are often co-mingled. With anesthesia, the number of surgeries in urban areas like London skyrocketed. Surgeons were able to try new and complex procedures they never would have attempted without it. The entire practice of surgery became a totally new thing. 

But along with these leaps forward came significant setbacks. Because surgeons in the 19th century mostly had no idea about things we take for granted like bacteria and basic sanitation, an increase in the number of surgeries being performed meant an increase in the number of people dying from post-surgery infections. Despite the advance of anesthesia (or because of it, really), surgery became significantly MORE dangerous for several decades. 

Fortunately, right as this was happening, scientists and doctors all over Europe were testing theories that would eventually lead to breakthroughs in how we understand infectious disease. It wasn’t just Joseph Lister, of course. Robert Koch with his petri dishes in Berlin, Ignaz Semmelweis in the maternity wards of Vienna, John Snow with his “ghost map” of cholera in London, and Agostino Bassi with his silkworms in Lombardy - they were all asking questions that would eventually transform our daily lives. 

Eventually, Joseph Lister figured out that he could keep infection at bay after a surgery by creating a more sterile environment. His ideas didn’t immediately take the world by storm. There were many naysayers who questioned his theories, mostly because believing them would mean all their own discoveries no longer made sense. 

But Lister persevered, carefully revising his techniques and teaching young medical students his ways. Eventually, his disciples saw with their own eyes that Lister’s antiseptic methods saved lives. In turn, they took his ideas wherever they went, showing other surgeons and spreading antiseptic advances far and wide. It took decades, but by the end of the 19th century, surgeons were washing their hands, sterilizing their tools, and treating wounds with antiseptics that kept infection at bay. 

Amidst all the death, a new world was born. 

Nothing about this was simple or linear. The cost was great - both in terms of human life lost as discoveries were made and in relationships that were fractured as scientists argued with each other about these rapid paradigm shifts. But on the other side of all the pain was a world that would have been unrecognizable to the people sitting in that operating theater in London in 1847. 

A world where minor (and major) maladies were healed in clean surgical environments and further advances were made as the art of surgery expanded further and further. I am the beneficiary of this great transition, as are many of you. Without these surgical pioneers, I would have never been able to give birth to my son through a safe surgical process. Heart surgery, brain surgery, gastric bypass, appendectomies, colon resection, lung transplants, gall bladder removal, dental surgery - the list goes on and on and on. 

This summer as we explore the theme of changes together, we pause and remember that huge transitions are rarely neat and tidy. It’s forward and back and onward and sideways and loop-de-loops and everything in between as we humans labor through periods of decay and moments of welcoming new birth. 

How can we, as people living through a period of great change, pay attention to the births and rebirths taking place every day in the world around us? They’re happening in our homes, our schools, our communities, our nation, our world. They may arrive in a quiet whisper or a chaotic whirlwind. We may welcome these changes or be dragged kicking and screaming alongside. Regardless, birth still arrives. Today and every day. 

May we have the wisdom to move with intention through our shared transitions - seeking the wisdom of the Spirit of Love who guides us in all things -  forward and back and everywhere in between. 

NOTES:

[1] Book: The Butchering Art by Lindsay Fitzharris. 

“Birthday Gifts”

Acts 2:1-21

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

May 24, 2026 - Pentecost

Today is someone’s birthday. Do you know who?

….. The Church! That’s right. Pentecost is often called “the birthday of the Church” because it’s when the early followers of Jesus began to prophesy and heal and teach and invite others to join them in following in the Way. 

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to the Church. Happy birthday to you.”

Like any good party guest, God showed up on Pentecost with a gift. It wasn’t exactly a surprise because Jesus had been telling his friends for a long time that this gift was coming. But it did arrive with a bang. Or, more precisely, with a whoosh of wind and a crackle of flame. You may already know what the gift was.…… That’s right. The Holy Spirit. 

If you asked most people to name important Christian holidays, what do you think they’d list? Christmas? Easter? I’m not sure if Pentecost would get a mention from the general public. But it is an incredibly important holiday in our tradition. Without Pentecost, we wouldn’t be here today. We might not even know the story of Jesus’s life and ministry, right? Without the early followers of Jesus carrying on his story, telling it to others over and over again, and inviting people to follow the Way, none of the Christian Scriptures would exist at all. It could have all just been a blip. 

One guy living in a small corner of the world, two thousand years ago. He had some local notoriety. He briefly captured the attention of the Empire. He was executed, as so many criminals were. His followers said something miraculous happened and he was resurrected from the dead. Forty days later he floated up into the heavens. And….that would be it. That would be the end of the story. A fascinating story. Inspiring to those who knew and loved him. But a story with a beginning, middle, and end. A one and done. 

Pentecost is what enables the story to continue. Pentecost is when the early followers of Jesus realized God was still speaking. This wasn’t a one and done. And they were charged with the task of looking forward - not just back. 

Now it might surprise you to read this text from the Book of Acts and see how it starts: “When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place.” 

If this is the first Pentecost, why is the author of Acts talking about it like it was an already-established holiday? 

Those early followers of Jesus were Jewish, just like Jesus. And although they wouldn’t have called it Pentecost, they would have been celebrating a holiday at that time: in Hebrew, Shavuot. In English, “weeks.” Called that because it concluded the “week of weeks” after Passover. Seven weeks of seven days each gives us 49 days, right? A week of weeks. And the day after would be the 50th day, aka Pentecost the 50th day. 

Y’all are gonna be ready for Jeopardy after this sermon, I tell ya. 

Jewish Biblical scholar Amy Robertson notes the parallels between this season of the year in Judaism and Christianity. The Jewish season is bookended by two of the three great ancient pilgrimage festivals: Passover, which commemorates the liberation of the ancient Hebrew people from slavery in Egypt and Shavuot, when the Jews received the gift of the Law, the Torah, on Mount Sinai. 

Dr. Robertson says that these two holidays encapsulate something beautiful about our relationship with the divine. On Passover, there is a one-time grand, spectacular, liberatory event. God intercedes in human history in a shocking, powerful way. It isn’t earned, it’s just grace upon surprising grace. 

Robertson says that in our lives, we can have these grand one-time experiences in any relationship. They can be overwhelming in their intensity. But if they’re just a one-time thing, they don’t really change anything in our lives long-term. They’re just a one-and-done. 

Shavuot, when the Law was given, comes along fifty long days later as the deepening of this experience. Shavuot is when we start to see that this liberating God is not just a single event. Instead, God is inviting us into a deeper relationship. A relationship that won’t just be a showering of grace-filled gifts. Yes, God liberates on Pentecost, but Shavuot helps us realize this is not a one–way relationship. Instead, the God of liberation invites us into a sustained covenant that comes with structure, demands, and ongoing transformation. 

I really have to thank Dr. Robertson for fleshing this out because it’s made me see our parallel holiday, Pentecost, in new and fresh ways. 

The Jewish holiday of Passover runs parallel to the Christian holiday of Easter. Both call our attention to God powerfully seeking liberation for oppressed people. The Hebrew people are freed from slavery in Egypt. Jesus stands up to Empire on behalf of the marginalized and is murdered - yet God breaks into human history through Christ’s resurrection and says “this is not the end,” “death does not have the final say.”

The Jewish holiday of Shavuot runs parallel to the Christian holiday of Passover. Unlike the earlier holidays which are pure gifts of grace, totally unearned - these two holidays move us into a place of deeper commitment. An understanding that our God is not just a one-time-showstopping-miracle type. Our God is one who continues to speak and continues to call us into covenant relationship. Our God bestows upon her people gifts for the long-haul: the Law, given to draw the people together and bind them in commitment to each other….but also to call them outside of themselves, lighting up their path and empowering them to be a “light to the nations”-  showing and inspiring others how to live. 

And now, a couple thousand years later, those Jewish followers of a Jewish teacher are together in one place for the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, celebrating the gift of the Law. And they receive another gift, the gift of the Holy Spirit. Also given to draw the people together, providing comfort in their time of uncertainty and grief. But also meant to call them outside of themselves - urging them to celebrate diversity as they begin to prophesy in many languages and connect with people from all over the world. Also meant to light up their path and show them how to be a “light to the nations” - sharing the good news and inspiring others to live with greater intention and love for all of humanity. 

I want to be careful here and make something very clear: God didn’t give this new gift because it was better than previous gifts given. Christianity is not some kind of “new and improved Judaism 2.0.”Sadly, many in the Church have interpreted the synchronicity of these holy days ways which have led to horrific conflict and violence over the centuries - claiming the “new” way is the only valid one.

But God is big enough for multiple pathways and stories. Our two faiths are deeply intertwined, but distinct. Both valid, beautiful ways that we humans reach out towards the divine. They don’t have to be in competition. They can compliment each other, both showing the miraculous dance between God and humanity. 

For me, the synchronicity between these two stories is a reminder that God has been speaking since the dawn of creation and is STILL speaking today. Whether you hear God on the mountaintop with Moses or in Jerusalem in the rush of wind, the point is that we LISTEN to the voice of our stillspeaking God and then ACT in loving, liberating ways. 

Traveling forward ANOTHER couple thousand years and here we are today. We continue to gather in one place again and again, just like the early followers of Jesus did. We continue to listen for the voice of our stillspeaking God. We continue to be called into action - working for more love and liberation in a hurting world. 

And so, as we celebrate the Church’s birthday, I’m taking inspiration from someone I know who has a social media ritual for their kids' birthdays. Every year, when their kid takes another trip around the sun, this mom posts a happy birthday message on social media to honor their child. But it’s not just a short-and-sweet message. It’s a whole long love note - capturing who their child is at this particular moment in time. She writes down all things her kid is into - favorite books, foods, hobbies, subjects in school. Sometimes she includes funny stories or quotes. She always takes time to say what she really admires about her kid and it’s so specific. Every time I see one of these posts, I think, wow, these are an incredible gift to her children. To be seen and known in this way. And to have it documented year after year. It’s lovely. 

Church, could we do something similar this morning? Could we take a moment to celebrate who the Church is called to be? And who it actually is in our world today? This might be the “big C” church universal or it might be more specific, intimate settings like congregations you’ve been a part of or even small groups within churches. The Church has done a lot of harm over the centuries. And, sadly, the Church is STILL doing harm today. At the same time, when the Church gets it right and actually lives into its call to love God and love our neighbor as ourselves - well, it’s a powerful and beautiful thing. And I think Pentecost is a great time to celebrate what is right with the Church.

Happy birthday to the Church. A community of flawed people where it’s okay to bring the fullness of yourself. This past Wednesday, many who showed up for our monthly Cabinet meeting on Zoom were tired. We checked in on each other. We acknowledged our weariness. We named that we probably weren’t going to be running at full strength and that that was okay. We said we’d be gentle with ourselves and each other. And we were. Thanks be to God. 

Happy birthday to the Church. A community of diverse people who are better because of that diversity. The glory of God is reflected in the uniqueness of every person. We affirm the quirkiness of individuals, the beauty of all kinds of family configurations. We know God loves beyond borders and shows us how to do the same. We believe we are stronger when we are led by people of every race, culture, nationality, age, family configuration, gender, gender expression, sexual orientation, physical or mental ability, and socio-economic status. 

Happy birthday to the Church. A community where people show up for each other and show up for strangers, too. Time and time again, I’ve watched you extend yourselves in lovingkindness to others in our community. Whether that’s by bringing a meal to someone who needs it or sending a text message to check in because you’ve missed seeing someone in the pews. Sometimes it looks like serving a hot meal at Common Table or a weekly shift at the Breadbasket. Always, it looks like the Holy Spirit, alive and well in our midst. 

As we move into our time of offering, do you have any birthday greetings you’d like to share with the Church? If so, now’s the time: as we prepare to offer our gifts of time, talent, and treasure, let’s also offer the gift of gratitude for the ways the Spirit continues to move through imperfect human institutions. 

“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. 

“Saul and Ananias”

Acts 9:1-19a

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

April 26, 2026

Several years ago, I found myself in a conference room on the K-State campus, meeting with a handful of Housing and Dining staff. They were in the midst of some controversy as a department because of strife between some Christian RAs were upset because they were being asked to create inclusive and welcoming spaces for LGBTQ+ students. But they didn’t want to. And then some other LGBTQ+ RAs were, of course, upset about it. 

The way it was communicated, over and over, was so puzzling to me. Because they kept referring to these two groups as the “Christians” and the “LGBTQ+ community.” After doing a little digging, I discovered that there didn’t seem to be any Christians in the LGBTQ+ camp and vice-versa. This was puzzling to me because, of course, there’s nothing inherently “Christian” about being inhospitable to LGBTQ people. And some of the most faithful Christians I’ve known have been LGBTQ. 

I recognize that I have spent a lot of time in Christian communities that aren’t exactly “the norm.” And so it’s always a bit shocking to me when I find myself in spaces with Christians who seem like they’re practicing a totally different religion under the same name. It’s disorienting and confusing at best. It can also be deeply troubling and angering. 

I try not to spend most of my time in this pulpit calling out badly-behaved Christians. I could easily fill 10-15 minutes every single week with that, if I wanted to. There have, of course, always been people who claim to follow Christ but appear to have not read their Bibles too closely. Instead of doing justice and loving mercy, they bully others and preach hate. It’s horrifying to see the ways so many of these so-called-Christian voices have been elevated over the past decade or so. When a sitting president who claims to be Christian gets mad at a Bishop because she calls for mercy, you know we’ve strayed from the Gospel. When a member of the president’s Cabinet openly prays for the violent destruction of our enemies, claiming they deserve no mercy, Jesus weeps. 

In this period of time when a horrifying number of White Christian Nationalists have taken center stage, one of the tropes that always comes as a shock to me is the Christian persecution complex. Despite having an inordinate amount of power, these Christian Nationalists frequently complain about being persecuted. Their fear of irrelevancy leads them to complain that they are victims of abuse. And so they lash out by trying to regain control: making laws that enshrine their own particular worldview, all in the name of religious freedom. They never quite seem to understand that religious freedom means we all get to believe what we want. It doesn’t mean you get to impose your own beliefs on other people. 

Reading today’s passage from Acts, I was reminded that there are historic reasons some Christians claim to be persecuted. (There are also, of course, some real political reasons that powerful people want to make Christians feel persecuted and scared. Fear is the driving force for authoritarian regimes. If you can make people scared, you can get them to do almost anything you want.)

But back to the scripture-based imperative for this persecution complex. Early followers of Jesus were, in fact, persecuted. They were a tiny, odd religious sect following a man who had been killed by the state. They were outsiders. Disempowered and often afraid. The Book of Acts tells us all about the struggles of the early church. You don’t get very far in Acts before Stephen is killed for his faith. Jesus followers were at odds with the dominant culture of the Empire and they also were, more and more, in conflict with Jewish leaders. In the Book of Acts alone, we read about the imprisonment or death of so many followers of Jesus: Stephen, Peter, Paul, James, John, Barnabas, Silas. They really were persecuted. Like, “thrown-in-jail, stoned, run-out-of-town, executed” persecuted. Not “somebody told me I have to treat everyone with respect and I don’t want to” persecuted. 

And so, it’s in this context of real, true persecution that we find Saul, “still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.” Saul at this point is a zealous Jew, not a Christian. And he is a persecutor of Christians. Again, actual persecution. He is so angry at followers of Jesus that he’s taken it upon himself to hunt them down, vigilante style and capture them. 

Can we pause for a moment to recognize how horrific this is? I feel like sometimes we kind of gloss over this bit: “Oh, yeah, Paul. He didn’t like Christians. But then he saw the light on the road to Damascus and started following Jesus.” We rush to the second part of the story without really sitting in the horror of the first part. 

This is a man who was actively hunting down people because he didn’t like their beliefs. To hear it told in this passage from Acts, it’s not like he had been drafted into some holy war army and was being forced to do this. He WANTED to go hunt down Christ-followers and arrest them. He took it upon himself to ask the authorities if he could go to Damascus so he could find them, abduct them, and bring them back to Jerusalem to be punished - maybe even killed. 

It’s awful, isn’t it? To be so filled with hate and fear of people who are different from you, that you’d hunt them down, capture them, and ruin or end their lives? 

When Saul has that blinded by the light moment on the road to Damascus, the voice of Jesus doesn’t say to him, “Saul, believe in me. Follow the Way.” At least not at first. Instead the voice of Jesus says, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” 

Jesus calls Saul away from this violent, vigilante life of persecution. This isn’t the Way, he says. Lay down your sword. Stop the violence. Turn away from the hate. Breathing threats and murder isn’t the way of Christ. 

This feels like an important bit of information about what it means to follow Jesus. Following Jesus doesn’t mean forcing your beliefs on others through violence. It doesn’t mean ruining other people’s lives just because they’re different from you. It turns out that bombing abortion clinics isn’t life-giving. Bullying transgender people doesn’t make you more like Christ. And kidnapping brown people while they’re running errands or driving to work or picking their kids up at school doesn’t make anything safer for anyone. 

Following Jesus isn’t about hunting people down, threatening them, or being violent. Never has been. Never will be. 

This is probably not news to any of you. You probably wouldn’t be here today if you were confused on that point. And yet - it never hurts to say it out loud. Just so we’re clear. 

Lest you think today’s passage from Acts is all about confirming things you already knew to be true, let’s continue to the end of the passage, shall we? 

Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” He answered, “Here I am, Lord.” The Lord said to him, “Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul.

Ananias is not thrilled. Saul’s reputation precedes him and Ananias knows that he’s in town to persecute and detain all followers of Jesus. You can see why Ananias was skeptical about the instructions given. 

But the voice of Jesus clarifies, “He’ll be expecting you. He is praying right now and waiting for you to come. I have big plans for him. He’s going to spread the gospel far and wide.” 

Of all the confounding things about this story, there is perhaps nothing more surprising than this: Ananias goes to find Saul. He lays his hands upon him and says that he’s come to bestow the gift of the Holy Spirit upon him. Saul’s sight is restored. He gets up and is immediately baptized as a follower of Jesus. 

It is, of course, surprising that someone like Saul could make such an abrupt 180. But that’s not the only shocking thing happening here. What about Ananias? How many of us here, if told that someone who is known to be a violent persecutor, would go to them and welcome them into the fold? How many of us would be able to make space for someone so different from us - someone who had previously been a Christian Nationalist, for example? To affirm them, welcome them, believe they have the capacity to not only change but make meaningful contributions?

Much has been made of the miraculous change of Saul’s heart. And it is truly incredible. 

Not enough has been said about this quiet fact: it is much easier to do a 180 if you not only have something to turn away from but something to turn towards. It is easier to leave one life behind if you have another waiting for you. People are more likely to make concrete, positive, lasting changes when they are embraced by a community of support that cheers them on, holds them accountable, and believes in their capacity for growth. 

At times in our life, we, like Saul, will be called upon to radically reorient our lives. At other times, we’ll find ourselves more like Ananias, called upon to welcome and affirm those who are seeking transformation. 

None of it is easy. No one ever said following Jesus would be. 

May God bless us with the strength of the Spirit as we seek to walk in Christ’s ways of love. 

“Easter Dreams”

John 20:19-31

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

April 19, 2026

Whenever I start to wonder, “What REALLY happened at Easter?” I think about how the early church was described in the Book of Acts: Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. (Acts 4)

Sounds like a hippie commune, right? Something really unusual, surprising, and incredible must have happened after Jesus’s death…because only something life-altering and earth-shattering would convince a bunch of rational, everyday people to pool all of their possessions and live in a commune together. 

You don’t give up everything you own and join a commune if you’re a reasonable person. You don’t join a religious sect that is counter-cultural and frowned-upon if you’re a reasonable person. 

This is a fascinating thing about Christianity. Because you might look around this room today and think, “Well, this looks like a pretty reasonable group of folks.” 

But if you’re here, there has to be at least one small part of you that isn’t reasonable at all. Because there’s nothing reasonable about the Resurrection; nothing reasonable about following a guy who tells us that we have to lose our own lives to find them; nothing reasonable about continuing to read a book that’s thousands of years old and claim that our lives have been utterly transformed by a person we’ve never heard or seen. There’s nothing reasonable about that at all. 

Thomas – dear old Thomas. John tells us he’s known as “the Twin” which is what the name Thomas means. But we know him better as what? Doubting Thomas, that’s right. 

Thomas has been held up as a cautionary tale (“Don’t be like this guy!”) or lauded as a hero (“Thank God there was at least ONE reasonable person there to ask the sensible questions!)…but, as usual, I think it’s more complicated, right?

First of all, let’s give Thomas the benefit of a little bit of context. This is the third time in John’s gospel that Thomas speaks. He first comes on the scene in chapter 11. Jesus has just learned that his dear friend Lazarus has died. He wants to leave immediately for Judea so he can help his friend. The other disciples urge him to use caution – they worry that if they go back to Judea he will get hurt or killed. When it becomes apparent that Jesus is going, whether or not his friends decide to tag along, Thomas speaks up and says to the others, “Let’s go, too, so that we can die with Jesus.”

Wow. “Let’s go, too, so that we can die with Jesus.” Kinda makes you feel bad for thinking Thomas didn’t have enough faith, right? 

And then in chapter 14 Jesus says, “In my father’s house there are many rooms and I am going there to prepare a place for you.” This is a beautiful text – I read it at almost every funeral. Jesus is trying to comfort his friends, telling them “do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God. Believe also in me.” Thomas speaks up, saying, “Jesus, we don’t know where you’re going. How can we know the way?” And Jesus says, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”

Thomas. Faithful, strong, passionate, struggling, beloved Thomas. He is always following Jesus. He’s willing to follow him to death in Judea. He’s willing to follow him to this big house with many rooms, wherever-the-heck-it-is. He loves his friend and he’s willing to follow him wherever he leads. 

So it’s actually somewhat surprising that Thomas reacts the way he does when the others come to tell him that they’ve seen the Risen Christ. He scoffs, “Yeah, right. You saw Jesus. I’ll believe that when I see it with my own eyes.”

I wonder if Thomas felt a little hurt and left out. Here he is, the one who has been willing to follow Jesus wherever he leads and he missed the big show. Why did Jesus come to the others when Thomas wasn’t there? It hardly seems fair. 

And then there is, of course, the elephant in the room: these are perfectly reasonable questions to ask, right? I mean, dead people don’t get up and walk around. It’s a perfectly reasonable response. 

Bible scholar David Lose says that Thomas wasn’t a doubter as much as he was a realist. When Thomas demands to see Christ’s wounds, he’s not so much making a request as he is mocking his friends. He doesn’t actually expect these things to ever HAPPEN, mind, he’s just trying to point out how ridiculous their story is. [1] 

So when Christ shows up and turns his own words back on him and actually invites him to do the impossible….well, it’s one of those moments where the whole world just kind of falls away. Here we see it: two dear friends reunited in this strange and unbelievable way. Jesus could have scolded Thomas, but he doesn’t do that. Instead, he simply invites Thomas to experience the incredible – to see the wounds, to step into a new world where the impossible is the new normal. 

And Thomas, upon seeing Christ with his own eyes, says, quite simply, “My Lord and my God.”

Of all of the statements of faith that various people say when confronted with Jesus, there’s none more faithful than these astonished words breathed from Thomas’s lips. Thomas, the one we’ve labeled as a doubter, confesses that Christ is his Lord and his God.

Lose writes that what really happens in this moment is that Thomas’s very understanding of reality is shifted. His world expands and what he believes might be possible grows. Lose says, “This issue of having too small a vision of reality is what I find interesting. Because I also fall into a worldview governed by limitations and am tempted to call that ‘realism.’ Which is when I need to have the community remind me of a grander vision. A vision not defined by failure but possibility, not governed by scarcity but by abundance, not ruled by remembered offenses but set free by forgiveness and reconciliation.” [1] 

Like Thomas, we are often confronted by the reality that our vision is too small. Limited. Finite. 

Many of us look at the news and wonder, “How do things ever get any better? We seem to take one step forward and then forty five steps back.” Movement towards God’s vision of a Beloved Community certainly isn’t linear. And when we’re in the hard parts of the journey, it can feel downright impossible to imagine anything beyond what’s right in front of our faces. Like Thomas, we need to see it with our own eyes. Unlike Thomas, we aren’t typically visited by Jesus in the flesh walking among us. 

As many of you know, this church was founded by abolitionists who traveled west seeking liberation for enslaved Americans. Our church constitution was signed in 1856 - the ink barely dried before the Sacking of Lawrence and the Battle of Osawatomie. That same year, the popular anthem Ho for the Kansas Plains idealized the fight for freedom (and ignored the impact on the Native people who had already lived here for centuries):

Huzza for the prairies wide and free;

Ho! for the Kansas plains;

Where men shall live in liberty,

Free from a tyrant's chains. [2] 

This isn’t a song sung by reasonable people. Deeply faithful perhaps, but not reasonable. 

It can be easy to forget just how futile abolition seemed when our ancestors began dreaming of it. Case in point: when abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison began to publish The Liberator in 1831, he wasn’t even part of a movement. He was just a 25 year old with a printing press who insisted on being heard – hoping against hope that if he continued to shout his dream of a nation without slavery someone might listen to him.[3]  It was 32 long years before the Emancipation Proclamation was signed. 32 years. That is a long time to stay the course. But people like Garrison, and Angelina and Sarah Grimke, and Frederick Douglass, and Sojourner Truth dedicated their entire lives to this dream. They believed it was possible and they were undeterred by the voices of reason. They were governed by a vision “not defined by failure but possibility, not governed by scarcity but by abundance.” [1] 

And if they were able to dream those unreasonable dreams, then so are we. 

Because Easter is a time for dreaming. It is a time for putting away reason and flow-charts and models and statistical analysis and projections and data….not forever, but just for a time. 

Easter is a time to say to those reasonable voices inside our head, “Shhh. Quiet down for just a minute.” Easter is a time for dreaming. 

Easter is a time for opening ourselves to the possibility that things may go better than we had hoped, love may finally triumph over evil, rights may be made wrong, justice may finally roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. 

And Easter is a time for each of us to hear Christ’s invitation to be a part of the impossible. To reach out and touch his hands, his side. To know that the Spirit of the Living Christ is alive among us – even here – even now – and that we are still called to dream along with God. 

NOTES:

[1]  http://www.davidlose.net/2015/04/easter-2-b/

[2] http://www.calonsong.org/KansasSongs/HoForKansas.htm

[3] https://ffrf.org/publications/day/william-lloyd-garrison/