“One Vision: Light and Lady Wisdom”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31 and John 1:1-4

June 14, 2026

Ancient Stories: Amplified is our theme for summer worship. Each week we’re exploring a different ancient text from the Bible that might make you walk away singing or humming a more modern tune. We started out with a little Bowie from the early 70s and turned the corner into the early 80s last week as we examined Abraham and Sarah’s lives “under pressure” with Queen and Bowie. 

This week we continue into the 80s with a Queen song that I think might be a deep cut? I’ve long been obsessed with their 1986 album A Kind of Magic, but when I consulted Wikipedia I discovered the album only peaked at 46 on the U.S. Billboard Charts. This is a real travesty, given that some of their best songs are on this strange album. It was also their final tour with Freddie Mercury - the last time he had the stamina needed to perform sold out stadiums before his decline and eventual death in 1991, caused by complications of HIV/AIDS. 

So I stand here today recognizing that most of you probably don’t even know the song One Vision by Queen. And I say to you: be not afraid. I love it enough for all of us. 

Last week we spent a good deal of time pondering the nature of God. Remember those three questions that I said you can use if you ever need to lead a Bible study? What does this scripture tell us about God? What does it tell us about humans? And what does it tell us about the relationship between God and humans? 

Those questions are still at the forefront as we dive into this week’s ancient texts from the book of Proverbs and Gospel of John. The text from John might be familiar to you because we read it almost every year on Christmas Eve. What does this scripture tell us about God? It feels like John is trying to tell us many things about God and his poetry made me think of this week’s song by Queen. 

John says: 

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.

And Freddie sings:  

One heart, one soul,

One mission. 

One flash of light,

Yeah, one God, one vision.

This God described by John may be ephemeral and mysterious, but there is a real sense of unity of the spirit here. God is one. God exists in union. God is a flash of light, never overcome by darkness. 

That one-ness of God from the beginning of time isn’t unique to John. We see it in today's passage from the Proverbs, too, as we read about Lady Wisdom. 

Wisdom in the Hebrew Bible is personified as a woman and Christians over the years have called her sophia, Greek for wisdom. 

Sophia stands at the city gate, in the crossroads. She’s down at Dara’s buying a lottery ticket and sitting on the patio at Aggieville Brewing Company having a drink. She’s directing pedestrian traffic on College Avenue right before a K-State Soccer Game and you might catch a glimpse of her this summer at Northview Pool. My guess is she can even be found in the ether - at those digital crossroads of Instagram and YouTube - crying out, making her voice known, shouting for our attention. 

Sophia is everywhere all at once. There’s nowhere we can go to get away from her. What’s so important that she has to yell for our attention?

She says:

To you, O people, I call, and my cry is to all that live.

The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago.

Ages ago I was set up, at the first,before the beginning of the earth.

When there were no depths I was brought forth…

When God established the heavens, I was there…

when God assigned to the sea its limit…

then I was beside her, like a master worker;

and I was daily God’s delight, rejoicing before them always,

rejoicing in their inhabited world and delighting in the human race.

Wait. What? She was there at the first? Before the earth? She was there when God made the heavens and the earth? How can Sophia be this important and most of us have hardly heard anything about her?

But there it is, in black and white. Sophia sounds an awful lot like the Word in the beginning of the Gospel of John, doesn’t she? “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God….” One light. One vision. 

I remember when I first learned about Sophia in seminary and my thought was, “Wait. Is there a fourth person in the Trinity? Why has no one ever told me about this before???”

Theologians haven’t been quite sure what to do with Sophia. Some have equated her with the second person of the Trinity: Christ. Since the description of her is so much like the description of the Word made flesh in John 1, the idea is that Sophia and the Word are the same. They are the experience of God that came to earth in human form as Jesus. That Christ Force that moved into the neighborhood as an infant human, grew in wisdom and stature, spoke in parables, died at the hands of the Roman government, and somehow continued on in ways we can scarcely comprehend. 

Christ, Sophia, the Word made incarnate in Jesus. And for those paying attention to gender, yes, this means that our tradition holds that Christ is both masculine (the Logos, the Word) and feminine (Sophia, Wisdom). 

Others have equated Sophia with the Holy Spirit, who has long been understood as feminine and not just in fringe parts of Christianity. In fact, one of the earliest writings about the Trinity doesn’t mention “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Instead, Theophilus of Antioch, writing in the first century, refers to the Trinity as God, the Logos (Christ), and Sophia (Wisdom). [1]

So is Sophia the Holy Spirit? Or is she the feminine aspect of Christ? Or a fourth part of the Trinity? Or something else entirely?

We don’t know. 

Now you might be thinking, “Okay, preacher. This might help me when I’m watching Jeopardy but what does it have to do with my faith life?”

Well - everything, really. 

Because this confusion, this confounding, this not knowing is at the core of what it means to be followers of Jesus. Part of the good news of the Christian Trinity is that this weird and mind-blowing concept invites us into communion with a God that defies explanation. A God that refuses to be contained in a neat-and-tidy-box. A God who is beyond our wildest imaginings. 

I went through a very long period where the Trinity made me angry. I even wondered if I could still be a Christian because I didn’t believe in the Trinity. Newsflash: you CAN still be a Christian without believing in the Trinity. I know we have plenty of faithful non-Trinitarian Christians in our congregation. 

The Trinity made me uncomfortable because it felt too constricted. It felt like someone was trying to tell me, “Here. THIS is the way God is: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. That’s it.”

And when I listened to people try to explain all the ins-and-outs of how one person can somehow be three but also still just one, my head was spinning and I thought, “This just doesn’t make sense. At all. This can’t be it. God’s got to be bigger than this.”

Over time, the Trinity began to mean something else to me. These days, it feels more like an invitation than a doctrine. Sophia standing there in the street, beckoning, inviting us to step into a more expansive vision of the Divine that defies our definitions. 

One heart, one soul,

One mission. 

One flash of light,

Yeah, one God, one vision.

Perhaps the puzzle of the Trinity isn’t meant to be solved at all. Perhaps it stands there, like Sophia at the crossroads, as a testament to the vast, inexplicable nature of the Holy. Perhaps Sophia reminds us that it is wise, indeed, to hold onto our convictions with a lighter touch, and that our Stillspeaking God created us with open hearts and minds, ready to learn and grow.

“But how can we have a relationship with something we don’t understand?” you might be wondering. 

Well, we all have relationships with people and things we don’t understand every single day, don’t we? I don’t understand how my voice is amplified so that you all can hear it, or how my image is floating through the ether to those of you on Zoom. I surely don’t understand how my car or phone work, but I use them every single day. 

And none of us can truly understand the people we love. Even when we know them well, we can’t ever truly know them fully. Understanding someone is not necessarily a prerequisite for being in relationship with them or even loving them. Those of us who are cisgender, for example, can love and appreciate our nonbinary and transgender friends without needing to fully understand their experience. We don’t have to understand someone in order to fully love and respect them. Those of us who are white can listen to the experiences of our Black and brown friends when they explain what it’s like to live alongside the evil of white supremacy. We don’t have to have first-hand experience to believe it’s a problem. 

The same must be true for the Holy. Though the experience of God might feel a bit like trying to catch a cloud in a jar, we can still be in relationship with the One who calls the worlds into being, stands at the crossroads proclaiming the goodness of creation, comes to us in human form, and is present in each and every holy breath we take. 

This is what Sophia testifies to. Wisdom says that she was with God before the beginning and that they delighted in one another, rejoicing always, and rejoicing in the earth as it was being formed, and delighting in the human race.

Sometimes, prayer - sometimes, our relationship with God - sometimes, our faith - is not at all about having the answers. Sometimes it is simply about being aware of God’s gentle, loving gaze. Sophia is there delighting in us. Like a mother whose eyes sparkle every time her child walks into the room. Like a dog who leaps for joy when her humans come home from a trip. Like a tree that offers shade on a hot day and the sun that kisses our cheeks.

The God who we call Father, Mother, Holy Parent; Wisdom, Sophia; the Word, Christ, Logos; Holy Spirit, Paraclete, Advocate, Comforter delights in us. 

Thanks be to God. 

NOTES

[1] https://www.encyclopedia.com/religion/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/theophilus-antioch 

“Under Pressure: Blessed”

Acts 2:1-21

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS

May 24, 2026 - Pentecost

If you were with us last week at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship, you already know that our theme for our summer shared worship services is “Ch-ch-ch-changes,” inspired by the 1972 hit single by David Bowie. Taking our cue from Bowie, we’ve decided to go on a whole rock journey this summer with our series: Ancient Stories Amplified. Each week we’ll explore an ancient story from scripture that might make you hum a tune from more recent decades. This week we’re starting strong with one of the oldest stories in our sacred texts - the story of Abraham and Sarah. 

I’ll go out on a limb and guess that most of us here haven’t seen the music video for Bowie and Queen’s Under Pressure. Despite growing up in the heyday of MTV, I somehow hadn’t ever seen it until this week either. In the video, Freddie and the guys are nowhere to be seen. Instead, it’s a montage of footage that does what true art does best: evokes a feeling. 

In this case, it feels like you’re in a pressure-cooker. Crowds hurrying, explosions of every kind interspersed with creepy black and white film footage from the 20s. It’s four minutes of intensity, evoking exactly what Bowie and Queen were painting with the words and music of the song: a sense of relentless stress, confusion, longing, and - well - pressure. 

While these modern images would be unrecognizable to any of the ancients who stepped into a time machine, they certainly would have been familiar with the emotions elicited. Even a quick read through Abraham and Sarah’s journey in the book of Genesis calls forth similar reactions: a sense of relentless stress, confusion, longing, and pressure. 

Abraham and Sarah’s journey was filled with pressure points. For starters, they were always on the move. Picking up and going from one place to another, sometimes at great distances. Almost on a whim, they left their whole life behind - more than once. The pressure that built as they made their way through life is palpable, sometimes resulting in horrific behavior. Like when Abraham uses Sarah to curry favor with high-ranking officials. Immigrating to a new place, he worries that if the locals know he’s married to the beautiful Sarah, he’ll be killed so the local ruler can lay claim to her. So he pretends she’s his sister and sells her off to the highest bidder to ingratiate himself to the higher ups. Desperation leads to some truly disgusting choices in this story - lives lived under pressure. 

Or the relentless pressure and confusion Abraham and Sarah felt about their legacy. Early on, God promises that his progeny will be as numerous as the stars in heaven. But the couple grows older and no children have appeared. They start to wonder and worry how this legacy will come to be. And so Sarah tells Abraham to sleep with her servant, Hagar, thinking perhaps the inheritance will come through Hagar instead. In this sad, sad story, Hagar is used and abused. She surely had no choice in the matter, but became pregnant. Sarah, filled with jealousy, begins to treat her horribly (despite the fact that this was her idea in the first place). Hagar eventually runs away with her child, then comes back, then is later sent away again by Sarah after her own son is born. Again, pressure leads people to act in egregious ways. It’s enough to make you wonder just what, exactly, some Christians are talking about when they try to hold up “Biblical family values” as a goal. 

To enter this pressure-cooker world of Abraham and Sarah is to enter a mythic tale. If you try to understand it as something that “really happened” you’ll get bogged down in the details. But if we can engage with it instead as an ancient piece of folk wisdom passed down from generation to generation, we will find richness worth exploring.

This is the story of ancient people - not all that different from you and me - struggling for meaning amidst the pressure-cooker of life. While waking up each and every day to milk the cows, pull the weeds, make the bread, nurse the children, these ancient folks still managed to grapple with the same big questions we have today: where did we come from, exactly? What is our place in the world? And what is our relationship with this mysterious entity we call God? 

If you’ve ever felt like you don’t quite have a grasp on who God is, perhaps you’ll feel better when you read a Bible story like the one we heard today. Because God is a nebulous character in these ancient stories. In these early chapters of Genesis, this God is tightly-bonded to Abraham and Sarah, but it’s hard to discern much else about God from these early stories. Perhaps this is fitting for a God called YHWH, which sounds like breath itself. YHWH - the sound of a breath in and out again - as close as the air we breathe but always seemingly slipping through our fingers. Defining this YHWH is about as easy as catching a cloud. 

It’s not even clear where or who exactly YHWH is in today’s passage. We are told Abraham is at his home by the oaks of Mamre, a place where he also built an altar to his God. The story says the Lord (YHWH) appeared to him and then mentions three men who appeared to him. Are these three men also YHWH? It seems so. Odd because how can God be contained fully in the bodies of three normal-looking men? We’re not told. But since YHWH speaks to Abraham and Sarah several times in this story, it seems God is somehow speaking through the men. They aren’t messengers, exactly, they seem to be YHWH themselves. Strange. Are these men, men? Or God? It’s a bit like a mirage - look at it one way and you see one thing, blink and look again and the image has shifted. 

A wise pastor once told me that the best questions we can ask when looking at any scripture are these: What does this tell us about God? What does it tell us about humans? And what does it tell us about the relationship between God and humans? 

Those are great questions, aren’t they? You can apply them to basically any story from the Bible. If you’re ever asked to lead a Bible study, those are basically the only questions you need.

What does this tell us about God? What does it tell us about humans? And what does it tell us about the relationship between God and humans? 

As nebulous and shape-shifty as God seems in Genesis, there are some things we can learn about the relationship between YHWH and humanity in this old, old story. 

The people experienced God as deeply invested in and involved in their lives. God seems to care deeply about what happens to Abraham and Sarah and their kin. God tells them where to go, what to do, and seems to have concrete desires for how their lives will unfold. God is not far away. God is near, speaking to them directly in their daily lives. In this story, it’s fascinating how close God is to them. When the strangers arrive at Abraham’s home, they ask about his wife Sarah. They already know who she is. And then Sarah stands nearby, overhearing the promise that she will bear a child, she laughs, wondering how this is possible since she and her husband are so old. YHWH seems to hear her very thoughts and responds to them asking, “Why did Sarah laugh? Doesn’t she know nothing is impossible with God?”

Sarah, out of embarrassment or politeness, tries to cover up her laughter. “I didn’t laugh,” she insists. But YHWH knows better - perhaps better than she even knows herself: “Yes, you did.”

This vision of our cloud-like God may or may not match up with how you’ve experienced God. There are so many different depictions of the divine in our ancient scriptures - it seems safe to say we’ll never fully understand the Holy on this side of reality. But whether this nearby, invested, meddling God sounds familiar to you or not, we can surely all identify what it’s like to turn to God - to reach out and try to hold onto that cloud - when we are under pressure. 

Last month, I asked for questions about anything related to our faith. One of the questions was this: “Does God want us to be happy? Or is this the wrong question?”

When it comes to our faith, I don’t think there are any wrong questions. I think God welcomes them all. And I think Genesis 18 would answer this question - does God want us to be happy? - in the affirmative. God is present throughout their lives, moving in the background, clearing pathways, pointing them towards a fuller, richer life. 

“Happy” might not quite be the right word for what God desired for them. You know, in the Psalms, “happy” appears over and over again. In some translations, though, it says “blessed” instead. 

In fact, the very first word in the Psalms is happy/blessed. From Psalm 1

Happy (blessed) are those

    who do not follow the advice of the wicked

or take the path that sinners tread

    or sit in the seat of scoffers,

but their delight is in the law of the Lord,

    and on his law they meditate day and night.

They are like trees

    planted by streams of water,

which yield their fruit in its season,

    and their leaves do not wither.

In all that they do, they prosper.

I think what I like about “blessed” is that it’s a relational word. Happy is something you can be on your own. Blessed is something you can only be when in relationship with another. Happy is about me. Blessed is about us. 

We may not always be happy - Abraham and Sarah certainly weren’t. But despite their failures and flaws, their fears and flailings, they were blessed. They were held in reverence by a God who wanted the very best for them. Created in the image of love to be a light to others. Blessed to be a blessing. As it was for them, may it be for us. Amen. 

“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.