Stories grab our attention because they show us truths about ourselves that plain facts often miss. This afternoon marks the final performance of the McPherson Community Theater’s production of “Chicago” at the McPherson Opera House—a Jazz Age musical that’s entertained audiences for nearly fifty years. Today, we’ll explore how this Tony Award-winning show reveals timeless truths about human nature that connect with today’s scripture from Jeremiah.
“Chicago” tells the story of Roxie Hart, a housewife who murders her lover and lands in Cook County Jail alongside vaudeville star Velma Kelly, who killed both her husband and sister. These two women compete for fame and the services of Billy Flynn, a smooth-talking lawyer who transforms killers into celebrities through media manipulation. Playing Billy Flynn alongside this incredible cast, under the brilliant direction of our theater team, has given me first-hand experience of how this character twists facts to create whatever story helps his clients. One of the strengths of this show—brought to life by our amazing crew and talented performers—is in holding up a mirror to our own struggles with truth, showing us characters who reflect our tendency to reshape reality when it threatens our comfort.
Throughout our “Gospel on Stage and Screen” series, we’re discovering how God’s timeless message appears in unexpected places. Last week, Jeremiah’s potter and clay story connected with Chicago’s themes of transformation, highlighting the difference between real change that comes from God and the surface makeovers which the characters in Chicago attempt. Today, we’ll explore what happens when someone completely refuses that transformative process. In Chicago, we find echoes of Jeremiah’s burned scroll—both stories revealing what happens when truth challenges the comfortable stories we tell ourselves.
Chicago opens with “All That Jazz,” where Velma Kelly introduces us to a world that values performance over authenticity. This opening number captures a culture where entertainment matters more than honesty—something we all recognize in our social media world. In Jeremiah 36, God tells the prophet to write down every word God has spoken, creating a permanent record of truth. While Chicago’s characters reshape truth for personal benefit, God calls Jeremiah to record truth exactly as it stands, no matter who might be upset by it.
Jesus noticed this same preference for performance over authenticity when he saw religious people praying loudly on street corners where everyone could see them. Jesus basically said, “They’ve already gotten what they wanted—human applause.” Instead, he encouraged people to pray privately, where only God sees. Both Velma’s jazz-filled world and those street-corner performances show how we often prefer looking good to being good. The musical honestly portrays something we all do—present ourselves in ways that help us rather than reveal who we really are.
We see this self-serving storytelling when Roxie Hart performs “Funny Honey.” She quickly rewrites the story about her husband Amos when the first version doesn’t help. Within one song, she transforms him from loving supporter to convenient scapegoat. Chicago captures how we edit our stories when truth becomes inconvenient. In Jeremiah, King Jehoiakim sits comfortably by his winter fire while someone reads God’s scroll to him. Every few paragraphs, the king cuts off that section with a knife and tosses it into the flames. Piece by piece, he destroys the message rather than face its truth.
Peter faced this same temptation on the night Jesus was arrested. Three different people recognized Peter as one of Jesus’ followers, and three times Peter changed his story. First he simply denied knowing Jesus. Then he swore he didn’t know him. Finally, he even cursed to make his lie more believable. Like Roxie transforming Amos from supporter to scapegoat, Peter transformed himself from devoted follower to complete stranger. Both desperately rewrote their stories when truth threatened their safety. But here’s the beautiful difference—while Roxie’s lies lead her deeper into deception, Peter’s denial becomes a turning point. After the resurrection, Jesus meets Peter on the beach and asks him three times, “Do you love me?”—one question for each denial. Where Peter once cursed to distance himself from Jesus, he now affirms his love three times over. Sometimes our worst moments of denying truth become doorways to experiencing God’s grace.
The theme of control is at a high during the song “We Both Reached for the Gun,” where Billy Flynn literally puts words in Roxie’s mouth during a press conference. The staging shows her as a puppet while Billy pulls the strings. This scene reveals how skilled manipulators believe they can manage truth by controlling how it gets told. In a similar way, King Jehoiakim had his officials bring him God’s scroll, keeping his distance while still controlling what happened to the message.
Pontius Pilate demonstrated this same arrogance during Jesus’ trial. The Roman governor asked Jesus, “What is truth?” while deciding whether to have him killed. Like Billy Flynn, Pilate believed his power let him control what was true and what wasn’t. He thought being in charge meant he could shape reality itself. King Jehoiakim felt the same way—when he didn’t like God’s message, he simply cut up the scroll and burned it piece by piece. But God had Jeremiah write it all over again, every single word. Truth survived every attempt to destroy it.
One of the more touching moments in the show comes through Amos Hart’s heartbreaking “Mister Cellophane,” where a man feels invisible precisely because he tells the truth. Chicago uses his character to show how honesty can make someone seem unremarkable in a world that rewards flash and deception. His authenticity makes him transparent while liars grab the spotlight.
Our world today often overlooks people like Amos Hart, just as it overlooked the poor widow Jesus pointed out at the temple. While rich people made a show of their large donations, she quietly dropped in two tiny coins—all she had. Jesus told his disciples she gave more than everyone else combined because she gave from her poverty while others gave from their excess. Her invisible faithfulness held more weight than all the visible performances around her. In a similar way, when Jeremiah faithfully shared God’s unpopular message, powerful people tried to make his words disappear. Yet God promised to restore every word of the burned scroll. Truth may seem invisible at first, but it outlasts every lie.
To understand why Jeremiah faced such fierce opposition, we need to know what was happening in his world. This story takes place during the fourth year of King Jehoiakim’s reign, when Judah faced serious danger. The powerful Babylonian Empire threatened smaller nations, while Jehoiakim ruled as a puppet king more interested in his own comfort than his people’s welfare. The detail about him sitting in his cozy winter apartment while his nation suffered shows how disconnected he was. During this crisis, God told Jeremiah to speak truth that nobody wanted to hear. Just like Chicago’s characters navigate a world where facts bend to serve the powerful, Jeremiah faced a king who thought he could control God’s truth through force.
Three key truths emerge from this story. First, God keeps trying to communicate with us even when we resist. When the king burns the scroll, God immediately has Jeremiah write another one with all the same words. Like Amos Hart’s quiet persistence, truth might seem weak, but it has staying power. Second, destroying messages we don’t like never actually works. The king’s dramatic scroll-burning is like Roxie changing her story—both try to eliminate uncomfortable facts, but reality remains unchanged. Third, even God’s warnings come with hope. God says maybe the people will hear these hard truths, turn from their wrong ways, and find forgiveness.
From a Methodist perspective, this passage shows two important ideas. First, we see what John Wesley called “prevenient grace”—basically, God reaches out to us before we ever think about reaching back. Like the father in Jesus’ story who runs to embrace his prodigal son before the kid even finishes his apology speech, God’s love moves first. The whole point of the scroll wasn’t to condemn but to offer a chance for people to turn around and find forgiveness. Even warnings come wrapped in hope.
Second, this scripture shows how we’re free to respond to God’s grace. King Jehoiakim had real choices—he could have listened and changed direction. Instead, he chose to literally cut up and burn the word from God. This reminds me of the rich young man who asked Jesus how to find eternal life. When Jesus told him to sell his possessions and follow him, the man walked away sad because he had great wealth. We can say yes or no to grace, but grace keeps working even when we say no.
So what does all this mean for us? We all face Roxie Hart moments—times when we’re tempted to edit our stories for personal advantage. Think about explaining a mistake at work. Do you tell the whole truth or create a version that protects your image? Like the king cutting the scroll piece by piece, we sometimes carefully edit uncomfortable truths about ourselves. In relationships, we might act like Billy Flynn, trying to control conversations to avoid difficult topics. On social media, we filter our lives to hide struggles and highlight successes. Yet God’s insistence on rewriting the entire scroll reminds us that real growth comes from facing reality, not editing it.
Also, notice how we sometimes treat truth-tellers like Amos Hart—invisible and unimportant. In our communities, honest voices may get drowned out by louder, more entertaining stories. That coworker who points out problems in meetings? The friend who gently challenges our choices? We might prefer the Billy Flynns who tell us what we want to hear. But God’s commitment to preserving every word of the scroll reminds us that authentic voices matter more than popular ones.
Here’s the good news that changes everything: truth keeps coming back no matter how hard we try to silence it. When the king burned God’s scroll, God simply had Jeremiah write it all over again. In the same way, God keeps offering forgiveness and new beginnings even when we resist. Chicago ends with characters escaping consequences through clever manipulation—which might seem like lies win in the end. But the show’s real power comes from showing us ourselves honestly. This captures how faith works in real life—we trust that truth will win eventually, even though lies still hurt people today.
The emotional weight we feel watching Amos Hart sing “Mister Cellophane” or our discomfort with Roxie changing her story reveals something of God in us that recognizes and values authenticity. This good news isn’t about judgment—it’s about invitation. The same God who patiently had the scroll rewritten keeps reaching out today, offering that same promise of forgiveness.
So, I want to invite you to put some of this into practice this week. Since God ensures truth persists despite opposition, consider courageously practicing honesty in situations where you might normally edit the facts. Like Jeremiah faithfully rewriting God’s words, I invite you to tell one complete truth this week in a situation where you’d usually adjust details. Remember Amos Hart’s invisibility and create space this week for someone whose perspective usually gets ignored—maybe that quiet colleague or overlooked neighbor. When you want to delete difficult emails or dismiss challenging feedback, try something different. Instead of eliminating what makes you uncomfortable, sit with it for 24 hours before responding. Make space for truth to do its transformative work.
As the curtain falls on Chicago’s final performance in McPherson this afternoon, we’re left with characters who successfully twisted truth for personal gain. Yet their temporary victory reminds us why Jeremiah’s different ending matters so deeply. When God has the scroll rewritten, it shows us that running from truth doesn’t work—but facing it brings forgiveness and the chance to start over. The most powerful message here is that God keeps loving us and reaching out, even when we resist.
I invite you to experience both gifts this week. If you haven’t seen our community’s production of Chicago, catch this afternoon’s finale and see how good theater helps us recognize ourselves in the characters. Then take the next step: pick one area of your life where you’ve been less than honest—maybe with yourself, with someone you love, or with God. What would happen if you stopped editing that story?
Imagine if we became a community where people could drop their acts. What if church was the one place where Amos Hart wouldn’t be invisible and Roxie wouldn’t need to lie? What if Velma could find healing instead of revenge and Mama Morton could experience genuine care instead of transactions? What if even Billy Flynn could discover that authentic relationships matter more than successful manipulation? God dreams of that kind of community—where truth is safe and grace is real. We can start building it today, one honest conversation at a time.
Will you pray with me?
Gracious God, grant us courage to speak truth and humble hearts to receive it. Remind us that you already know and love our true selves. Transform our resistance into openness, our fear into faith. Help us build communities where honesty is safe and grace is real. Through Christ who embodies all truth and love, Amen.
In crafting today’s sermon, I employed AI assistants like Claude and Apple Intelligence, yet the ultimate responsibility for its content rests with me. These tools offered valuable perspectives, but the most influential sermon preparation hinges on biblical study, theological insight, personal reflection, and divine guidance. I see AI as a supportive aid to enrich the sermon process while ensuring my own voice in proclaiming the Word of God.
Rev. Andrew Conard 