Preaching the Scriptures

  The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Matthew 28:1-10   But Not for God   She was helpless.   Utterly helpless.   It was the Friday of a week that had spun out of control, in the very worst possible way.   And there was nothing she could do to stop the spinning.   Mary Magdalene stood at a distance now, but the distance provided no perspective, no safety – just more pain.   From that distance, she was still close enough to see the ending of a story that was, apparently, a tragedy.   For a while, it had felt like a fairy tale.   But the cross at the end proved otherwise; it was a twist ending she did not see coming.     Because he was best of us, impossibly good, completely selfless, just made of love. It was like kindness flowed through his veins.   If anyone should get the happy ending, it was Jesus.   But he got the death penalty instead.   And now here she was, looking on from a distance as his bloo...

  The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Luke 24:1-12   Followers Cathedral of All Saints   Unlike most preachers, Mary Magdalene was not worried about her Easter Sunday sermon.   Maybe she should have been, because, according to the Gospel, it was a flop.   But she wasn’t.   She had something else on her mind when she left the house early on Easter morning.   It had been a terrible weekend, the worst of her life.   And that is why she was dragging her listless body, her broken heart, and her satchel of spices down the barren road of a barren cemetery.   It was Easter Sunday and Mary wasn’t thinking about a sermon; she was thinking about death.   It was all she could think about.   Because what she saw on that Friday, she could never unsee.   That nightmare was burnt into her soul.   The immensity of the violence was overwhelming, of course, but the worst thing was that it was so personal.   Jesus was he...

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson John 20:1-18   Jesus: There and Here   Mary was in the dark.   Early on the first day of the week, while the world was still shrouded in darkness, Mary Magdalene arrived at the tomb.   After the shock of Friday and the overwhelming grief of that empty Saturday, she was finally ready to confront what she knew but still could not believe: Jesus was dead.   The one who loved her and healed her and saved her was lying dead in a cold, stone tomb.   It was dark that morning but, during her bitter walk, her eyes had just enough time to adjust to the lack of light and she could see that the tomb, sealed on Friday, was standing wide open.   Her heart dropped further, if that was even possible.   It was yet another bad twist in her waking nightmare.   It was Easter Sunday and things just kept getting worse.   Mary was in the dark; she was devastated and spiraling.   The stone was rolled aw...

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson John 20:1-18   Show Up   There was no hope on the first Easter morning.   Just dark skies and heavy hearts and the stubborn shadow of the cross.   And a lonely woman carrying spices and ointments to the place where they laid her dearest friend to rest.   There was no hope on the dusty road that she traveled.   It was a road of sorrows, made muddy by the tears of too many mourners.   The road led to death, to a valley of dry bones and faded memories.   And no amount of beautiful flowers or well-manicured trees or impressive monuments could disguise the fact that Mary was lugging her oppressive grief and her broken heart to a cemetery.   There was no hope in that empty tomb.   It was not a cause for joy on that first Easter morning; it was a symbol of the emptiness Mary felt.   It was yet another reason to weep, until even her tear ducts were emptied out.   When she saw the th...

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson John 20:1-18   Show Me Your Resurrection   Easter first happened in a cemetery.   Not under the sparkling sunlight of a spring morning.   Not on the stunning verdant hills of a fantasy.   Not in a field of pastel tulips.   Not tangled in a prolonged cellophane celebration.   Easter happened in a cemetery.   Surrounded by death.   Incubated by stubborn shadows.   Carried in a broken heart.   Greeted quite unexpectedly by a woman who no longer dreamed dreams.   Mary Magdelene:   About women, no one can know. There are some, Like this one, whose pain is a locked sepulchre; Their pain is buried in them, there is no fleeing From it and no casting it off … … Deep calls unto deep, a grave for a grave, A carcass drawing a carcass in that unhappy morning; Three days was this one in a grave, in a world that died In the cry in the afternoon. It is finished, The cry that dr...