Preaching the Scriptures

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson John 20:1-18 It begins in the dark Easter always begins in the same place: in the dark. When Mary arrived at the tomb of Jesus on that first Easter morning, the world was still shrouded in night. The sun was not yet shining; the birds were not yet chirping. There were no signs of life – only the darkness. And even if the sun had been shining, there was still the dark cloud that hung over Mary's heart. Her friend Jesus was dead, crucified on a Roman cross, and she journeyed to his grave that day, not for an Easter story, but to visit his final resting place. It was the first Easter, and she was in the dark. I'm not sure how long the walk to his grave was, but it certainly wasn't long enough to erase the memory of Good Friday. There was no forgetting that. Mary stood near his cross as her friend died. It was real. It was devastating. It was death. She heard his last words. She watched as his broken body went limp. Sh

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson The Silence Not so fast. I know there are colorful eggs to hide. I know there are baskets to fill. I know there are hams to honey. I know that Easter is just around the corner and there are just so many things to do. But before the trumpets announce the resurrection with their assertive brassy shouts, there is a rest; it is written into the music, into our song – a long indefinite pause that disrupts the frantic rhythm of our lives. Death does that. And this death more than any other. In the shadow of the cross, there are no words to say. There is only silence, and a stunning absence of life. Historical perspective and liturgical repetition tell us that this terrible cross does not have the last word, that this death is not final, but every death before and every death since, they were final – and those who witnessed Jesus' death did not have the luxury of skipping ahead in the story. So to all those standing by

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Loving Judas As far as dinner parties go: this one was kind of a mess. Although in fairness, really any party in which one of the guests leaves early to plot the host's murder could fairly, I think, be considered something of a disaster. It is difficult to know exactly on whom to place the blame. I mean, Judas is the obvious choice. His evil scheming not only ruined the Passover meal Jesus shared with his disciples, but also brought an end to Jesus' life. He is clearly the villain in this passion story. But it is also important to remember that it was Jesus who invited him to the party. It is impossible to know how their relationship began, but we know Jesus chose Judas to be one of his closest followers, one of his inner circle. Which I think reminds us that no one is all bad or pure evil. Life is complex and so are people. And until things fell to pieces, Judas followed Jesus as one of his twelve disciples. He witnesse

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson John 12:1-8 Flaming Mary It is not easy to take an objective view of today's Gospel. John is about as ambiguous as a 1950's comic book; there is no doubt who is the hero and who is the villain. But without John's parenthetical statements, there certainly could be. Without the Gospel writer's commentary explaining to the reader that Judas was about betray Jesus and the note describing Judas as a thief, one might be tempted to assign the moral high ground in this story to one Judas Iscariot, rather than Mary. You might remember that Mary is the sister of Lazarus, the man Jesus raised from the dead in the preceding chapter of John's Gospel. Jesus finds himself at their home not long after that miraculous event. But rather than lead to accolades or some elevated office, Lazarus' resuscitation set off a series of events that would end in Jesus' crucifixion. John's Gospel tells us that the High Pries

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 A Father's Love I guess it's like one of those facebook quizzes. Which 2016 Presidential Candidate do you side with? Which Backstreet Boy should you marry? Which Disney character is your spirit animal? Only in our case, today, the question long posed in the Church is: Which son are you? The younger son or the older son? Growing up in the Pentecostal tradition everyone was quick to identify with the younger son; most of the people in the congregation could share their own delicious tales of hard living, difficult times, debauchery and eventual return home to the loving embrace of God. They read this parable and they became the younger son – eating the pig slop and then falling into the father's embrace. But for those of us who have lived good, church-y lives, who have good manners and solid morals, who have known the Lord's Prayer by heart since infancy, who call Christmas the Feast of the Nati