Preaching the Scriptures

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Acts 2:1-21 The Wind They immediately noticed the mighty, rushing wind because, generally speaking, a mighty, rushing wind does not happen indoors.   That is why that wind was so noteworthy, why we are still talking about it so many centuries later.   It was impossible – and yet it happened.   There were no ceiling fans wobbling above their flaming heads in the first century.   There were no industrial strength hair dryers blowing in the upper room.   There was no David Watts standing over a smoking thurible with his gigantic fireplace bellow in that ancient gathering place.   They were inside; and that is not where one typically finds a violent breeze. Inside, behind closed doors, is not where a mighty, rushing wind even belongs.   It doesn’t work.   It is simply too disruptive.   It messes things up.   It stirs the curtains and twists the sheets.   A mighty, rushing wind rustles the pages of your book while you are trying to read.   When t

My sisters and brothers, Today we will again renew our baptismal vows.   In doing so we will reply, “I will, with God’s help” to the fifth and final question of our Baptismal Covenant: Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being? It is a promise, that in my own privilege, I know I far too often fail to keep. And so does the Church. And so does our nation. While most of us are pleased to pledge our support to the idea of peace, many of us, myself included, shy away from the complex and costly work of justice. Our unwillingness to strive for justice among all people has placed the heavy burden of oppression on the Black community.   Our black sisters and brothers have, for far too long, carried the weight of a history of dehumanization and inhumane treatment – slavery, lynching trees, segregation, and now a growing list of names that have become hashtags, victims of a violent and racist system that values so

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Acts 17:22-31 In God I walked past the two masked men and into the open door.   As soon as I entered, I was reacquainted with that holy scent – a scent that feels like family, a scent that, I think, will linger on the stone and wood well into eternity.   I allowed my spirit to soak in that beautiful perfume before proceeding down the south aisle, toward the chapel.   I’m not sure why, but the lights of the chapel were on.   I: like a moth to a flame.   My eyes were drawn not to the blessed Mother with her holy child, but to the corner, to a box, to yet another open door.   And there, at the back of chapel, I stopped and stared.   My spirit stirred in a manner beyond easy words.   It was so obviously empty; its stark white insides exposed to our pandemic world.   The aumbry, the place in which I have come to expect God to dwell in earthly elements, was showing me a startling absence. I felt like a warden stumbling upon an open cell.   It

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson John 14:1-14 A Word of Defiant Hope Jesus always had the right words.   He always knew exactly what to say.   His words caused fishermen to drop their nets and follow the kingdom of God.   He calmed the raging seas with his words.   He casts out evil spirits and healed the inflicted with his words.   He touched hearts and changed minds; he silenced his critics and amazed the crowds: all with his perfectly chosen words.   He always, always, knew exactly what to say. But not here; not in this Gospel passage.   “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”   It is a lovely line, poetic even.   But it feels like the wrong thing to say in this instance.   Because given the circumstances, troubled hearts were entirely justified.   It feels like Jesus is shutting down his disciples’ genuine feelings, not giving them the space to express their emotions. Dinner had just ended.   And the mood was heavy – so were the hearts.   The evening started out pleas

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Acts 2:42-47 An Easter Lament These days, people keep asking me how I am doing.   They ask me, “Are you OK?”   And some of the time, maybe even most of the time, I am; I am OK.   But also sometimes, I’m not.   OK seems to come and go; it just does.   Sometimes I’m not OK; sometimes I’m tired – tired of being told to be creative and adaptive, tired of looking on the bright side, tired of checking facebook and logging into zoom meetings, tired of the inside of my house.   Sometimes I’m frustrated – frustrated that another motorcycle ruined another take because I am recording videos of worship in my yard, frustrated because I can’t ever seem to sort out the audio issues, frustrated because I’m not as good at this digital version of church.   Sometimes I’m sad – because there are things that I miss, because there are things I’ve loved that might never be the same, sad because the world feels heavy right now. And we’re in Easter season and Easter