Preaching the Scriptures

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23   Vanity   There was a bowl on the table of the family room.   In it were the remnants of an oatmeal breakfast – unfortunately, from the day before.   No one but the child who carried it out of the dining room and down the stairs knew it was there – until it was found – dried out and adhered in only the way old oatmeal can adhere.   My wife stood over the sink painstakingly dislocating stubborn oats from the vessel.   With much effort and time, the bowl was washed and dried and returned to the cupboard – just in time for it to once again be removed and filled and dirtied.   The bowl will be washed and dried and returned to the cupboard hundreds of times – over and over again, until the day it is dropped.   That one simple bowl will require hours of labor, hours of human life, to remain in circulation.   Each shirt: worn, washed, dried, folded, unfolded, worn, washed, dried, folded, unfolded, worn.   A beautif

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Luke 10:25-37   Rule of Three I suspect you have heard of the old “rule of three.”   In storytelling, for example, it is often suggested that a listener finds triads more effective, more humorous, more satisfying.   And so there is a plethora, a profusion, an abundance, if you will, of stories in which we find three characters or three events or three items featured prominently.   Not only do listeners find the threes more satisfying, this predictable structure also makes it easier to remember the details of the story.   In the story of the Three Little Pigs, there are three little houses: one of straw, one of sticks, and one of bricks.   In the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, the porridge is too hot, too cold, and just right; the beds too hard, too soft, and, of course, just right.   Going back much further, in the Bible, in the book of Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego end up in the fiery furnace together. Even the cereal aisl

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Matthew 5:43-48   This beautiful, messy us   There are things that I cannot say to members of my own extended family, topics I do not broach, conversations I do not have.   I suppose part of it is that I don’t love conflict. I put up with it, it is, at times, an occupational hazard, but I don’t enjoy it.   And if I am being honest, I guess that is part of the reason why I avoid certain subject matter.   But more than that, it seems to me that we no longer speak the same language. And of course we don’t.   Because while we live in the same nation, we inhabit different worlds.   The clever algorithms and curated feeds and news media are intentionally designed to reinforce our echoing silos and limit our perspectives.   The lines drawn cut through cities and neighborhoods and churches and families and friendships.   And people drift into clans codified by shared stories, mythologies, and, of course, tribal language.   And because of that I am not c