Preaching the Scriptures

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Isaiah 2:1-5   Hope. In these times.   If I had to describe hope, I might say that it is like a ghost. Caught in glances but never really caught And that it appears much more fragile than everything around it And that when I most need to hold it tight against my soul Against my body My arms feel emptier than I wish they would.   It always feels like there is less of it than there should be. But especially this week. When a news report about our shooting Is interrupted by a news report about a city in Virginia A shooting in Virginia That, in time, will be interrupted by another shooting and another Wounds upon wounds More dead.   Too many. Tremors of grief and the terrible aftershocks that threaten to throw the world off its axis. This world haunted by violence. And despair. And death. But not hope.   What will come of this Advent? This new season? What will it bring?   What I fear it will bring i

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Luke 23:33-43   The Jesus with us   This morning, before getting into the shower, I checked my phone.   A number of my friends, my Colorado Springs friends, had marked themselves safe on facebook.   And that is how I found out about the shooting at Club Q last night.   Another mass shooting in a state with a devastating history.   Another mass shooting in our city.   Another terrible act of violence against the LGBTQ+ community.   It is this tragedy that greeted us on Christ the King Sunday.   And here this morning, the Gospel is Jesus on the cross.   And on a day like today it is easy to understand the emotions of the crowd.   They want Jesus to get down from that cross.   To do something.   To make the bad untrue.   To stop the violence.   And yet our king hangs, and dies, on a cross.     And everyone is confused and frustrated.   Because this isn’t how these stories are supposed to go.   This isn’t where is a king is supposed to be.  

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Luke 6:20-31   Remembering Peg   Every summer, just before my boys go back to school, our family navigates the mountain passes between here and Breckenridge for a week of rest before the Fall swings full.   It has become a treasured tradition.   We hike paths now familiar.   We eat at restaurants that have become vacation favorites.   The adults wait as patiently as possible while the indecisive young ones try to decide on their annual souvenir.   We play Uno – the Simpsons variety.   And when clear skies allow it, we ride the gondola, higher up and further into the mountains.   This year, as we were riding the gondola, my phone vibrated that pulse that tells me I have an incoming call.   I didn’t recognize the number.   In my life, and because of my work, I am typically very plugged in, perhaps too plugged in, and so during that week away I try to screen my calls and ignore my bursting email inbox.   And so I didn’t answer.   I let the call