Preaching the Scriptures

Together   You don’t need the ashes that will be left on your forehead today.   You do not need to wear the charred remains of burnt palm leaves on your face.   You do not need to showcase my dusty thumbprint for your co-workers or for the other parents in the school pick-up line.   You don’t need these ashes.   These ashes, they only say what is already known.   To some they will say that you are strange; people probably already know that, probably already think that.   To some they will say you are religious, a Christian; hopefully people don’t need ashes to know that.   And while these ashes might remind others that you are strange and religious, that is not the point of this Lenten exercise.   These ashes are nothing more than a sign of your frailty: of the mistakes you make, of the comings of which you fall short, and of the death you will someday die.   They are for you, but you do not need them.   I suspect you do n...

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Joel 2:1-2, 12-17   Trembling The forces of death are at the gate and so that is why the alarm is sounded.   Like air raid sirens on the dawn of war, the trumpeter placed his instrument to his lips and the hauntingly desperate sound came bursting forth.   On another day, in another time, a better time, it might have been a song, perhaps something beautiful or maybe even happy.   But on this day there was no song – because in the killing fields no one thinks of beauty and no one hopes for happiness.   On this day, the instrument was robbed of its greater purpose.   The trumpet sounded only the sound of a terrible nightmare.     For two years, but probably much longer, we have lived with the oppressive drone of the alarm – until it became the background noise of our lives.   That a disease could sweep across the planet and kill almost six million people, almost one million of those in our own nati...

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Joel 2:1-2, 12-17   Broken Hearts   The first words of the book of the prophet Joel feel eerily appropriate this year, as if the ghosts of our ancient past understand our pandemic present: “Hear this, O elders,” he shouts across the centuries, “give ear, all inhabitants of the land!   Has such a thing happened in your days, or in the days of your ancestors? Tell your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.”   His people were dying of pestilence; ours die of plague.   Our lives changed in Lent last year.   And here we are again.   Walking this austere season in what we hope are the waning days of a time of imposed austerity.   Lent beckons us to renewed spiritual discipline, even as we are wearied by a year of sacrifice.   Lent calls us to take up the cross, even though our spirits are buckling under the weight of a year of heavy lifting...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Ash Wednesday 2-26-20 Care for the Dying Who is that floating through the air?   Dust.   Backlit visible by the sun that peeks through the window glass.   A final descent before landing on my mortal flesh like a blanket of the finest silk.   And it cannot seem to be removed.   Even in life we are in death. What is this day even about?   Is it dust?   Is it death?   Is it about the mark – the black smudge pressed into the pores of your brow?   The one you wear like a temporary tattoo, that ash cross that clings to your face more stubbornly than dust ever should?   But also sometimes snowing down and living in your eyelashes or marking your nose with a sooty residue.   A sign of decay and it is, of course, falling apart.   It’s a prominently featured mess and yet you don’t wash it off.   You wear it to work, paired with business casual. What is this day about if not letting ...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Psalm 103:8-14 Our Dust It’s just dust.   This won’t hurt.   It will feel like when a gentle breeze causes your bangs to sweep across your forehead.   It will feel just like when the priest marked you as Christ’s own forever with chrism.   It’s just like that except instead of oil there will be ashes, dust. And so it won’t hurt.   Unless, that is, unless you really think about it.   If you really think about the ashes, if you sit with them and let them seep through your pores and into your soul, you will feel just how heavy something that weighs almost nothing can be.   And then it will hurt.   It will hurt like life.   And it will hurt like death. Ashes are a fitting reminder of our mortality.   They are what is left after life has left.   And they are everywhere.   Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.   Signs of decay lazily dance in the air all around us, revealing themselves mo...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Ash Wednesday Psalm 103:8-14 Love and Ashes It has been well-covered that Ash Wednesday this year falls on February 14 th , often better-known as Valentine’s Day.  For many of us this is the first time we have had to decide between ashes or a romantic dinner out.  But this is not the first time this strange juxtaposition has occurred.  The last time the two holidays fell on the same date was 1945.  That was a long time ago – though I do now realize some of you out there probably actually do remember the last time.  In many ways Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day are strange bedfellows.  Certainly a married priest, like myself, is forced to sheepishly admit that the only date my wife will get today is the Noon liturgy and the only gift will be ashes.  (And so I am not scolded after the service, we did celebrate Valentine’s Day on Monday.) But I think it goes without saying that the two call to mind different ...