Preaching the Scriptures

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4   What are you waiting for?   What is he waiting for?   What is this ancient prophet, with his unusual name, waiting for?   What is this holy man, standing at his watch post, shouting from his tattered soul, praying from his deepest depths: what exactly is he waiting for?     Because nothing good is on the horizon; nothing good is coming his way.   Destruction and violence are before him.   Is he waiting for them to finally arrive?   Strife and contention are on the rise.   Is he waiting for them to reach their full stature?   A foreign army is at the gate, eager to seize dwellings that are not their own.   Is he waiting to hand over his keys?   The enemy is on a mission to gather captives like one might gather up the sand of a vast desert.   Is he waiting to be swept up and carried away?   What is he waiting for?   The prophet and h...

  The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Matthew 21:33-46   The Violent Tenants   Jesus said, “Listen to another parable.”   And we trained our ears, instead, for a simple allegory.   But Jesus said, “Listen to another parable.”   And we quickly sifted through his words for a glimpse of God, a hint that might help us solve the divine mystery.   But Jesus’ parables only give a path further into mystery.   These strange stories always defy our narrow focus and our easy answers.   Parables are not simply theological talk made interesting.   They are odd stories that are unclear enough to help us see a bit more clearly.   Parables are not puzzles for us to solve; they are puzzles that help us solve ourselves.   This Gospel story is a strange story – although it begins in an ordinary way.   A landowner plants and equips a vineyard.   Once it is ready to be tended, he leases it to others who will do the work required to...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Luke 12:49-56 Peace? On the night Jesus was born, there were shepherds, in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks.   And beyond those fields, more fields, empty space, the quiet stillness of a resting world.   The whole scene existing in a time before electric lights and frantic traffic and billowing smokestacks forever changed our understanding of time and space and sky.   Above them, those lonely laborers, there was only the glittering, velvety blackness.   Until, there against that familiar backdrop, the impossible: a multitude of angelic beings, so many that space became crowded.   More than sight, they were also sound.   Into that silent night, the angels began reciting their ancient songs, songs that originated beyond the world of mortals, in the hidden mystery that is God’s heavenly presence.   Sadly, we know very little of those sacred songs that filled that night sky.   Nothing of the othe...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson John 10:22-30 In the Hand of Jesus It just happens.   I suppose it can probably be explained – maybe with something like evolutionary biology.   Or maybe a chemist could describe the chemistry, the release of chemicals in one’s body.   Maybe it is an involuntary reaction to big heads, round eyes, and utter helplessness.   Perhaps it can be explained.   But I can’t, for the life of me, understand why someone would want to explain something so beautiful, so poetic, so mystical, so magical.   I have twice fallen in love in a hospital delivery room. I will, of course, never forget the warrior in that room.   The mother of my children, who for some reason that I will never fully understand, decided to go through pregnancy, labor, and delivery a second time, even though she knew what she was getting into.   But I am glad she did.   Like a champion who had just run her course, she held those precious babi...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20 On Earth as it is in Heaven I remember vividly that moment on the morning of June 12, 2016. It was a Sunday morning and I was sitting in Room 211, upstairs, meeting with folks who were interested in our EfM program. And I felt my phone vibrate. It was a text message from my wife. She doesn't typically text me on Sunday mornings; she is aware that I am generally unable to check my phone; I have a lot going on and typically a lot of layers to navigate between hand and pocket. And so, I reasoned this must be important. I checked my phone; I wanted to be sure everything was OK. It wasn't. “Did you see?” The text read. “Largest mass shooting in US history, 50 people.” And I felt instantly sick – though, I have to admit, and I am embarrassed to say this, I was not quite as sick as when I heard about Sandy Hook. I excused myself from the class and went downstairs. My head spinning; my heart breaking...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4 How Long? I still remember the day so vividly. Friday, December 14, 2012. It was my day off and so I was home with my family – now three since Oscar was born the previous September. We sat in the family room, a bright, cool winter sun flooding into our space, and we turned on the TV. On the screen was a terrible nightmare that had escaped into the real world. Even now, almost four years later, it's still too horrible to think about. And yet parents lived it. Their little children frozen in time by a mad man with guns. I remember staring at the television screen, sick to my stomach, sick to the soul, the death toll growing: tiny lives that never fully blossomed, hopes and dreams never fully realized. Denial is the first stage of grief, but it wasn't that, it just seemed unreal, too terrible to be real. Never before, nor since, have I cried so much for people I did not know. I remember those tears,...

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson Philippians 1:3-11 Overflow I'm not sure in what year it happened, but I know it happened during the Great Vigil of Easter.   And so of course it was dark in the church.   Only the Pascal Candle lit the chancel – a single flame dancing in the font's metallic silver bowl. That night we would welcome into the Church a new Christian – a little person we would lay on the altar of Love.   As I prayed the baptismal prayer, recounting the ways in which we Christians track salvation history through water, I picked up the ewer, the liturgical pitcher, and started to pour.   And pour.   And pour.   It was so dark that I could not see that the font was growing quite full, each drop challenging capacity.   I did not realize just how full was the font until the water started to overflow – out of the font and all over the floor. It was messy.   It was a little dangerous, that baptismal water all over the floor...