Category: Sermons

Sermon Preached at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey
Sunday, June 2, 2024, at 8:00 and 10 a.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

The Hidden God

“Lord, you have searched me out and known me; * you know my sitting down and my rising up.” (Psalm 139:1)

“God hasn’t left our side.” (II Cor. 4:5-12)

This morning, I want to present my meditation in the form of a question. This is something that I believe most of us have asked at one time or another. And I will suggest four different answers. Each of these answers I believe to be partially true. The result will hopefully be that we are a bit clearer to the truth—either that or a bit more confused, which is always a risk when we talk about God at all.

So, the question is this: Why does God remain in large part hidden? The Psalmist pleads: “God, make known your purpose to me!” In brief, why doesn’t God show his or her or its face more clearly, or more often?

Answer #1

God’s face stays hidden because its face is too magnificent for us mere mortals to behold. Beyond the moon, beyond the stars, beyond our ability to understand or take in.

God is ineffable by definition, beyond our concepts altogether. And this incomprehensibility goes even deeper than this. God’s hugeness and mystery are such that, should it reveal itself fully, we question is that even possible. The mysterium tremendum, the holy, whose hand stretches across the universe and, in fact, upholds it—the light from this source is too bright. I have heard of black holes, but even after watching a documentary, I haven’t a very clear idea about them. God says to Moses in the Book of Exodus: “I will not let you see my face, because no one can see me and stay alive. When the dazzling light of my presence passes by, you will see my back, but not my face” (Exodus 33:20-23). And in Deuteronomy: “Tell them how the Lord spoke to you from the fire, how you heard him speaking but did not see him in any form at all.” (Deuteronomy 4:11).

While there are passages, to confuse the fundamentalist, that indicate that God did, in fact, vouchsafe to appear to Moses, Jacob, Aaron, a couple of others—and in another place to the seventy elders—the meaning here, I believe, is that God reveals himself primarily through the words that he conveys and through the salvation events, words, events, prophets as intermediaries. They bring God’s word, not God himself. [pause]

Again, Why does God hide his face?

Answer #2

God hides his face as a direct consequence of our disobedience. Again, from Deuteronomy: “I will become angry with them. (Deuteronomy 31:17).

Moral imperfection separates us from the presence of God. Hence, the furious answer of God to Job from the whirlwind. God pulls out all the stops of his transcendence and righteousness when Job dares question how a righteous God can allow evil and suffering in the world.

“Were you there,” asks God, “when I made the world? If you know so much, tell me about it. Do you know all the answers” (Job 38:4-5)? In other words, “Shut up, you fool!”

There is, it seems to me, profound psychological insight in this second answer as to why God hides himself, why she does not make herself plain. Anger, self-pity, pride, ego—they all keep us from seeing clearly: they separate us from clearly seeing either ourselves or the situations in which we wallow—and hence, we separate ourselves, or are separated, from the truth. Aberrant moral behavior places a barrier between us and reality, and hence God. John says that whoever says, “I love God” and hates his neighbor is a liar. John was a crackerjack psychologist.

Isn’t it the case that our stubbornness in a relationship prevents us from seeing clearly, seeing, for instance, just how much love our spouse has for us, except for his or her own fear and defensiveness?

So, God hides himself from us because of the veil between his righteousness and our unrighteousness. Purity of heart: blessed are those with it, for they shall see God!

Again: Why, though, does God choose to remain so hidden and aloof?

Answer #3:

Perhaps we need to peel away some skin of this onion and ask what is the nature of this God whom we believe to be not revealing itself. As Christians, we believe that the person of Jesus showed the face or heart of God as never before. The opening of the gospel of John says, “No one has ever seen God. The only son, who is the same as God and is at the Father’s side, he has made him known” (John 1:18).

You know, we can say we believe all we want that God does reveal himself; but until these things make a difference in our lives, until they stir our hearts to say “Ah, ha!” they are so much gobbledygook. Perhaps, and I personally am most intrigued by this possibility, our God keeps in the shadows, keeps a low profile, and doesn’t intrude himself in our lives he loves us just that much. God’s hiddenness is a function of the very depth of his love. He gives us freedom; he respects our freedom. He wants us to love him freely, as he loves us freely. Only a God who truly loves us lets us say no to his amorous overtures.

Only parents know that frightening moment when they must let go of parental protection and show their ultimate love by letting their bird fly free. Parents don’t go with their children to college. Love lets go and allows its space to the beloved. God’s absence—in part anyway, I believe—is proof of that in our lives.

I heard a riddle the other day that I think speaks to this cat and mouse of God with his people. If God were to play hide ‘n’ seek with the world, where do you think God would hide? Any ideas? YES: he would hide everywhere!

So, all right. We’ve gotten this far. But many of us are hard to persuade. Skepticism is built into us. Will God make good his purpose for me? God doesn’t show his face; but surely I can get inkling, some hint, some love letter with my name on it! Why is God so hidden from me?

Answer #4:

The fourth and final answer I suggest this morning is perhaps the most radical of all. Suppose, just suppose, that God does not hide himself in the way that really matters to us—that is, that his presence is not remote and hidden due to his transcendence, moral superiority, or diffidence—but that we have simply not opened our eyes and seen the God who has been there all along. It is our idea of God that suffers. Is this not possibly in part why Jesus instructs his disciples not to spread the news that he is the Messiah because the generally understood idea of the Messiah is not the idea that Jesus was aiming to convey. He didn’t want folk to get the wrong idea!

Isn’t it true that the most important insights that have received in our lives are about things that have been staring us in the face all along, perhaps for years? Suddenly, something happens, and we see a situation in a new light. The scales fall away. The penny drops.

We know, or think we know, this much. God is not an old man with a beard inhabiting a space far away. So then, who is God? What is God? I cannot say for you. Only you can discover this and say it for you. But surely this God is not so much about something else as about a way of seeing what is already before us. God is that which wakes us up, turns on the light, overcomes our death. As a friend said to me recently, God will show itself if we insist on it. Not so much, “Show yourself, darn it!” More like “Ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” And, as the Zen master wrote, perhaps the door has been open all along and we just didn’t notice!

And the revelations are usually so innocent, so simple. God, it is likely to turn out, when the haze lifts and our spiritual cobwebs are swept away, to be a lot closer than we have ever guessed.

But there is the imperative to get with it. Sleepers, wake up! The command is to let this God in, the God who is with us to love us, to bring us peace and delight. And perhaps if someone scoffs and says, “No one has ever seen God,” we can reply, “They will have after they’ve seen our lives, how we love one another!”

Amen.

Sermon Preached at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey
Sunday, April 7, 2024, at 10:00 a.m.

Look at What I’ve/We’ve Been Missing!

“We have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ’s body.” (Collect, Easter II)

“How wonderful, how beautiful when brothers and sisters get along!” (Psalm 133:1)

“The infinite Life of God himself took shape before us. This is the message: God is light, pure light; there’s not a trace of darkness in him.” (I John 1:2, 5)

Last Sunday you may recall that I led us in a variation on the opening Easter acclamation. We started with “Alleluia! Christ is risen,” and you replied, “The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.”

But I wanted to get to the heart of things by having us add, first, “Alleluia! We are risen!” and you replied, “We are risen indeed. Alleluia!’ And third and finally, “Alleluia, I am risen.” And then you replied, “I am risen indeed. Alleluia.”

So, may we repeat this beautiful trilogy of ecstasies?

1. “Alleluia. Christ is risen…”

“The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.”

2. “Alleluia. We are risen…”

“We are risen indeed. Alleluia.”

3. “Alleluia. I am risen…”

“I am risen indeed. Alleluia.”

This is the heart and core of this Easter season and really all we need to proclaim.

Christ is risen, and this means we are risen, and I personally am risen.

And the title of my meditation this morning is “Look what I’ve been missing.”

Because every moment of our lives is compromised, made smaller, less joyful if we dismiss this notion or keep it on the back burner of our lives. It’s not that we must go through our days reciting this acclamation to ourselves. We’d probably be hospitalized or thought balmy if we did this. It’s that every moment of our day, every move we make, can be lived and informed knowing that life is good, life is beautiful and is meant to be affirmed always. Just like breathing, we don’t have to keep it at the top of our minds, but we’d better not forget it. Without breath we have no life!

But it is so easy to forget this affirmation.

Isn’t it a puzzle how so much of our lives is spent in sadness, stress, and suffering? Let’s look at just a few of the ways we drain the joy out of living.

Don’t we too often get wrapped up in the minutiae of our day-to-day routines and take everything so seriously. It can be a challenge. This is the tax time of the year, and I, for one, have no accounting abilities and dread putting all the figures together. So, I hired an accountant. My friends tell me to use TurboTax, but no thank you, no thank you!

And what about all those annoyances with other people that create resentments? Boy, can we spend a lot of time fuming and fighting in our minds about what so-and-so has done to us. Poor us, poor put-upon us! Yes, I can carry grudges. I wonder how many annoyances like this can be avoided by slowing down and asking how serious are they? Do we really want to make Federal cases over something, that time, a kind word, or simply forgetting about it will not fix? People can kill each other over what sometimes starts as a minor grievance. Wars start over things that one side finds “unacceptable.”

“This is so beyond the limits of what I can stand that I’m going to start an all-out war with you!” Is this stupid and sick? Yes, but aren’t most wars a little like this?

And, last example, how much of our day, our week, our years are spent in worry. Of course, as citizens we are concerned about a lot of things. We cast our votes in hopes that our representatives will carry out our wishes for our city, state and country. But if we keep CNN or MSNBC on a lot, we’ll wind up in a constant and high state of complaining and worrying. This can’t be good for our health. For how much of what we worry about do we have any power over? A lot, some, a little, none?

So, I’ve laid out a few of the activities that prevent us from breathing free, laughing out loud and enjoying this brief journey called life.

Do we forget what we are missing? 

Life is short. As someone in his eighth decade of life, I not only realize how short this life is, but I realize how many minutes and hours I can fritter away in useless activities like resentments and worry. My mother once told me that I would go in the bathroom one morning, look in the mirror and exclaim, “My goodness, I’m old!”

I can imagine that some of you have had such a startling insight. It is not designed to get us down, but to awaken us to the preciousness of every day we breathe on this earth. In the grander scheme of things, our life is as short as that of a firefly.

The tragedy of wasted time in resentments and worry is how we diminish the time we could be loving. This isn’t sentimental hogwash; it is to point out and recognize just how profoundly we all need and want to be loved. I love being loved, don’t you? And the first person who needs to love me is me! And if I am deficient in loving myself, the chances of my loving you are similarly diminished. And if you have the same need to be loved as I do, then what am I waiting for? The clock is ticking and love is a-waiting! Let’s get on with it.

Isn’t this what the Resurrection is proclaiming? That love overcomes strife; that life outstrips bitterness and complaining. That except for our ignorance and belligerence, love would be much more conspicuous all around us.

How much we love being loved. So, we might as well keep it up. No one is telling us not to!

And notice how far honesty can go. Have you noticed how much love can flourish when we are honest with one another? We don’t lose out on anything by being honest. Notice that it tends to move us forward. We go to the doctor, tell our friends what is really on our minds. Life flows. It may be painful; it may be difficult, but life flows when honesty flows.

I heard the other day that we have one of two possible responses to life at any moment. Yes! or No! Yes is the Resurrection. It was how Christ faced his own death. It is how we live when we shout yes. It is not always easy; it is not always without its cost. But it is the way of life, and finally of joy. Am I not right?

What do you think? We shout “YES” because we have been yes-ed into existence and our God shouts yes at us, whether we are up or down. This is the unconditional love that lies at the heart of our faith.

I close with a lovely poem called “Millennium Blessing” by Stephen Levine. It speaks to the joy that it is present now and that stretches beyond our mortal life. All we need to do is shout “YES” to all of it!

There is a grace approaching

that we shun as much as death,

it is the completion of our birth.

It does not come in time,

…….but in timelessness

when the mind sinks into the heart

and we remember.

It is insistent grace that draws us

to the edge and beckons us surrender

safe territory and enter our enormity.

We know we must pass

…….beyond knowing

and fear the shedding.

But we are pulled upward

…….none-the-less

through forgotten ghosts

…….and unexpected angels,

luminous.

And there is nothing left to say

but we are That.

And that is what we sing about.

Amen.

Sermon Preached at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey
Sunday, March 31, 2024, at 10:00 a.m.

Christ Is Risen!We Are Risen!

“Thank God, because he’s good, because his love never quits. Tell the world, Israel, {no, tell the world, you in Fort Lee!] God’s love never quits.” (Instruction from verse 1 in Psalm 118, Message Translation)

“…that we may evermore live with him in the joy of his resurrection.” (Collect, Easter Sunday)

We have just sung my favorite Easter hymn, and I’m so glad we placed it at the opening of this glorious service this morning. “Jesus Christ is risen today!” It says it all, doesn’t it, in one concise phrase? And do you recall the acclamation that is common at this time of the year? I announce, “Alleluia! Christ is risen.” And you reply, “The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!” Isn’t that powerful? But my theme this morning goes even further to the core of the thing. We can also proclaim, can’t we: I can say, “Alleluia! we are risen!” and you can reply, “We are risen indeed! Alleluia!”

Now if we are a bit uncomfortable making such a claim, I want to break us in a bit. I am going to say, “Alleluia! we are risen.” And then we will please reply, “We are risen indeed! Alleluia!” Are you ready? Here goes. “Alleluia! We are risen indeed!” [And the reply comes: “We are risen indeed! Alleluia!”] I might have even preferred for us to say, “I am risen indeed,” instead of “We are risen indeed.” For both are true. We and I are/am risen indeed.

I hope you might be a little startled, even uneasy making such a claim. But if this Easter event does not invade and inform our own personal lives, then I wonder if it doesn’t remain some distant, even half-forgotten and more often ignored event, an event that we bring out once a year and salute like we do the flag on the Fourth of July.

And I wonder how many sermons throughout the world this season talk about the event of Jesus’s resurrection as an event of the long-ago past—when?—in the year 33 anno domini, A.D. They now call A.D. dates CE, meaning “common era.” I’m scrambling to keep up with what is called what these days. However we date it, Jesus’s resurrection is said to have occurred many, many years ago. That date certainly ushered in the Christian era, followed by four beautiful accounts of Jesus’s life and some spectacular letters, particularly from a man named Saul, renamed Paul after his conversion. All of this we can study and learn on our own or in Bible study classes.

But how does what happened back then intersect with our lives? What, in other words, does the Resurrection mean to you? Is it something you carry in your heart? Does it guide and motivate your day? I’m afraid, if we are honest and if I am honest, that this central event of the Christian story may be tucked away on a dusty shelf of our lives and referred to only occasionally, at this time of the year or on the occasion of the death of a loved one.

I want to make two points that might aid in to bring this idea more front and center for us. First, the Resurrection, whatever it means, is not primarily about something that might or will occur after our death. After all, the hymn says, “Jesus Christ is risen today!” Present tense. This is not just commemoration. It is speaking of what is true right here, right now, in our faces. And the second point is that this Resurrection does not just include Jesus, but us as well. The Resurrection is about us, here and now. The Eucharist meal celebrates our life in Christ, as a perpetual, eternal thing bearing down in and through every single moment of our lives, the happy one and the sad ones.

In the slap dab middle of our Communion Prayer we proclaim, “Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again.” Well, I hope we occasionally ask what this is all about. It is about something happening now. I translate it: “Christ died and shows us that he continues to die. He dies with us as we die. He dies with the children of Gaza as they die. He dies with all those who are forlorn and heavy laden.” Christ himself is with us. And then we say, “Christ is risen.” We do not say, “Christ was risen.” The proclamation is in the present tense. We see in our faith hallelujahs written across history, in our current events, in every single life lived now, whether nominally Christian or not. Christ did not just come for the Jews and Christians. His message is either universal or it is sentimental twaddle. And the third rung of this proclamation: “Christ will come again.” Do you read this as an apocalyptic prediction that Jesus will come back, riding on something or other at the end of time? Good for you if you believe that. I think a lot of our fellow Christians are a long way from thinking like this. “Christ will come again” means to me that Christ is not just in my present but in my future. I can face tomorrow knowing that God is with me. This is what my faith and hope are about. A love that will not let me go.

Now this intersection of the Resurrection in our lives, which simultaneously includes not just the Christ but every single one of us, is something I dare to believe isn’t so foreign to us. In fact, in our heart of hearts we know it, not in the sense of book knowledge but in the sense in which a good friend “knows” his friend.

I’ll close and suggest that each of us reflect on one or two occasions in our lives when the door opens onto what Resurrection is about. Like the rolling away of the rock from the tomb. I had a small but beautiful incident the other day when I was in Richmond for the funeral of the brother of a friend. The family and I were eating dinner, and I just casually asked the daughter of the deceased a question. “Do you think that your father is somehow still with us, that he hasn’t gone anywhere?” And to my amazement, she and her husband both nodded their heads. Ask your friends who have lost loved ones what I asked or ask yourself. These little insights open a new way of viewing our lives. That Resurrection is real, that it is present, and that we know it! Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen, indeed. Alleluia.

Amen.

Sermon Preached at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey
Sunday, February 4, 2024, at10:00 a.m.

You Light Up My Life!

“Have you not known? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundation of the earth? Lift up your eyes on high and see; who created these?” (Isaiah 41:21,26 )

“God counts the number of the stars and calls them all by their names.” (Psalm 147:4)

“And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message.” (Mark 1:39)

There was something very, very different and special about this Galilean Jesus. It was clear from the beginning, not just from the actual birth, when wise men followed a star to a cow stall and his birth cradle, but as he grew into a precocious child, when those in the synagogue were astonished at his teaching. And it wasn’t long before he had gathered a faithful band of disciples and was performing cures of the sick. Along with the laying on of hands Christ was compelled to proclaim the message.

And what was that message? It is the same message that we hear today, the message that draws us in as awestruck worshippers. And the message is that we are light, we come from and reflect the light of Christ. Everything he said and everything he did was to illustrate for those around him that he, as light, was conferring light on those he touched. “I am the light of the world” is perhaps the clearest statement about who he was. And even more wonderful, he said, “You are the light of the world!” That’s you and me.

Do we believe it, that we, you are I, are the light of the world.” I will suggest that every single moment of happiness and gratitude that we live illustrates this reality. Too good to be true? You betcha! And every bit of discouragement, drawing back from the beauty and enticements of life stem from a turning away from the reality and doubting just who and what we are.  That’s why so many of Jesus’ sayings are to encourage us, to lift us from our sadness and pessimism. Even as we look the horrors of the world in the face (and there are plenty of horrors to look at), Jesus says, “Cheer up, for I have overcome the world. Be of good courage. You have only one commandment love me and those around you as you love yourself.”

A light that shines both has light as its source but radiates outward onto what it shines, and this thing or person shined on takes on the qualities of that light. The Transfiguration, therefore, tells us much about who Jesus was, but also tells us similarly about ourselves on whom the light of Christ shines.

Similarly, if I were to ask you where this light on us today comes from, you will probably say, “Why, from the sun.” Yes, that’s true. And we know that there are millions upon millions of suns out there. That’s a lot of light. And we could continue and ask, “Where does the light from our sun come from,” and I’ll bet we don’t come up with a ready answer.

So, this God of ours, comes from we-know-not-where but emerges in the person of Jesus, who was so full of light he was transfigured and whose light was so great, that we reflect in our very being this same light.

I’ve had a gladsome time this season reflecting and singing about light. It’s a main theme of the Epiphany season; and, come to think of it, light is a prominent theme of Advent and Christmas as well.

So, I’m in a singing mood again, as I hope you are as well. First, just quietly look around you at those of us beside and near you today. See them as light, as reflective of God’s very light. For that is who they are!

Let’s begin with a song we sang at the beginning of the month. It’s so much fun and represents the life of joy of our life in Christ.

Our lives are a zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-a, for just by breathing and particularly as we acknowledge the source of our life, there is “plenty of sunshine headed our way.” Bathed in light; bathed in glory!

Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah

 Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
 My, oh my, what a wonderful day
 Plenty of sunshine headin’ my way
 Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
 
 Mister Bluebird’s on my shoulder
 It’s the truth, it’s actual
 Ev’rything is satisfactual
 Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
 Wonderful feeling, wonderful day, yes sir!
 
 Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
 My, oh my, what a wonderful day
 Plenty of sunshine headin’ my way
 Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
 
 Mister Bluebird’s on my shoulder
 It’s the truth, it’s actual
 Ev’rything is satisfactual
 Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
 Wonderful feeling, feeling this way
 

Next, let’s sing “This little light of mine; I’m going to let it shine.” That we are conduits of God’s light. This is the enlightenment that truly enlightens, urging us to see everything in a new light, bathed in the love and grace of God itself.

So, seeing ourselves and those around us as bathed in the light of God lifts even the everyday and humdrum into a whole new or newly understood place.

This Little Light of Mine

This little light of mine,
 I’m gonna let it shine.
 This little light of mine,
 I’m gonna let it shine.
 This little light of mine,
 I’m gonna let it shine,
 let it shine, let it shine, oh let it shine.

Ev’rywhere I go,
 I’m gonna let it shine.
 Ev’rywhere I go,
 I’m gonna let it shine.
 Ev’rywhere I go,
 I’m gonna let it shine,
 let it shine, let it shine, oh let it shine.

Jesus gave it to me,
 I’m gonna let it shine.
 Jesus gave it to me,
 I’m gonna let it shine.
 Jesus gave it to me,
 I’m gonna let it shine,
 let it shine, let it shine, oh let it shine.

I know, I know, all this can be particularly challenging when we live in a world that seems to thrive on conflict and war. We today are witnessing the most egregious example of genocide in decades, under the endorsement and okay of our own country and its leaders. The demonstrations in this country and worldwide are encouraging and speak to a popular uprising of revulsion over what is happening. We as Christians must pray and attend to this important crisis.

And, finally, for our last song, let’s look this morning much closer to home and at those who have lit up and even now may light up our lives. I daresay we will discover that there are lot more of these people than we might at first acknowledge.

Who is someone that you can think of right now of whom you can say, “You light up my life.” It could be someone in your past or someone today. I know you have such people. I hope you have many such people!

And don’t forget that these lights in our lives needn’t be people. They can be a book that influenced you profoundly; a piece of art you saw in a museum or art book; or a piece of music (classical, jazz or popular) that still sits in your memory. For remember, those books, art works and pieces of music were created by people, and indirectly, they, too, are lights in your life.

I would love to hear your stories about these things that have lit or are now lighting up your life. They will tell me a great deal about you, won’t they? For their lights, the lights you recall, light up your life now.

Which takes us back to singing. This time let’s try one a little bit harder, a song made popular by Debbie Boone.

YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE

So many nights I’d sit by my window
 Waiting for someone to sing me his song
 So many dreams I kept deep inside me
 Alone in the dark but now You’ve come along

And You light up my life
 You give me hope to carry on
 You light up my days and fill my nights with song

Rollin’ at sea, adrift on the water
 Could it be finally I’m turnin’ for home?
 Finally a chance to say, “Hey, I love You”
 Never again to be all alone

‘Cause You light up my life
 You give me hope to carry on
 You light up my days and fill my nights with song

‘Cause You, You light up my life
 You give me hope to carry on
 You light up my days and fill my nights with song

It can’t be wrong
 When it feels so right
 ‘Cause You
 You light up my life,        

AMEN.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Pentecost XVII, October 2, 2022, at 8:00 &10:00 a.m.
By Rev. Stephen Galleher

EVER NEAR, NEVER FAR

“Take delight in the Lord,*
and he shall give you your heart’s desire.
Be still before the Lord *
And wait patiently for him.”

(Psalm 37:4,7)
“Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I
may be filled with joy.” (II Tim.2:4)
Good morning! Do you remember as a
child in grade school how your teacher, to
take attendance, would call you by name, and
you would answer, “Present!” or “Here!” An
innocent enough response, right?—but a very
powerful statement about the reality of the
moment. That you had shown up, were sitting
in your seat, and ready to be counted.

And of all the words to describe the reality,
the stark, beautiful reality of the God we
worship, there are few words, I believe, as
powerful as the word “presence.” Nothing
remote or aloof about this God—no, siree!
Not an abstraction, not a concept, not
something to note and yawn over, like the
hypotenuse of a triangle. God’s presence is
something we experience.
I was discussing with some retired clergy
friends of mine last Tuesday (Wade Renn
among them!) and we all agreed that God’s
presence is the lens through which all of
scripture comes alive, in contrast to just some

ideas on a page, or comments about the
historic past.
It is said so superbly in our psalm
this morning. Despite all the song of woe
and the lamentations, we are told to “Take
delight in the Lord.” By being patient, we
somehow know that God is near. He is
everpresent, even in times of deepest
trouble and sorrow. With such a posture,
God will give us our heart’s desire!
Like a bird unfolds its winds to protect the
fledgling in the nest. This is a protection
of love, a promise of perpetual presence.
Wow: that’s pretty thrilling statement of a
God, who loves us to this extent.

Let’s look a minute further at the
pervasiveness of this God of presence.
Remember the word Shekinah from the
Old Testament. It meant the dwelling
place of God. “The Lord is in his holy
temple; let all the earth keep silence
before him.” The burning bush and the
cloud that rested on Mount Sinai. Whether
a cloud or a pillar of fire: these images
were images of the glory of God. What
made them “glorious” was that they point
to a God who is in our midst, not off at
some board meeting.
“Wherever two or three are gathered
together in my name, there am I in their

midst.” (Matthew 18:20) Isn’t this the meaning of
the Jewish shiva? The family of a
departed Jewish person sits shiva after the
burial. This is when friends come to just
be present with the grieving family. What
a beautiful idea. Just to be with them. No
obligation to say anything (words that are
so often strained and clichéd). No
requirement to heap gifts or money on the
bereaved. Just to spend some time with
them. Wasn’t it tragic, during the worst of
COVID, that loved ones were left to die
alone in hospitals, away from family
members?

And the 23 rd Psalm, “Yay, though I
walk the valley of the shadow of death, I
fear no evil, for you are with me.” It is no
accident that this, perhaps the most quoted
psalm, for its quiet comfort to those in
pain and particularly salvific to those
walking to imminent execution.
Another of my favorite pieces of
scripture is the story in Daniel of
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.
Remember as these three men were
thrown into a fiery furnace by
Nebuchadnezzar because they refused to
bow down to the king’s image, they were
saved from death by a fourth figure

walking with them in the flames; and this
fourth man “was like a son of God.”
When we think of presence, we think
of quiet assurance, a certain something
that evokes security and continuity.
Perhaps one of the reasons for Queen
Elizabeth II’s popularity, as demonstrated
during the last fortnight, is her quiet
presence amidst the tumult of world
events. This calm posture assures us of a
longed-for stability and continuity.
Similarly, the role of ambassadors is to
stand for the sovereignty of a country,
being a kind of apolitical figure, speaking
rarely on particular policies unless as a

spokesperson and messenger for the chief
executive of the country they represent.
The presence of God means little
until it is experienced by you and me. And
I ask you to consider those moments in
your life when this presence was felt most
intensely. One such a moment for me was
when I visited the Grand Canyon a few
years ago. It was a clear, beautiful Sunday
morning in winter. Few tourists were
about. As my friend and I stopped at the
first pullover, we walked the twenty-five
or so yards to the rim to see the view. It
was one of the most special moments of
my life. The beauty, the grandeur, and

(perhaps most of all) the silence. No
photograph or video can come anywhere
close to the experience of being there. I
cannot imagine anyone, even a hardcore
atheist, not being struck by the wonder of
God’s presence. And the message is that
this revelation of presence spills over to
all of God’s creation. Not one spot is
excluded. And the important thing is that
having been there to see this teaches me
that this Grand Canyon is always there. It
is a reminder that all things come of God
and reveal God’s glory. Look at the cover
of our bulletin this morning. Meister’s

beautiful saying is there: “Between God
and Me there I no ‘Between.’”
What is the best thing a person can
give another human being?
“Presents/Presence.”
I ask myself, and I ask you to ask
yourself, “Where can I go from God’s
presence?” When we look at any other
person, a flower, a honeybee, a
mountain—anything—we see the
incarnation of God’s love for us and the
universe we call home. Is not God
reaching through the veil of our
nearsightedness and revealing his/her
smiling face? If we do not experience

God’s presence here and now, where will
we experience it, just when will be
experience it? Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd”
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Pentecost XIII, September 4, 2022, at 10:00 a.m.
By the Rev. Stephen Galleher

HOORAY FOR DISAPPOINTMENT!

“1 Happy are they who have not walked in the counsel of the wicked, nor
lingered in the way of sinners, nor sat in the seats of the scornful!
2 Their delight is in the law of the LORD, and they meditate on his law day and
night.
3 They are like trees planted by streams of water, bearing fruit in due season,
with leaves that do not wither; everything they do shall prosper.
(Psalm 1:1-3)
“See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity.”
(Deuteronomy 30:15)

Have you ever had one of those days where everything seemed to
go amiss. Nothing serious may have happened. Your physical health
remained ok. No auto accident or things like that. Just everything else,
from leaving your phone inside when you go out, to potholes and
detours on your way to the store. to people driving too slowly, blocking
you at every step of the way, to long lines, unpleasant store clerks, to
just about everything. At least it feels that way.
Now I hope that I’m talking to a relatively mature congregation this
morning and that I am speaking with a serene, accepting, smiling group

of people. I do admire you. And I. too, have been like. At times! I say
“at times,” for it is those other times, when I am an infantile brat,
kicking and screaming about the way my life is unfolding. These things
that bother me, from childhood to adulthood I would like to reflect on
with you a few minutes. I am talking about disappointment, and I title
this little meditation “Hooray for Disappointment!”
Wouldn’t it be great if our lives unfolded just as we wish them to
and just as we would expect? I think even 2-year-olds have learned that
this is just not the way it is. Mommy doesn’t come just when our diapers
demand it; that cookie we are reaching for does not arrive on time. And
that spoon we use to beat on the table of our highchair just doesn’t get
answered. Wah, wah, waah! Poor little Stevie, poor little Johnny, poor
little Mary. We all know the sting of disappointment.
Disappointments result from expectations not being met. We expect
the electricity to be working when we get home in the evening. We
expect our partner to remain loyal to us. We expect a higher level of ease
and comfort in our retirement years. The pain and discomfort from
unmet expectations amount to mild irritation or resentment and anger to

disgruntlement and discouragement—depending, of course, on how
earnestly we hold these expectations. The point, of course, is not to
judge our disappointments (“I shouldn’t feel like that!” “How immature
of me to feel that way”) That only worsens the situations. It is important
instead only to become aware or remind ourselves that we are simply not
getting what we want: what we expect to happen just isn’t happening. I
can excuse myself like the guy who said, “I am very disappointed in
gravity. It always lets me down!”
And let’s be real: life is full of disappointments. I haven’t met
anyone who claims never to have had any. If I wanted to, I could list two
dozen disappointments I experience even before I get to the kitchen to
eat my breakfast.
Now what I have just suggested takes me to a powerful insight I had
the other day when thinking about disappointments.
Disappointments are nothing other than my labeling a situation that
arises in my life. What’s one person’s “disappointment” is another
person’s “opportunity.” You yourself must admit that many of our lives’

so-called, so-labeled disappointments were really blessings that we did
not recognize until later in life.
Disappointments, then, are on us. We are doing nothing but
describing something that happens to us. It is neither a failure nor a
success. It just is! I know this is easier said than lived. There is a
negative side to us that wants to be down a lot. There was a cartoon I
saw recently of a guy with a tee shirt that read: “I’ve given up all
expectations and I’m still disappointed.” Almost anything can be a
disappointment, as in this little poem called “Almost Perfect.”
Cloudless sky
Perfumed breeze
Open doors
Glistering emerald green
Buzzes in, [A butterfly!]
On transparent wings —
Lands on lunch!
As much as we might want to pin the blame on other people or
circumstances for our disappointment, much of our discouragement

stems from our own self-criticism. Perhaps if we were a bit kinder to
ourselves, we’d be a little less eager to talk about how others have
disappointed us.
But think how things change when we give up expecting and
rehearsing all the so-called “disappointments” we have experienced. On
one level it’s as simply as relabeling! We can turn from a cynic, an
Eeyore from the Winnie the Pooh stories, to a joyful person, greeting
everything in our lives as a gift. Because everything in our lives comes,
in fact, as a gift, doesn’t it? Things we work for, things we don’t work
for: all show out of the blue; and the only finally useful attitude is
gratitude, not disgruntlement.
The thing this topic asks of us is, “How free do you want to be?
How happy do you want to be?” I think many of us think there is
nothing we can do about our discouraging attitude. We are stuck and
think we are doomed to remain that way.
I love the old song, “Home on the Range.”
O give me a home, where the buffalo roam,
Where the deer and the antelope play;

Where seldom is heard a discouragin’ word
And the skies are not cloudy all day. …
And this lesser-known verse:
How often at night, when the heavens are bright,
With the lights from the glitterin’ stars,
Have I stood here amazed, and asked as I gazed
If their glory exceeds that of ours?
Let’s look around us. Isn’t there plenty to be amazed at? How much
time need we waste on disappointment. Sure, there is plenty we could
point to if we want to shift focus.
In conclusion, there are many strategies we can learn to turn around
a day in which everything seems to go amiss. Acceptance is a big tool,
but mine is a kind of combination of acceptance and mindfulness.
Mindfulness sounds like a big word, but it is really a very simple
word. Just observe yourself. Watch yourself go through the chain of
emotions. Like you’re in a movie theater watching others act out. I find
that when I do this—when I just note my feelings ebb and flow, arise

and disperse—I don’t get so involved. I’m like a kind spectator of my
day.
Living this way can be its own kind of bliss.
I believe we are meant to be happy, meant to live free. And the
Gospel of Christ proclaims these prizes are here, now for the taking.
Christ has died; Christ is risen. We too can live alongside the one who
promises this for us and for all who wish to take part.
Come join the dance.
Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Pentecost, August 7, 2022, at 10:00 a.m.
By The Rev. Stephen Galleher

Do You Hear What I Hear?

“Do you hear what I hear, said the night wind to the little lamb?”                            (Christmas Song)

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

                                              (Luke 12:32)

How you ever considered just how much listening you do in your life? However much we listen or however well we listen, we do one heck of a lot of it. It’s no wonder that we may not be too excited to listen, really listen, to the sounds and voices closest to us.

          Haven’t you turned the TV off at night when the commentators go on and on and on about the events of the day? We can grow cynical about just how much wisdom or lack thereof they are giving us. Even good music, sometimes when we are listening, we just say to ourselves, “Enough already!” And we turn it off, and the music ceases. Whew!

        But it’s scary what we might hear if we only listened better.

        There was a man in a mental hospital. All day he would put his ear to the wall and listen. The doctor would watch the guy do this day after day for months. Finally, the doctor decided to see what this man was listening to, so one day he approached the wall and put his own ear up to the wall and listened. He heard nothing.

        He turned to the mental patient and said, “I don’t hear anything!”

        The mental patient replied, “Yeah, I know. It’s been like that for months!”

        It’s really a shame when you think about it. Do we really listen when we’re listening? Or are we too busy framing what we are going to say in reply? That we will give advice, say something cleverer that what we have just heard and show ourselves more knowledgeable? Don’t we regret not hearing something important that said to us in the past? It could have made a huge difference to the rest of our lives.

       I really enjoy the Christmas song, “Do you hear what I hear?” I like it because it calls our attention to just how much we might be missing by listening more closely to the words of scripture. We recall that listening was the original way that Christians absorbed the words of the Bible. It was not until the invention of the printing press and general literacy that folk could read what that had formerly only been hearing. It was a wonderful advancement for sure, but it also entailed a loss. For serious hearing, serious listening can have an impact that reading may not. Why do we love drama so much? The Bible is full of drama. It is primarily a book of poetry, of romance, history and ecstasy. When we listen, our heads tend to be upraised, fully attentive.

       Do you hear what I hear? Do we hear what is proclaimed to us? Speaking for myself, I’d hate to confess the number of great things I miss hearing, especially in scripture. The Bible is a book of proclamation, of good news, of consolation, hope, joy. I believe if I listened more closely to the incessant drumbeat through the words of God’s love, I might just take all this glory more to heart.

          Today’s Gospel, for example, sneaks in a little sentence that it would be easy to miss. It is this: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Wow! Can we hear this, really hear it? That God gives to every one of us the kingdom. You, me and everyone we know and even those we don’t know are given the freedom to walk nobly about in this beautiful land of love.

          But this is just one of the lesser well-known things that God proclaims to us if we but listen.

          “You are the light of the world” I will pause briefly after this familiar passages. Do you hear what I hear?

Or this: “What’s the price of a pet canary? Some loose change, right? And God cares what happens to it even more than you do. He pays even greater attention to you, down to the last detail—even numbering the hairs on your head! So don’t be intimidated by this talk about canaries. You’re worth more than a million canaries.”
          Do you hear what I hear?

“Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” 

(Joshua 1:9)

       “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with us, and God will dwell with us, and we shall be God’s people. And God will wipe away every tear from our eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain.” (Revelation 21:3-4)

       “Or do you not realize about yourselves that Jesus Christ is in you?” (II Cor. 13:5)

          “Now God has us where he wants us, with all the time in this world and the next to shower grace and kindness upon us in Christ Jesus. Saving is all his idea, and all his work. All we do is trust him enough to let him do it. It’s God’s gift from start to finish! We don’t play the major role. If we did, we’d probably go around bragging that we’d done the whole thing! No, we neither make nor save ourselves. God does both the making and saving. He creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join him in the work he does, the good work he has gotten ready for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:7-10)

          This beautiful passage is from a translation called the Message Bible. I recommend you read it. It makes so many passages come alive that they never have before. Do you hear, really hear?

          The ability to listen is one of the greatest gifts we can be given, and it is one of the greatest gifts we can give others. When we listen well, we are listening very intently with respect even reverence to those who are speaking. It’s a sacred act, to listen.

          What do you do when you are listening to those who speak too much or too long? This is a complicated question, but I know people like that? Such people for me are challenges. Can I continue to listen? Can I continue to show them respect, even reverence? The challenge is for me to grow up and stop getting only what I want. Most people want to be listened to. Some very much hunger to be really listened to. Then my job is to listen, to really listen.

          Isn’t the job of all of us to “listen with the ear of the heart”?

       Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Pentecost, July 31, 2022, at 10:00 a.m.
By Stephen Galleher

The Dilemma of Impermanence

“I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun; and, see, all is vanity and chasing after wind.”

(Ecclesiastes 1:12-14)

“Even though honored, [we] cannot live forever* [we] are like the beasts that perish.”

(Psalm 49:11)

“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.”

   (Galatians 6:7)

The realization, which we are both honored and burdened with since childhood, is a fact we had rather ignore, at least most of the time. And that is the fact that each of us, absolutely without exception, is going to die!

         For who likes to hear that one day, a day very few of us know for sure, we will cease being here? Gone from the day-to-day reality of our lives. And, to put it plainly…destiny unknown.

         I suspect that we learn of this raw fact at a very early age. My first memory of it was when I wondered how I could possibly envision a life after death that lasts forever. Do any of us look forward to such a fate? Any more than strangely, we can’t envision a life on earth lasting forever, as much as we would prefer that the life we live now not end, thank you very much.

         But end it does and end it must. So, let’s sit with this fact a bit and see if it’s as grim as it sometimes seemed cracked up to be.

         I like to consider the inevitability of our death as just one example of impermanence. For everything I can think of in my experience is impermanent, from all the contents of nature, and all the artifacts and contents of human nature. Everything is always in flux, everything moves away from what and where it is a moment or so ago to the right now.

         Here’s just a short list: my age, my family and friends, my home, my interests, my likes and dislikes, my thoughts; the weather, the skyline of Manhattan, the streets of my town, the state of politics, the leaders of my town, state, country. Yes, even mountains are moving and changing, some very slowly and, with avalanches, fires, and other physical phenomena, some quite quickly.

         And the length of our lives. The tragedy of early deaths; the humble gratitude for an old age, especially a healthy one. How would you like to be a mayfly? The mayfly has the shortest lifespan of any known animal, twenty-four hours. Think of it. It never has even a slightest chance of visiting Great Adventure. And I’ve heard that Okinawa, a place in Costa Rica, a town in California, and a town in Greece, and one in Italy, are considered “blue zones,” having people there who live the longest and healthiest lives. So, don’t beat me to the airport please, even if I don’t speak Japanese, Spanish, Greek or Italian.

         So, I hope I’ve made my point. Avoid it if we wish, pretend to be all brave about it if we wish, but death is in the picture for you and me. I suppose part of this avoidance is due to another fact, namely, that we have no irrefutable evidence that even one person who has ever died and returned and told us if we survive death and what lies beyond death. Not one.

         But there is another side to this lament, if we wish to see it this way. And that is that life itself screams at us with other point of view. There is, first, the evidence of our faith, the faith in the grand lover, Jesus Christ. We point to his resurrection not so much as scientific evidence that he physically came forth from his tomb in Gethsemane. But that he tells us that the love he reveals in his life is our inheritance, that our life is hidden in his life: that where Christ is, we are also.

         We come to believe and live this incredible promise as we see the rewards of a life lived as God wants us to live it. Don’t we feel the assurance and confirmation of Christ’s promise when we think of all the joy. The joy we have received from family members and from friends? Don’t the coffee hours we share here at Church of the Good Shepherd point to the banquet prepared for us in heaven? And I invite you to think of special moments in your life, a laugh together with old friends, a side-spitting old video of Sid Caesar, a piece of music, classical or otherwise, where you sensed, you knew, that Christ was right. That God is love, and that this love sits inside as well as outside time and space. And that we are in it now. This love will not let us go.

         So, the fact of our death need not depress us. Of course, grief is real. It is wrenching to lose we love. There is mystery in loss. It is the impermanence I spoke of earlier.

         But the temporary nature of our lives can draw us toward the grandest emotion of all: gratitude. We are alive now; this moment, and in nostalgia all earlier moments, the joyful and the sad ones, are part of the life we live now and rejoice in. And I think within the context of our Christian heritage, no matter how deeply we have absorbed and incorporated it in our lives, points beyond this life of ours.

         For there is something permanent about love. A clergy friend of mine used that word a year or so ago. He said love is “permanent.” It is a revelatory word. Do you not agree that the love you have experienced in your life is permanent? And aren’t you and I, who have experienced this love: are we not, as well, permanent? Just as the love isn’t going anywhere, so too, we aren’t going anywhere.

         Have I then been talking out of both sides of my mouth? Everything is impermanent. I made a convincing case for that, I think. And yet I am suggesting an even greater reality, that the love that this impermanent life manifests is permanent. Can we hold both things in our two hands—impermanence and permanence?

         Perhaps we can attend to the opening sentences of the funeral service. In our Baptism, have we not already died and been raised?

For none of us has life in himself,

and none becomes his own master when he dies.

For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord,

and if we die, we die in the Lord.

So, then, whether we live or die,

we are the Lord’s possession.

“Your life is hid with Christ in God!”

         Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Pentecost, July 3, 2022, at 8:00 and 10:00 a.m.

Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing?
Or
Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

“You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice; your bodies shall flourish like the grass; and it shall be known that the hand of the Lord is with his servants” (Isaiah 66:14)

“Come now and see the works of God, *

how wonderful he is in his doing toward all people…. His eyes keep watch over the nations.” (Psalm 66:4,6)

“Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow.” (Galatians 6:7)

“See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. “ (Luke 10:3)

I was wondering, as I began to reflect on what to share with you this morning, if many of you feel as I do—like we have been slugged in the stomach? Our heads are reeling with all the bad news in our national life, and we feel the anxiety rising as to whether this country can survive the many and accumulating problems that beset us. It’s hard to remain hopeful in the face of one revelation after another, one scandal after another, and the assault on the very foundations of what we thought was our stable democracy called the United States.

And then we read today’s scriptures where it calls us on to rejoice that we, God’s people, will flourish like the grass, because God’s hand is with us. We are told to behold the wonderful things God is doing for us. “His eyes,” the Psalmist writes, “keep watch over the nations.”

“Oh, yeah?” we can honestly reply. It certainly doesn’t look like that at all. A senseless, terrible war rages unabated in Ukraine, thousands dying, a country being slowly reduced to rubble. Our country here at home divided like never before in our lifetime with justice seemingly far from just and people baring their teeth and their fists. Where’s the love? Is God, in fact, keeping watch any longer, if indeed he once did? The evidence might seem quite sketchy.

And we Christians. We are told that we are being sent out like lambs among wolves. But that might sound grand and virtuous, but it can be darn hard to distinguish the lambs from the wolves. And, if we are honest, it can be hard to figure out which we are?

Are we wolves in lambs’ clothing? I sometimes feel that way. Am I not a wolf when hatred and vengeance can fill my heart as I watch the evening news?

It’s not just the news. Do you ever find yourself saying things, and behaving in a way that doesn’t feel like you?  Do you find yourself reflecting on a relationship and wondering why it made you feel like a different person?

How about trying to impress someone and acting in a way that makes you feel like a phony. Or shrinking into yourself when a certain friend is around. Or even saying things just to hurt somebody. In short, just not being your authentic self.

But make no mistake: our calling is to love, to go forth in a spirit of peace, of forgiveness and reconciliation. As the Epistle puts it, “God is not mocked, for we reap what we sow.” I’d like to point fingers at all those who will get theirs, to whom justice will be served—excluding myself, of course! But remember, the General Confession in our Communion service is called “General,” because it includes everyone. All have fallen short of the glory of God.

Yes, it can be hard to keep a faith in a loving, sovereign God when we see such disruption and injustice and inhumanity. But it is perhaps such troublesome times as these that present us with the greatest challenge. To say yes to a world loaded for bear, with everyone’s hand on the trigger is perhaps a challenge we do not have the courage to undertake. But this is precisely the challenge that Jesus faced…and met.

Jewish life under the Roman occupation of Palestine was by no means easy. Even the Jewish Sanhedrin was corrupt. We aren’t unique in our criticism of our own highest court. 

And suppose we lived in 1860 America or 1929 at the beginning of the Great Depression? Or 1939 Europe? Or 1945 Japan? Or 1950 Korea? Tell me where and when we could relax our shoulders and our minds and breathe the fresh air of peace and world harmony?

There is a new documentary about the life and music of poet and songwriter Leonard Cohen. In it, he says, “If you look around, you see a world that cannot be made sense of. You either raise your fist or you say ‘Hallelujah.’” Can we lose hope in humanity? Can we afford this luxury?

Isn’t that beautiful? This is what people of faith have been saying for millennia and which confronts us today. Can we sing “Hallelujah” in the face of a world so seemingly out of kilter?

The words of this beautiful song by Leonard Cohen have the repeating refrain, “Hallelujah, hallelujah” which rises out of all the tension and struggle and tears. This is the hallelujah that arises from the cross, a cross which stretches across history to tell us that we are lambs among wolves but that we are redeemed by our looking at one who loves us through it all, even when we turn into wolves ourselves. “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” Father, forgive us, for we forget just how loving is this shepherd who stays closer to us than our own breath. We all have capacity both for love and generosity on the one hand and for selfishness and hate on the other. I know I do.

The love we know as Christians is a love that does not let us go and that will not let us go. So let us be of good courage and render to no one evil for evil but strengthen the faint-hearted, support the weak and honor every single human being. For each human being is our brother or sister. Jesus teaches us that. And he gives us the strength to sing Hallelujah, for there is just no other song to sing.

[Play a clip from Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”]

Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Pentecost, June 5, 2022, at 8:00 and 10:00 a.m.
By The Rev. Stephen Galleher

Breathe on Me,
Breath of God!

“And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.” (Acts 21:1-2)

“You hide your face, and they are terrified; * you take away their breath, and they die and return to their dust.” (Psalm 104:30)

“Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.” (John 14:9-10)

Surely one of the top miracles of our lives (and there are more of them than we can count) is the first breath we take when we are born. To confess my ignorance, I thought the doctor or midwife hit the newborn on its backside to get the baby breathing; but no, it happens without human intervention, just like a magic trick, though I’m sure the scientists have a more detailed explanation.

          That first breath that we all take: I was going to say, “It takes our breath away.” But that’s not a good metaphor! This first breath is, in fact, the breath of life. This event holds a major place at the beginning of our Scripture: Genesis chapter 2, verse 7: “God formed [us] out of dirt from the ground and blew into [our] nostrils the breath of life. [We] came alive—living souls!”

          What is breath? Do you think you know? Do you think you can see it? We see it on a cold winter’s day, when our warm breath meets freezing air, but the breath itself is invisible—and it points to something truly spiritual. Look at your own breath! Or better, since you cannot see it, focus on your own breath. Where do you think it comes from? Did you put it there? Did you have anything to do with the breath of the person sitting next to you.

          This mysterious thing, for I suggest it is a mystery: so common, so close, and yet so wild and unknown. That this breath of mine and yours points to God, invisible yet ever present, surrounding us, within us, the presence of our life itself. And we know how precious it is with those of us with asthma, COPD, emphysema or who have had bouts of bronchitis. Just as suddenly as it has been given us, our breath can be taken away.

          It was there at the beginning of creation. God’s spirit. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and void, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.” (Genesis 1:1-5)

                God’s breath is the spirit of creation. It is life itself. And we recognize this all around us.

          As when we say, “This kid is full of spirit.” Or addressing him directly, “That’s the spirit!” Or, “What a spirited horse we have here!”

          And on this day in the church year, Pentecost, also known as Whitsunday, we celebrate the Holy Spirit, Jesus’s parting gift of himself as the earthly pilgrimage of Jesus ends. It is announced like this: “And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting.” (Acts 21:1-2)

What is “a mighty wind” but another word for breath? It’s no wonder that God is often shown in art as blowing, and his breath as a mighty wind.

Spirit, wind, breath: all manifestations of the life of God. And the gift of Pentecost is that all those folks from so many tribes and languages were all talking like crazy (you know like a bunch of women at a tea party (sorry, ladies!), or like a bunch of men at the local pub—lots of noise. And guess what, they understood one another. Because the sound of the wind was the language of love.

          Don’t we know what this language is about? We hear it all the time when we hear a beautiful symphony orchestra. A symphony orchestra is full of wind instruments, not just the reeds (the clarinets, oboes, and bassoons) but also the brass instruments (the trumpets, trombones, and horns), all of which are propelled by (you said it!)—the breath. Wind! And everyone in the audience of whatever nationality understands what is played. Just like at Pentecost.

          And so, we needn’t get confused or roll our eyes over the notion of “the Holy Spirit.” The word Holy Spirit as the so-called third person of the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—can become too abstract, something we had to memorize in our catechism or hear sung about by a beautiful choir. Ok, but the Holy Spirit is much more concrete. Suppose there is absolutely no distinction between the spirit, the breath that you and I breathe and God’s spirit, God’s Holy Spirit?

          My breath and your breath. Can you say that there is a distinction between them? It is our life, right? I know. I am breathing and you and breathing. But what is the difference between these breathings? Are they not the one life? Substitute the word “spirit” for life. My spirit is no different from the spirit of that person in Romania I have never met. Aren’t they in one sense the same spirit, the same life? And is this one life that we both share not divine? Let’s call it “holy.” Ah, ha! I’ve got us. I’ve got us caught in the divine life that we all share and that we all breathe together.

          And if we want to take it even further? What about our pet dogs and cats? The animals at the zoo and in the forests and seas?

          We get an illustration of the point I have been making when Philip questions Jesus in today’s Gospel reading. “Lord,” Philip scolds Jesus, “show us the father and we will be happy.” And Jesus rebukes Philip, “Have I been with you so long and you don’t get my drift? He who has seen me has seen the father.” Isn’t that something. Do you think that when you look in your friend’s eyes or in your lover’s eyes, or anyone else’s eyes, you are seeing God itself? What do you think?

          And so, we breathe. Did you have anything to do with the breath that you are breathing? Do you have any control over the next breath you will take? Do you have any control over when you draw your last breath? All gift, all sheer gift. And this breathing that we have been doing for, lo, these many years: is it one bit distinct from the God who created and sustains us? The breath is our life, and this breath and this life is the life of God.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
fill me with life anew,
that I may love the way you love,
and do what you would do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
until my heart is pure,
until my will is one with yours,
to do and to endure.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
so shall I never die,
but live with you the perfect life
for all eternity.

Amen.