Category: Sermons

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey
Thursday, May 2, 2021, at 10:00 a.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

Fear Not!

“[The Jews]…were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles.” (Acts 10: 44-48)

“Pour into our hearts such love towards you that we will love you in all things.”
(Collect, Easter VI)

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you….I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.” (John 15:9-17)

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

        The appearances of the risen Christ, at least how the Gospels report them to us, are intended to communicate one thing. That this risen Lord is with us always. This means now, in our present life. Eternity is now and we are in it. Startling, isn’t it? Eternal life is not something we await. It is something we possess. Our baptism affirms it. Christ’s resurrection reaffirms it.

        And along with this assurance of God’s continuous presence with us throughout our earthly journey (and, for good measure, always) there are two other things that the risen Christ announces in practically all his appearances. The first is, “Peace be with you. My peace I give you.” And the second is, “Fear not.” These are about the two most wonderful gifts that we human beings can receive. In fact, the gift of peace and the gift of release from fear are closely related. When we are free of fear, we are at peace, are we not? A peaceful heart is a heart that is unafraid.

        Let’s look at fear a little more closely, for I know of no human being who has not been visited by fear. It is part and parcel of our humanity. From fear of heights, spiders and snakes to fear of losing something we treasure or of getting something we do not want.

Some of my favorite silly fear jokes:

I have a fear of speed bumps. I’m slowly getting over it.

What do you call the fear of being trapped in a chimney? Claus-trophobia.

How do you get over a fear of elevators? Take some steps to avoid them.

What lies at the bottom of the ocean and shakes a lot? A nervous wreck!

        Wild, isn’t it? Fear is an embrace of, or rather a revulsion toward something that is not here, that has not happened! I fear going to the dentist, but I am not yet in the dentist’s chair. I fear the death of my sick loved one, but my loved one is not yet dead. I’m scared of dying, but, to put it bluntly, I ain’t dead yet.

        Several quick questions to ask about fear?

        1) How many things that you have feared have not come to fruition, have not happened? How about the things you fear now? Do you think they will actually happen, or that they will happen in precisely the way you fear? Remember last week how I spoke of the silver lining that often awaits the bad things we thought were to come to pass? Things that we dreaded often turned out to be not so bad after all, even sometimes as blessings.

2) How often have you been mistaken about what you were fearing? Isn’t fear behind so much of our tribal politics today? We tend to think that someone else or some other group of people will take away something dear to us? Racism has this fear built into it. Perhaps one of the reasons that Congress can readily pass an Asian anti-discrimination bill is that our Asian brothers and sisters do not pose any discernible threat to our (I might as well say it, “white”) way of life as African Americans and Hispanics can…and seem to be doing. And isn’t it interesting that so many of the attacks on our Asian friends come from African-Americans?

And why else are a good number of Americans falling into a kind of psychosis, refusing to accept the reality that is before them? Is it not fear of the challenge that our black and brown brothers and sisters pose to the white, male dominating class?

How tragic is it to see such class and economic divisions create such hatred in our land today! Where is the love for goodness sakes! Just as the Jews were appalled that non-Jews were accepting Christ and being baptized, so certain of our citizens think that they and only they should benefit from the riches and benefits of our country? They fear losing something that they think should be only theirs or of being brought into a way of life that they simply do not want!

It’s all about fear. Fear blocks love. Fear diminishes love. Where there is no fear, love can blossom and flourish. And who does not want love, lots and lots of it in fact? That is why Christ gives us this gift. “Fear not.” This is what he says over and over again. Why do we not listen? Fear must be the answer.

Fear is awfully, awfully strong. In fact, I suggest it may be behind every withholding of love. It may require some sacrifice on my part. I have to give up something I just do not want to give up. Trust me, in my case, I have a lot left to give up. Fear. Love casts it out!

Think what a sigh of relief we could release if we stopped fearing one another. I can hear the wind being released from our lungs. And that beautiful sense of peace that would fill our hearts. Yes, that peace is with us always, but we paper it over with the fretfulness we live with and with which fills our public channels.

Remember. When Jesus uttered those words to his disciples, the Romans still held power and authority over Israel. Crucifixions and stonings still took place outside Jerusalem. We’d like to think that strife and war somehow took a holiday. But, no, the world rolled on. As it has for two and more millennia. Discord, mayhem, war.

My goodness, only God knows why God remains patient with God’s creation.

But then just as now. I suppose if God is so patient, perhaps this is what we must be as well. The gift of the resurrection is the gift of faith. Are we going to receive it, or postpone it? Don’t you love the hymn: “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” Let us look… and this time really see. Let us enjoy the life we have rather than the one we wish it be. For when this peace is in our hearts, it is already changing the world. Think about this.

Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me
Let There Be Peace on Earth
The peace that was meant to be

With God with us
Friends all are we
Let me walk with these friends
In perfect harmony.

Let peace begin with me
Let this moment be now.

With ev’ry step I take
Let this be my solemn vow
To take each moment and live
Each moment in peace eternally
Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me

Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey
Thursday, May 2, 2021, at 10:00 a.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

Look for the Silver Lining!

“Almighty God, whom truly to know is everlasting life.” (Collect, Easter V)

“Everyone who loves is born of God and experiences a relationship with God.” (John 4:7)

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

        One of the wonderful features of this year’s Sundays in Easter are the readings, not just from the Gospel of John, but also from the first Epistle of John, this latter being surely one of the greatest hymns to love in all literature. I have used the Message Bible’s translation this morning for its down-to-earth rendition of what love is. “Everyone who loves,” it states today, “is born of God and is in relationship to God.”

Such a beautiful thing. It’s not about what you believe, the opinions you hold or whether you are right or wrong. No, it’s about whether you love. And in that loving, whether you be a Jew, a Christian, a Muslim or, yes, an agnostic or atheist, you are in relationship to the most important thing…to God!

        In fact, and there is the down side of the passage, and it is this: if you refuse to love, you don’t know the first thing about love. That’s pretty strong language, isn’t it? Because—and surely this is one of the wildest statements in scripture: “God is love.” So, John logically concludes, we cannot know God if we do not love.

        How beautiful is that? And yet, as much as love is a pleasant, beautiful, even joyful thing, and as much as we have a lifelong insatiable need for it…we often withhold it from others. As a friend used to opine: “Everyone wants to be loved, but so few of us want to do the loving!”

And this withholding of love has, no doubt, a variety of reasons. We do not love when we feel unloved, either in general or by the one for whom we are withholding love. Someone hurts us, so we hurt back. Isn’t it remarkable how we live our lives in this kind of reciprocity? It’s natural, but it brings a lot of heartache. Love is withheld from us, so we withhold it from others.

But I do not wish to dwell today so much on the complexity of human relationships and how love is choked, blocked, and strained in all our hurts and resentments. God knows, this is the subject of many a discussion.

No, I want to discuss the things that eclipse our love of life, our gratitude for the commonest of things. This eclipse of love results from two major sourcs. The first source is from our feelings about ourselves. I am continually amazed by how so many of us who should know better, by age, maturity or training, hold ourselves in such critical, low regard. We tell ourselves stories about ourselves that can be more critical than those told by even our worst enemies. Many of us wouldn’t dare hug ourselves believing that we aren’t worth it. Is this not tragic? Think of what we are missing out on! Like a bad habit that we know isn’t good for us.

But there is a second source of that eclipse of love, not just our low regard for ourselves (shame on us!), but the gloomy assessments we can carry about how our lives are working out. These assessments can result from so many things: illness, for example. Goodness gracious, bodily aches and pains and chronic illness can take their toll and can, either temporarily or for the long haul, turn us into grouches.

And we can turn gloomy from staring too long at the circumstances of our world. Politics, the pandemic, global warming, nuclear weapons. We could add to this list for hours. Not exactly cheerful subjects, and we can give them such a negative spin that Chicken Little would blush and run from our pessimism.

This is why the messages in John, and indeed the message of Easter is such a restorative of sanity and cheerfulness. It encourages us to turn away from our painting of the world as dark, our opinions of the world as going to hell, and our gloompot assessment of our own lives. God is love, and, as John says, “you can’t know God if you don’t love.”

There is a beautiful song that can help me turn away from the dark moods that can overtake me. It goes like this:

As I wash my dishes, I’ll be following a plan
Til I see the brightness in every pot and pan
I am sure this point of view will ease the daily grind
So I’ll keep repeating in my mind:

Look for the silver lining
Whenever a cloud appears in the blue
Remember, somewhere the sun is shining
And so the right thing to do is make it shine for you

A heart, full of joy and gladness
Will always banish sadness and strife
So always look for the silver lining
And try to find the sunny side of life

So always look for the silver lining
And try to find the sunny side of life

Isn’t this something? That in washing the dishes, we look to see brightness in every pot and pan. Oh, how I wish I could live this adage more fully. Are there situations in your present where you spend more time worrying and agonizing over what has not yet happened than over enjoying the present moment? I can bet you that you have had plenty of such moments in the past. Times, that is, when your concern for something that had not yet happened consumed you to the point of frenzy.

I have had such moments for sure. Plenty of them. There is something about the mind that it tends to forecast doom and gloom. Sure, we look forward to a vacation or the birth of a grandchild, but more often than not, we think about the rain that’s coming, the republic that’s falling and the world that’s ending. Even Shakespeare failed to write tragedies as gloomy as those we tend to write in our heads.

But I wish to ask you to reflect on those gloomy prognostications from your past. Did they ever turn out as tragically as you thought they were going to? In fact, look again at such moments (pick out one particular occasion when you projected the worst). How bad did that moment turn out? Be honest. Ok, it may have turned out pretty poorly, but did you learn anything from it? Was there a silver lining in it? I bet there was. At least there has been in almost every case in my own life.

I could give you illustrations, things I had foreseen as ominous and bad that turned out not to have been so tragic. In fact—and here’s the point—those things sometimes turned out to be blessings, just the opposite of what I had imagined!

Look for the silver lining. Is this not good advice? It most surely is good advice in my case, for in retrospect almost always (I hestitate to say “always”) a beautiful blessing has emerged as my life has unfolded. So why not bring this advice and this experience into my lived life now?

So I need not just look for that silver lining as something in my future. I can live that silver lining now. Is this not what resurrection means? Easter is now. Love is now. Love is permanent. There is nothing to anticipate when love is in the picture. After all, among Christ’s parting words were, “Fear not, for I am with you always.” Always includes now.

As John says in our Epistle today: “God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we’re free of worry.”

Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Thursday, April 25, 2021, at 10:00 p.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

Resurrection Is Built into Creation and Is Now!

“And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us.”

 (I John 3:24)                                                                         

“Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd.” (John 10:11)

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia

Resurrection happened, we declare, in a most singular and particular way… a long time ago. No one knows for sure the exact date. Calendars were different then. Some scholars guess that it occurred sometime in early April A.D. 33. Nowadays dates after Christ are referred to as CE, meaning Common Era. This is to avoid an explicitly Christian reference. CE: Common Era. B.C. is now BCE, Before the Common Era. Confusing, yes? But how important is this date anyway? Is it important to you?

        Because resurrection—while it is likely in some, as-yet-to-be-understood sense an historical occurrence—points to a larger meaning, a meaning with impact for all time and all history and most of all for each of our lives as lived now. It is not simply an event to be noted and perhaps remembered as we remember the date of the fall of the Roman Empire or the dates of the American Civil War. If this is all it is, then we would be justified in giving it only the barest attention.

        Resurrection is built into creation. If it is true, it has been true from the beginning and for all time.

There are hints of it throughout the Old Testament. When Job, after suffering the tortures of hell itself, proclaims—surely one of the great affirmations in all scripture—“But I know that my Redeemer lives and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God!” (Job 19:25-26)

Is this not a foreseeing of an ultimate bliss beyond the vicissitudes of everyday life? In fact, it reflects back into this present life. In other words, it is not just a forecast, but a proclamation of the joy of all life, both now and forever. “For now is Christ risen,” yesterday, today, and forever!

[Play video of Handel’s “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth”]

        Remember the colorful but scary story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who refused to bow before the gold statue that Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar had set up? These fellows’ defiance resulted in Nebuchadnezzr throwing them into a roaring, fiery furnace. Furious that these rascals refused to worship his idol, the king fired the furnace seven times hotter than usual. It was so hot, in fact, that those throwing Shadrach, Mesach and Abednego into the furnace were scalded and killed  in the process.

        Then the king shouted in amazement, “Didn’t we throw three men, bound hand and foot, into the fire?…But look,” he continued, “I see four men, walking around freely in the fire, completely unharmed. And the fourth man looks like a son of the gods,” elsewhere translated “the son of God”!

        Isn’t this the resurrection? “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the ends of the earth.”

        These Old Testament illustrations hint very clearly that the resurrection is built into life—God created the earth and everything in it, not to desert it, but to remain cheek by jowl with it, closer to us than our beating hearts. And God can manifest itself in the most trying of circumstances: with Job in his trials, with Shadrach and his brothers in the fiery furnace and with our Lord Jesus as he cries out for his very life on a wooden cross.

        Elizabeth Kubler Ross once said, “The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
        Do we not sense this in our own lives? Have we not known the living, resurrected Christ in the events of our lives, sometimes on occasions of great anxiety and even sadness?

        I’d like to tell you a story about an experience of a good friend of mine, a retired Episcopal priest colleague. He and I were ordained deacon together at a ceremony in Charlottesville, Virginia, back in June 1970. Bill was assigned early in his ministry as curate in a large parish in Roanoke, Virginia, and was left on his own, still wet behind the ears, while the rector took a brief holiday with his wife out of town. Alas, a diocesan-sponsored ski trip of teenagers to South America met with tragedy when an avalanche overturned the bus they were riding on. Bill was called by the parents of one of the girls on the bus; and he went to the home with news that the daughter was likely still alive, since they had not yet gotten any word. Upon returning to his home, Bill got word that, in fact, the daughter had perished in the avalanche tragedy. He returned to deliver the sad news. The parents said that as they saw Bill drive up, they knew he came with the truth of what he had learned about their daughter.

        Later, with the rector returned, the rector and Bill met the parents at the Roanoke airport to greet the cargo plane with the returning casket of the parishioner’s daughter. The family lined up outside the cargo door where the forklift was removing the plywood coffin. It was gently raining as it came out on the lift, and the rain drops made distinct indentations on the soft wooden frame. Bill knew just then that these were the tears of God.

        Resurrection. Easter. In the midst of tragedy.

        It cannot be accidental that this is Good Shepherd Sunday. And the twenty-third psalm is an Easter hymn if ever there was one! It is a hymn about üpresence; üeucharist; üovercoming strife; and üeternity

        This translation is from the Message Bible:

Psalm 23 The Message

23 ^1-3 God, my shepherd!
    I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
    you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
    you let me catch my breath
    and send me in the right direction.

⁴ Even when the way goes through
    Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
    when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd’s crook
    makes me feel secure.

⁵ You serve me a six-course dinner
    right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
    my cup brims with blessing.

⁶ Your beauty and love chase after me
    every day of my life.
I’m back home in the house of God
    for the rest of my life.

 I believe that the extent to which we do not live these lines, absorb them into our hearts and lives, we sell short our joy and miss out on the cup brimming with blessings.

We needn’t blame ourselves for what we may be missing. Our secular world, even our church at times, sells us false goods, things that postpone us out of existence: fulfillment down the road, after we’ve made our earthly fortune or after we go to heaven. Phooey!

Resurrection is now. Hallelujah Christ is risen! This is the eternal proclamation of the Christian church, indeed of the world where God resides, and we heed it precisely to the extent that we intend joy for our lives, now and forever.

        Amen.

By Deacon Virginia Jenkins-Whatley 

Luke 24:36b-48

When I was in college I worked in the local hospital as a nurses aide in the Oncology hospice care unit. I was terrified working there because you would have 5-10 terminal patients who pass away so quickly before you could get to know them. I was almost immune to final preparations for the deceased.

 I did become attached to a very lovely married couple, Irene and Frank McDougal. Frank was hospitalized for a few weeks before he requested hospice care at home.  On my nights off I would care for him and he would be so challenging. One night he told me I didn’t have to return because he was leaving. He said that I had been great. I could tell by the expression on his face he was serious. He gave me a bottle of Irish whiskey  and said don’t drink it all at once. After all these years  I still have that bottle.

After his passing I would visit with his wife. She was in and out of the hospital. A year had passed since Frank’s death. Irene and I talked about all the funny stories he would tell us.  She had been in the hospital for three weeks and I tried spending time with her as much as I could.

I was home studying for finals around 11 p.m one night. I was drifting off to sleep and I heard someone calling my name but I didn’t see anyone outside. I lived alone and no one was in my apartment but me.

I took a shower and went to bed. I was getting very drowsy and I heard a voice again and turned and saw Irene just as plain as day sitting in my lounge chair. I looked at the clock and it was 11:10 pm She said she missed seeing me tonight. She said she just wanted to thank me for being so very nice to her and Frank. She said I was always a comfort to her and that she wished me the best in everything I want to do with my life. I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up, I wasn’t sure if I had dreamt about Irene or not.

I had one eye open and scanned the room. I was scared. Fear overcame me. I called her room at the hospital and no one answered. When I went to work that evening, I did not say anything to anyone. I went to Irene’s room and she was not there.

When we were given patient report they told me that she had passed away last night and was calling for me. They said that she passed at 11:10. I was terrified. I didn’t say a word. After my shift, I went home. I had every light on in the apartment. I asked my brother to meet me there so that he could take the lounge chair with him to his place.

In today’s reading, the disciples, also were startled and terrified. They looked as if they had seen a ghost. Then Jesus asks them “why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?” This is the first time Jesus had showed himself to all of the disciples since his resurrection. So perhaps the disciples had a right to be afraid. They had not experienced the resurrected Christ for themselves. I think it’s only natural for them to have been afraid. I think fear and being startled is a predicted reaction to seeing the deceased now raised. It may be easy for us to shake our heads in disbelief, but we are at an advantage. We know more about Jesus now than the disciples did at that time.

They experienced the loving, understanding Jesus. The Jesus who understood that despite telling them that he would be raised, that showing them his hands and feet is what it was going to take for them to believe. Jesus was willing to do whatever it was he needed to do so that the disciples would not be afraid.

Fear is such a powerful motivator in our current culture. It keeps us behind locked doors, much like the disciples. Fear keeps us from living fully into the disciples that God created us to be. Fear keeps us from accepting grace.  Fear keeps us from full faith.

I feel that, when we resist the actions that Christ calls us to because of fear then we aren’t worshipping God, we are worshipping fear. We are a people who declare that Alleluia! Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed!) And when we declare that, we are declaring that not even death can stop Christ. Christ has defeated death. Christ can defeat our fears.

Jesus sees what the disciples need and he meets them where they are. He offers them his hands and feet, and then, after eating, encourages them to keep going. There is nothing to fear. Jesus reminds us of his promises by using scripture. Jesus frees them from their fear and Jesus frees us from ours.

We cannot escape fear.  We can understand that Christ can triumph over fear. But that doesn’t mean that fear will no longer exist.  We are witnesses to the fact that Christ has triumphed over death. We are witnesses that cry out “Alleluia! Christ is risen.” But as long as fear lingers, even behind closed doors in my bedroom, even in the nooks and crannies in our minds, we are not completely secure. Only Christ can save us. Our fears certainly can’t do that.

Jesus came to issue the disciples, and us a call. He came to remind us that our call is to proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins. But Christ shows us that hope is stronger than fear. Christ shows us that an empty tomb is stronger than a cross. Christ shows us that locked doors cannot keep him out.

Christ has called us to be a witness to his presence among us: in our words, in our deeds, and in our presence in the world. Our faith is stronger than our fear Faith moves us on, into the world, proclaiming Christ’s love and forgiveness to all people.  Alleluia! Christ is Risen! (Christ is risen indeed, alleluia!)

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Thursday, April 11, 2021, at 10:00 p.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

Have You Died and Gone to Heaven?

“With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.” (Acts 4:32-35)

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed!

Yes, the Lord is risen. Indeed, that is one wonderful half of our Easter celebration. That this individual, Jesus the Christ, lived a life so free of ego that he was liberated to live without reserve, with no holds barred. As a friend’s rewording of today’s collect goes, “Jesus’s life was so trusting and true that death could not hold him.” Christ showed in his resurrection appearances that God does not and will not abandon us. And he delivers his peace by showing that being in a resurrection environment is a place where peace reigns—a peace that passes understanding.

        But where does that leave us? Without some impact on my life here and now, it’s just a charming and dramatic history lesson from a long-ago time and place.

        I am sure that we all know that old saying, “I’ve died and gone to heaven!” I don’t know if there is a Korean equivalent for this; but it indicates, does it not, that our life is going so well that things just couldn’t feel better for us. We say it, do we not, when we are in a state of relative bliss? We just didn’t know we could feel this good and still be alive! But when things slip, when our lives meet challenges, then our wings are clipped and we usually stop saying it.

        But my question this morning is, “Have we, in fact, or have we not, in fact, died and gone to heaven?”

        For this question gets to the heart of our life, goes straight to the meaning of our Baptism, and challenges us to listen again to one of the final statements of Christ: “Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another.” (John 13:34-35)

        So, we ask in a more somber vein, “Have you died and gone to heaven?” Have you really died and are you now in heaven? Of course, many of you will object, “Of course not. I am not dead, nor have I gone to what’s next in store for me!” Ok. If you want to be that way! If you want to think that you live, then you die, and then you go someplace else. That’s a pretty literal picture; and if you feel comfortable in that rocket ship, enjoy the voyage. I fear that many of us cannot come along with you. Many young people reject their religious heritage because they find that view of their lives to sound far-fetched. They just can’t relate.

        But we Christians, whatever we think about what happens to us after we die, tell another story. And that is that our lives are presently transformed, shot through now with a new perspective, a new reality, the reality that we have died and been risen with Christ. To me, this means that our lives now are lived in eternity, in the bosom of Abraham, in the arms of the risen Christ, we are in the presence now of this God who never leaves our side, who is closer to us than our very breath. In fact, this God is the very breath of our lives.

        Paul, in one of his most ecstatic passages, says in poetic language what I am getting at. He writes, “Since you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is seated, at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on the earth. For you have died, and your life is hid with Christ in God.” (Colossians 31-4)

            I do not believe that this writing is as abstract or impractical as we might at first think. It is borne out in our life experiences. When we are in the presence of the death of a loved one, for instance. Do we not in some sense feel that we are still present with them, with their love? Our love for them and their love for us has not disappeared. We witness near and far unbelievable acts of service, bravery and sacrifice, like the thousands of health care professionals who show up for work during this time of COVID and do their duty and yet save the lives of those they are waiting on. In fact, all similar service workers, grocery store clerks, sanitation workers, bus drivers. Are we not in the presence of the holy? Are these not sacred people doing holy things?

        Paul says, “Since we have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above,” and a bit later, “Set your minds on things that are above.”

        Is that “setting-our-minds-on-things-that-are-above,” about love? After all, that is Christ’s final commandment, that we love one another.

The beauty, but also, the challenge of this commandment is to love absolutely everyone, with absolutely no exceptions.

        So, have we died and gone to heaven? Heaven is not just a place where we are loved unconditionally. It is also a place where we love unconditionally. Whoops. Thereby hangs the problem.

        Yes, how do I love others unconditionally? Can I say that I do this? I know that we will confess that we do not do this in anywhere near a perfect way.

        But, being in heaven, we need not despair. For heaven is where love is, we are, remember, in the bosom of Abraham. The risen Christ said that where we are, Christ will be also. His love infuses, embraces, encourages, uplifts us into God’s love.

        How broad is the heart of the ocean? If you think of the ocean as one big heart, where are its boundaries, where does it cease to be heart? There is no outside of the ocean. Similarly, there is no outside to God’s love since we are never outside it.

        The Resurrection tells us that we have died and are in heaven? Does that mean that our bliss should remain undiminished? Of course not. We are human beings and we deny the reality of pain, suffering, loss and grief at the peril of our mental health. But resurrection does tell us that nothing need diminish our sense of joy, as difficult as the circumstances may be. Being outside of the world but still in it, we are outside time in a sense also. We are free to do as we please. And all there is to do is what Christ commanded us to do, that is, to love.

        A friend said something very simple to me the other day, but I took it as a sign to preach on the theme of dying and going to heaven. He said, “I have nothing but time to be kind.”

        Paul said it, “Love never ends.” Love is like the width of the ocean.

Life begins with love, is maintained with love, and ends with love.

Resurrection is now. “Christ is risen, the Lord is risen indeed.” Christ is risen and we are risen indeed!

Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Thursday, April 4, 2021, at 10:00 p.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

Love Makes Us Permanent

Allelulia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed!

“But here on this mountain, the Lord of Hosts
    will throw a feast for all the people of the world,
A feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines,
    a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts.
And here on this mountain, God will banish…
The shadow of doom darkening all nations.
    Yes, he’ll banish death forever.
And God will wipe the tears from every face.
    He’ll remove every sign of disgrace
From his people, wherever they are.
    Yes! God says so!” (Isaiah 25:6-8)

Yes, this Resurrection event, which we live again this morning, is another kind of feast, a continuation of sorts from Thursday, Jesus’s last meal with his disciples. It was a return to communion, “communion” meaning participation in something together. Communion is a love-in, a reunion of men and women in fellowship, of handshakes replacing fists, of hugs replacing blows, of warmth replacing a cold heart.

        There is an expression that I was taught as a child after finishing the main course, after the entre. My mother would say, “Keep your fork.” This meant to take my fork off the plate, set it aside and wait for the next course, the dessert. This is what we have done from Maundy Thursday until this morning! This is where we get to taste the divine end of the passion event, the sweet ending to a harrowing tale.

        Let us look at two examples of just what has gone on between Thursday evening and today, the day of Resurrection.

        It was January 6 of this year, when a gang of angry rioters stormed the nation’s Capitol, and pushed through the doors and broke windows and violently overcame the Capitol police who were protecting the entrances.

[Project photos of Hodges] Daniel Hodges was crushed and pinned with a policeman’s shield inside a doorway. Simply performing his duty to protect the chambers, he was pinned in that door jamb. Such is a picture of pain and suffering on behalf of others. A microcosm of all the pain and suffering all around us every day. Both from circumstances that the world dishes out and from what we dish out to one another in our fear and ignorance, our hatred and violence.

        [Project photos of Eugene Goodman] And then, again, from January 6, as the mob drew closer to the legislators, Capitol policeman Eugene Goodman called to the mobsters and drew them up the stairs, away from the Senators who were hiding in a safe room in the basement of the Capitol. He was given the Congressional Medal, our country’s highest civilian honor. I think of Jesus Christ as our scapegoat, taking on our dishonor, willing to die for the likes of us as we continue to dish out enmity and hatred towards our neighbors. This policeman was a man of love, doing his duty, yes, but risking his life in the process.

        This Jesus is not just the historical figure, but the eternal Christ, pointing the way into the suffering of the world and showing us a love that permeates yet transcends the surface of our lives. The love that was demonstrated by those assaulted policemen is the love of Christ, the same love.

        Similarly, the love that broke through all that suffering and death on Easter morning is the same love we see all around us when we open our hearts and eyes to that love here and now.

        So, what does it mean, what is it saying? What does the Resurrection mean to you? Is there any other question really worth asking, for if the Resurrection of Christ has no impact, no relevance to your life, then are we not wasting our time celebrating it?

        In my own experience, I find its impact in two ways, just from being still before this event. It is more than an historical occurrence. I see and feel it bursting forth in all of life’s circumstances. I see it played out by Officer Goodman leading the Capitol rioters up those stairs and away from the senators. This is what love looks like. And, yes, I see it and hear it in the agony of Officer Hodges as he screams in pain trapped in the Capitol door. This is what love looks like and what love sounds like. Love bursting out of every situation, however dire, even however deadly.

        Yes, you may think it odd, but I interpret resurrection from events such as those I have illustrated. But I also sense resurrection in my own life, not just in the awesome, sometimes ordinary things that result from my life as lived, but particularly in retrospect. When I reflect on the course of my life, there is only one thing that limns it, and that is love. Love.

        I ask that each of you reflect even casually on your life. There have been happy, joyous times, triumphant times; and there have been disappointing, sad, yes, even tragic times. But can you say that any of those times have been times devoid of love? Please be honest. It is perfectly fine if you do not see all the events of your life the way that I am suggesting.

        But what triggered my interpretation of my life by saying it has been all about love was a statement that a retired friend of mine said to me the other day. It was only a four-word sentence, but its power entered me deeply. He said: “Love…makes…us…permanent.”

        Love makes us permanent. Love does not come from nowhere and it does not leave once it is here. Don’t you feel this with all those family and friends who have passed, who loved you and whom you loved? They haven’t gone anywhere. This is resurrection.

        Love makes us permanent.

        William Penn, a famous Quaker and the founder of the colony of Pennsylvania, was also a religious thinker and writer. He wrote: “And this is the comfort of the resurrection, that the grave cannot hold us, and we live as soon as we die. For death is no more than a turning of us from time to eternity.”

        I love this sentiment. But eternity is not something after death. Aren’t we in eternity now? Isn’t our Baptism telling us that we have been buried and risen with Christ? We are already Christ’s own forever. So, speaking metaphorically, there is nowhere to go! There is no where to go to!

        I hope that we all on this Easter morn receive a renewed sense of the glory and power of our own resurrection with Christ. It’s as simple as a loving kiss for our partner, a gesture of reconciliation toward someone who has been off our radar, a beautiful thought wafted outward for a blessing from the warm air that greets it.

Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete….

When I was an infant at my mother’s breast, I gurgled and cooed like any infant. When I grew up, I left those infant ways for good.

We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! …

But for right now…we have three things to do to lead us [home]: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love. (Corinthians 13:8-1300

Amen

Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Sunday, March28, 2021, at 10:00 a.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

The Example of His Great Humility

“God took upon himself our humanity, suffering death, and exhibiting his great humility.” (Collect paraphrased, Palm Sunday)

“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 2:5-11)

I know, I know. The Passion reading this morning, as vital and dramatic as it is, is exceedingly long. It’s a challenge just to maintain our attention. We are not used to be being read to at such great length, unless it’s an audiobook. I asked our dear friend Fr. Wade Renn if it was his custom to give a full-length sermon on Palm Sunday, and he said emphatically, “Yes!”

        You may be somewhat relieved to learn that I do not intend to preach a sermon this morning. But wait, I would like to read a marvelous excerpt from the 20^th century monk, writer, and mystic Thomas Merton. This brilliant preparation for our walk this week to Calvary and to the tomb of Christ’s resurrection is from Merton’s masterpiece New Seeds of Contemplation.

To say that I am made in the image of God is to say that love is the reason for my existence, for God is love.

Love is my true identity. Selflessness is my true self. Love is my true character. Love is my name.

If, therefore, I do anything or think anything or say anything or know anything that is not purely for the love of God, it cannot give me peace, or rest, or fulfillment, or joy

To find love I must enter into the sanctuary where it is hidden, which is the mystery of God. And to enter into His sanctity I must become holy as He is holy, perfect as He is perfect.

How can I even dare to entertain such a thought? Is it not madness? It is certainly madness if I think I know what the holiness and perfection of God really are in themselves and if I think that there is some way in which I can apply myself to imitating them. I must begin, then, by realizing that the holiness of God is something that is to me, and to all men, utterly mysterious, inscrutable, beyond the highest notion of any kind of perfection, beyond any relevant human statement whatever.

If I am to be “holy” I must therefore be something that I do not understand, something mysterious and hidden, something apparently self-contradictory; for God, in Christ, “emptied Himself.” He became a man, and dwelt among sinners. He was considered a sinner. He was put to death as a blasphemer, as one who at least implicitly denied God, as one who revolted against the holiness of God. Indeed, the great question in the trial and condemnation of Christ was precisely the denial of God and the denial of His holiness. So God Himself was put to death on the cross because He did not measure up to man’s conception of His Holiness . . . . He was not holy enough, He was not holy in the right way, He was not holy in the way they had been led to expect. Therefore, he was not God at all. And, indeed, He was abandoned and forsaken even by Himself. It was as if the Father had denied the Son, as if the Divine Power and mercy had utterly failed.

In dying on the Cross, Christ manifested the holiness of God in apparent contradiction with itself. But in reality this manifestation was the complete denial and rejection of all human ideas of holiness and perfection. The wisdom of God became folly to men, His power manifested itself as weakness, and His holiness was, in their eyes, unholy. But Scripture says that “what is great in the eyes of men is an abomination in the sight of God,” and again, “my thoughts are not your thoughts,” says God to men.

If, then, we want to seek some way of being holy, we must first of all renounce our own way and our own wisdom. We must “empty ourselves” as He did. We must “deny ourselves” and in some sense make ourselves “nothing” in order that we may live not so much in ourselves as in Him. We must live by a power and a light that seem not to be there. We must live by the strength of an apparent emptiness that is always truly empty and yet never fails to support us at every moment.

This is holiness.

None of this can be achieved by any effort of my own, by any striving of my own, by any competition with other men. It means leaving all the ways that men can follow or understand.

I who am without love cannot become love unless Love identifies me with Himself. But if He sends His own Love, Himself, to act and love in me and in all that I do, then I shall be transformed, I shall discover who I am and shall possess my true identity by losing myself in Him.

And that is what is called sanctity.

        Amen.

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Sunday, March28, 2021, at 10:00 a.m.
By the Rev. Stephen C. Galleher

The Example of His Great Humility

“God took upon himself our humanity, suffering death, and exhibiting his great humility.” (Collect paraphrased, Palm Sunday)

“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 2:5-11)

I know, I know. The Passion reading this morning, as vital and dramatic as it is, is exceedingly long. It’s a challenge just to maintain our attention. We are not used to be being read to at such great length, unless it’s an audiobook. I asked our dear friend Fr. Wade Renn if it was his custom to give a full-length sermon on Palm Sunday, and he said emphatically, “Yes!”

        You may be somewhat relieved to learn that I do not intend to preach a sermon this morning. But wait, I would like to read a marvelous excerpt from the 20^th century monk, writer, and mystic Thomas Merton. This brilliant preparation for our walk this week to Calvary and to the tomb of Christ’s resurrection is from Merton’s masterpiece New Seeds of Contemplation.

To say that I am made in the image of God is to say that love is the reason for my existence, for God is love.

Love is my true identity. Selflessness is my true self. Love is my true character. Love is my name.

If, therefore, I do anything or think anything or say anything or know anything that is not purely for the love of God, it cannot give me peace, or rest, or fulfillment, or joy

To find love I must enter into the sanctuary where it is hidden, which is the mystery of God. And to enter into His sanctity I must become holy as He is holy, perfect as He is perfect.

How can I even dare to entertain such a thought? Is it not madness? It is certainly madness if I think I know what the holiness and perfection of God really are in themselves and if I think that there is some way in which I can apply myself to imitating them. I must begin, then, by realizing that the holiness of God is something that is to me, and to all men, utterly mysterious, inscrutable, beyond the highest notion of any kind of perfection, beyond any relevant human statement whatever.

If I am to be “holy” I must therefore be something that I do not understand, something mysterious and hidden, something apparently self-contradictory; for God, in Christ, “emptied Himself.” He became a man, and dwelt among sinners. He was considered a sinner. He was put to death as a blasphemer, as one who at least implicitly denied God, as one who revolted against the holiness of God. Indeed, the great question in the trial and condemnation of Christ was precisely the denial of God and the denial of His holiness. So God Himself was put to death on the cross because He did not measure up to man’s conception of His Holiness . . . . He was not holy enough, He was not holy in the right way, He was not holy in the way they had been led to expect. Therefore, he was not God at all. And, indeed, He was abandoned and forsaken even by Himself. It was as if the Father had denied the Son, as if the Divine Power and mercy had utterly failed.

In dying on the Cross, Christ manifested the holiness of God in apparent contradiction with itself. But in reality this manifestation was the complete denial and rejection of all human ideas of holiness and perfection. The wisdom of God became folly to men, His power manifested itself as weakness, and His holiness was, in their eyes, unholy. But Scripture says that “what is great in the eyes of men is an abomination in the sight of God,” and again, “my thoughts are not your thoughts,” says God to men.

If, then, we want to seek some way of being holy, we must first of all renounce our own way and our own wisdom. We must “empty ourselves” as He did. We must “deny ourselves” and in some sense make ourselves “nothing” in order that we may live not so much in ourselves as in Him. We must live by a power and a light that seem not to be there. We must live by the strength of an apparent emptiness that is always truly empty and yet never fails to support us at every moment.

This is holiness.

None of this can be achieved by any effort of my own, by any striving of my own, by any competition with other men. It means leaving all the ways that men can follow or understand.

I who am without love cannot become love unless Love identifies me with Himself. But if He sends His own Love, Himself, to act and love in me and in all that I do, then I shall be transformed, I shall discover who I am and shall possess my true identity by losing myself in Him.

And that is what is called sanctity.

        Amen.

March 21, 2021
Deacon Ginny Whatley
John 12:20-33

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit

I had some difficulty with the story I just read from the Gospel of John. I find this reading from John to
be difficult to understand because of how Jesus responds to the information brought to him by his two
disciples, Andrew and Philip. To me at first it was perceived as being an irrelevant comment.

Two Greeks have come to the festival to worship. They approach Philip and say, “Sir, we wish to see
Jesus.”

Philip is apparently uncomfortable with their request so he approaches Andrew and together they go to
Jesus bearing the Greeks request for an audience.

Our text tells us Jesus responded, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” and then goes
into a long dissertation about grains of wheat, death, and eternal life. We have to wonder: how does
this long speech by Jesus relate to the relative simple desire on the part of the Greeks to meet Jesus?

You could just imagine how Philip and Andrew are feeling. This odd response must have seemed
pointless. It didn’t appear to address the immediate need at all. You have to wonder: what was Jesus
talking about?

It is true our scripture doesn’t answer the question, “Was the request made by the Greeks to see Jesus
honored?” But the long and involved monologue about seeds and death and life and light would
indicate those who wanted to see Jesus would. Those that were listening to Jesus beyond the Jewish
faith would find a new belief and hope in Christ. We are all children of God made worthy by the sacrifice
of Christ on the cross for our transgressions. Yes, seeds must be buried in the soil to grow but seeds also
need water, sun and life giving nourishment to produce a healthy, wholesome crop.

If we look again at the text, it becomes obvious that in some way the Greeks’ desire to see Jesus was, for
Jesus, a sign, a signal that his public ministry on earth was finished. Jesus had done all that a life in
human form could do and now his hour had come.

Like a grain of wheat, he must be willing to die and be buried, in order to bring forth a multitude of
living, empowered followers who willingly give our lives to serve God and to spread God’s message of
love and justice among all people.

Like the Greeks who came to the festival and urgently, almost demandingly sought audience with Jesus
we come to church each week to celebrate our fellowship with each other and with God. We come
seeking audience wanting to see Jesus in this place.

Each time I am standing at the altar, I am filled with the sense that God is with me. More than any other
time in my life, I need the assurance I am not standing alone. I want and need to see Jesus, the
empowered and glorified Christ whom God lifted up and honored.

Through the power and presence of Christ, through the death and resurrection, foreshadowed in our
gospel message, I know we are not alone. God is with us, the same God that stood with Christ that
spoke a message of promised glory and honor; the same God who through Christ promised life eternal
to me and to you, to all who willingly serve God and others. We do see Jesus. Everywhere we go and in
whoever we meet … potentially we can see Jesus.

Jesus, for me, are the familiar faces that I see each Sunday on Zoom, You Tube or Facebook all of you I
see before me this morning. I miss seeing you looking back at me in the pews and when I smile and look
down at you, I see Jesus smiling back at me.

As we spend our lives, we gain them. As we lose our lives for one another, we gain life in Christ.
Where do you see Jesus?

Amen.

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Sermon Preached at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey
Sunday, March 14, 2021, at 8:00 A.M. and 10:00 A.M.
By Stephen Galleher

From the Epistle of St. Paul to the Ephesians:
“It wasn’t so long ago that you were mired in that old stagnant life of sin. You let the world, which doesn’t know
the first thing about living, tell you how to live. You filled your lungs with polluted unbelief, and then exhaled
disobedience. We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same
boat. It’s a wonder God didn’t lose his temper and do away with the whole lot of us. Instead, immense in mercy
and with an incredible love, he embraced us. He took our sin-dead lives and made us alive in Christ. He did all this
on his own, with no help from us! Then he picked us up and set us down in highest heaven in company with Jesus,
our Messiah.”
(Ephesians 2:1-6)

ON ANGER

In this late winter and very early spring, recovering from the beginning of Daylight
Savings time, I suggest we try our hand at having a bit of “fun,” if fun is the right
word—by examining the Oscar winner of sin, perhaps the ugliest of human failings—that

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behavior that separates us from our God and from ourselves, operating against our
birthright, a birthright of freedom and happiness. You’re probably thinking I am talking
about PRIDE: from which all other sins flow. This pride, which our theology tells us,
goes back to the time of great innocence, the First Man and the First Woman and their
thinking that they could take one tiny bite of a forbidden fruit and blame it on the snake.
No. This morning, I want us to look into anger. Wrath, resentment, rage—call it by many
names, it’s all the same. Behind pride, behind almost all of the seven deadly sins, lies
anger—grrr: not getting what I want.
What is anger? Anger is a human emotion all right, with perceptible molecular
structure—it can turn our faces red, churn our stomachs, tighten our nerves, and race our
hearts. Anger ranges all the way from a small irritation, as when we are peeved that the

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wind is messing our hair, to socially organized rage, with hired murderers, called war,
which the human race still in its perversity accepts almost without question.
Anger can even seem normal and justifiable. It is universal throughout the animal
kingdom. Dogs bark and lions roar, not just to get a bone or to strut their stuff but to
indicate that they are not in the best of moods and may just have you for dinner. We, too,
raise our shackles when attacked—and sometimes it’s more than our pride at stake.
Anger is our biological defense mechanism. It gets the adrenaline flowing to ward off
danger and prevent injury or harm.
Anger, too, is a motivator against injustice. Shouldn’t we get angry at all the terrible
things people are doing to one another? Don’t we admire the fire in the belly of the
prophets and social reformers?

4

Yes, perhaps so. But how much milk of magnesia do we need to alleviate the bile
and dyspepsia over all the things that can anger us? I have my doubts about so-called
justifiable anger. Aren’t we just looking for loopholes to bless our petty annoyances and
fretfulness? Let’s look for a moment longer at the many faces of this ugly phenomenon.
Anger is so entrenched in part because it can feel so good. Of the Seven Deadly
Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick our wounds, to smack our lips over
grievances long past, to roll over our tongue the words we form to tell somebody off, to
savor to the last toothsome morsel the pain we have received and the pain we plan to give
back—in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. We nurse our anger to keep us warm. It
makes us feel so right. But this feeling right exacts an awful price!

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So, anger confronts us with the question that confronts all forms of pride. Just how
happy and free do we want to be? Are we really happy nursing that resentment over
something that has long since passed? The person who offended you may be dead and
playing pinochle in heaven while you get bloated and ugly on anger and self-pity.
Buddha said it also: “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of
throwing it at someone else; you are the one getting burned.”
So, what is this anger, really, that harms us more ultimately than the one we are
angry at?
Anger is a form of impatience. Why doesn’t the deliveryman come when he said he
would? Why doesn’t my Amazon package come in two days as promised. I need it; I
want it. Darn!

6

Impatience is a form of self-centered frustration. Have you ever hit an inanimate
object, say a wall, when you kept dropping the same thing or you couldn’t fix something
you had taken apart? Do you find it easier to curse aloud when there is no one else
present, because you don’t want anyone to see you acting like the child you still are? I
won’t ask for a show of hands on this one, I promise.
And sometimes we take out our frustration and impatience on ourselves. The
deepest form of this anger is depression—deep anger, unexpressed anger, something that
can simmer and remain buried for years.
Anger is born of fear or great, tear-wrenching pain. Anger is about tears and fears.
The next time you see an angry person, ask yourself: What is that person afraid of?

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Watch someone’s expression in traffic go from fear to anger—in such instances I’d say
that fear and anger are the identical emotion.
Or ask yourself a similar question of that angry person: When was that person hurt?
Look at the effect it is still having on him or her. Child abuse, whether physical or
psychological, leaves tears and scars too deep for words. Just as we see a mean dog bark
because it is former owner beat it, so, too, those hardened criminals serving hard
time—many of them are scared children who have to be incarcerated for their own and
our protection. Anger is about fears and tears.
Is anger justified? Sure, sometimes, if you want to call it that. Have you noticed
when you are angry you are so self-righteous—completely right, completely

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uncompromising. How many justifiably angry people sit in jail right now? That’s where
licensed justifiable anger can get us.
Ask yourself, what are you most afraid of today? Where is the fear that drives it? Or
better still: where is the hurt, the pain that is evoking all that rage?
Anger has no sense of humor. It’s all about me, me, me and mine, mine, mine. The
ego is bound to get bruised and battered and angry, because like the plant in “The Little
Shop of Horrors,” it can never be satisfied. The ego can never get satisfied, so naturally
it’s going to get angry. What do children do when they get what they want? They cry and
stomp their feet.
So, what about our anger? Anger is not love. Yes, we get mad at our loved ones. My
wife, now ex-wife, once said to me, “I wouldn’t nag you if you weren’t so naggable!”

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But it is very hard to think love and be loving when you are angry. To paraphrase Paul:
“Anger is impatient; anger is not kind; anger is self-centered, arrogant and rude. It insists
on its own way. It results in irritation and resentment. It rejoices in wrongdoing (“look
what you did!”). It does not bear all things. It does not live and let live.”
To those who carry a burden of anger, who fret in their tiny cells of anger, God says,
“Come out from your cells! Fear not, for I have overcome the world.” The answer to fear
is faith, faith that there is a God who holds us like the weeping children we are and says,
“It’ll be okay, son; it’ll be all right, girl!”
The big question, of course, is do we really want to get rid of our anger? No one can
do it for you! Live and let live. Stop being frustrated that people aren’t behaving the way
you want them to, since you can’t behave yourself as you want to half the time! Cut

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people a break. Step aside and let someone go ahead of you in line. Pull over and let the
angry driver behind you go around you!
The way out of our prison of anger is the grace of a God of love, a God in whom we
live and move and have our being. God is the only one who will not disappoint us. We
may question God, get mad at God, but God is such a co-dependent, he’ll never say
“enough”! Only, “come on back, honey!”
In conclusion, if we could just quit seeing the enemy in other people. We are our
own worst enemies. Come on, let’s love ourselves a little more. Wake up! Look at your
enemy as a lonely child just like you, full of fear, ready to burst out crying at any
moment. Looking at our brothers and sisters like this will take the sting out of your
resentments. It will help us begin to see one another as God sees us, as children of light,

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destined for love. I close with these beautiful words of the Christian mystic, Meister
Eckhart.
Apprehend God in all things,
For God is in all things.
Every single creature is full of God
And is a book about God.
Every creature is a word of God.
If I spend enough time with the tiniest creature—
Even a caterpillar—I would never have to prepare a sermon,
So full of God is every creature.
Amen.