Pentecost XVII Sermon 2022

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.

Pentecost XIII Sermon 2022

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.

Pentecost IX Sermon 2022

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.

Pentecost VIII Sermon 2022

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.

The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost Sermon 2022

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.

Pentecost Sermon 2022

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.

Easter VII Sermon 2022

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Easter VII, May 29, 2022, at 8:00 and 10:00 a.m.
By The Rev. Stephen Galleher

ARE WE ONE…OR NOT?

“As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us…. The glory
that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one,
I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one.” (John 17:20-26)
“There we shall with you remain,
partners of your endless reign!
see you with unclouded view,
find our heaven of heavens in you.”
(Opening Hymn, #214, v 5)
Today in our liturgical year, we note the conclusion of Jesus’s
earthly ministry. Ascension Day was noted this past Thursday. 50 days
after the supposed bodily Resurrection, Jesus takes his leave and ascends
into heaven. A rather spectacular affair if we choose to see it as actually
having happened. But surely the point is that this man, this man who
walked among us, was one with his God—in complete union with God.
In fact, in the beautiful gospel reading, he proclaims his unity with his
father. Christ sits down at the right hand of God. This is the highest
position of prominence beside a king. But the wonder and glory of

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Ascensciontide is not just the high position of our Lord Jesus Christ, but
of us, because we, too, are included in this party, not just as guests, but
elevated to sit right there at God’s right hand. Jesus says in the gospel
that everything that God has given Christ, Christ has given us. The point
is not that we might just be together, but that we might be one. “I in
them and you in me, that they [meaning we] may become completely
one.”
The Beatles get this right in their cute little nonsense ditty, “I Am
the Walrus.”
I am he as you are he as you are me
And we are all together
I am the egg man
They are the egg men
I am the walrus
Goo goo g’joob.
Ok, the Beatles may not be sophisticated theologians but they get
the point. I am you and you are me and we are all, every single one of
us, in this together as brothers and sisters. Together, wherever we go.

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This is so critically important in today’s world, and I wonder if we
do not sense the exhilarating, explosive nature of this reality. For it is
either reality or a fairy tale, and I think we know, intuitively and from
our own life experiences, that it is reality. We are one.
So why don’t we see this lived out? Instead we see division, strife,
conflict and war. And it has been going on as long as human beings have
walked on this planet, and it shows very little sign of slowing down.
The reality of our oneness stands in stark contrast the nonsense of
our not getting along.
What gives? And especially as Christians, we should be saddened,
angry, almost despondent over the slow pace at which we make love.
And I hope we grieve for our country, this country, which is in
moral decline. We allow 18-year-old, disturbed young men to purchase
assault rifles and we watch as they gun down second and third graders
and we do nothing legislatively to stem the violence.
Where is our soul? Do we have no soul?
After all, our planet is on fire. Instead of pitching in and joining
forces around the planet to solve the pressing human problems that face

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every single living being, we fortify our borders, hunker down with our
points of view, feed and fuel the culture wars and just do not see our
neighbors in ourselves. And we do not see the plank in our own eyes we
are so busy pointing to the speck in our neighbors’ eyes.
I am truly saddened, and yes, baffled by this. So much in common.
We have the same needs and loves and we share the same acres and the
same forests and plains; and yet we just don’t seem to give a damn about
that neighbor across the way who has the same needs and loves.
Several people have remarked that Christianity is the answer, that
love is the answer if it were only practiced.
My reply to this is that Christianity is practiced; we do love our
families and friends. But the line is drawn somewhere. Somewhere in
the neighborhood a line is drawn in the sand. But the gospel two weeks
ago said clearly, Jesus said, “A new commandment I give you: that you
love one another.”
“But, we reply, don’t we already know about this? What is new
about it?”

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Jesus said “new” because he was calling his Jewish brothers and
sisters to love outside the circumcised community. Jew and Gentile.
Male and female. Israelite and Roman and Greek.
In today’s world, the call is clear. We are called to love every
citizen of this country and every citizen of every country. When we pray
for peace in Ukraine, we must pray for both the Ukrainian soldiers and
people but also the Russian soldiers and people.
But then we go back to our factionalism. We go back to talking
about the pros and cons of every situation.
But somebody has to make the first move.
Am I not right, that we need a spiritual awakening? Must we not
wake up and make the first move? I do not see this happening at the
national or international levels. We make our cases, call together our
allies and yell across the battlelines. Where will all this lead us and who
is going to make the first move to make peace? Of course, we do not
trust the “other.” And, of course, they do not trust us. So, then: who is
going to make the first move? Here’s an alert: there is no “other.” The
“other” is a creation we make out of fear and distrust.

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1 In Christ there is no east or west,
in him no south or north,
but one great fellowship of love
throughout the whole wide earth.

2 In Christ shall true hearts ev’rywhere
their high communion find.
His service is the golden cord
close binding humankind.

3 Join hands, then, people of the faith,
whate’er your race may be.
All children of the living God
are surely kin to me.

4 In Christ now meet both east and west,
in him meet south and north.
All Christly souls are joined as one
throughout the whole wide earth.

Amen.

Easter V Sermon 2022

By The Rev. Deacon Virgina Jenkins-Whatley sermon May 15, 2022

An essential part of being a follower of Jesus Christ is a willingness to love. How many times have we heard with our ears and our hearts the words in today’s Gospel passage, “I give you a new commandment: love one another. Such as my love has been for you, so must your love be for each other.” In this day and age, so nice to hear but very hard to do.

These are, of course, words of our Lord, given not as a suggestion or an option, as something to embrace if we feel up to it, but as a real mandate, a challenge to put into practice day in and day out until our final breath. Easier said than done, we probably will readily agree.

It is good to remember that the teaching of Christ is not a philosophy or a theory, but a way of life, a way of love, manifested in words and deeds. “Love one another, as I have loved you,” is the basic teaching of Christ, and that is our work, challenging as it may be and even a cause of suffering and death.

The words and deeds of Christ teach a path other than violence, hatred and revenge, and we are called to inculcate the example of our Master in our daily lives. We may ask: how did Christ love? First of all, without counting the cost, even as it led to suffering and death on the cross.

Christ lived and died for others and never ignored the cries of the poor and the needy. Christ cured the sick, gave sight to the blind, raised the dead, and pardoned sinners. In other words, Christ willingly shared in the sufferings and joys of the people around him. Christ’s guiding principle was, “Do not judge and you shall not be judged; do not condemn and you shall not be condemned.”

Christ could understand and hope in others, even when there might be cause for discouragement or despair. Through self-giving love Christ shared our human condition completely even to the extreme of suffering and dying for those he loved.

The love of Christ was and is a constant and generous donation of self. Before giving his life on the cross, Jesus gave his Body and Blood at the Last Supper as a perpetual gift to those able to believe in him and embrace his teaching and example of “no greater love than to give one’s life for one’s friends,” realized perfectly in his existence.

The call to each of us is to imitate Christ day by day. It is not always easy to know just what to do in given circumstances of life, let alone have the courage and strength to put into practice what we sense we are called to do. But we are promised the abiding presence of God’s Holy Spirit, alive and active in the Church, in her Sacraments, especially the Holy Eucharist, and in our lives, assisting us in our struggle to do good. Even when we fail sometimes or often, we are not to give up in our efforts.

We cannot truly love if we lack open ears and hearts to the needs of others. We might see the speck in the eye of others and refuse to help them, when in fact we are missing the beam in our own eye. Following in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, we are called upon to show genuine interest for the welfare of others, even those whom we may find no attraction toward.

Looking more closely at the scripture readings assigned to the fifth Sunday in Eastertide, we first of all see the realism of Saints Paul  in his missionary activity, taking to heart the words of the Lord, “anyone who wishes to come after me must take up his cross.” As Christ had to die and so enter into his glory, so also every follower of Christ.

Suffering, in all its unattractiveness, is part and parcel of the Christian vocation. Tribulation leads to the kingdom and by our suffering we also become partakers in the glory which Christ won for us by the shedding of his blood. This was the experience of Paul and meant to be ours too.

The reading from the Book of Revelation, the second lesson for this Sunday’s Mass, speaks of Christ as Lord of the universe ordaining the course of history toward the final victory of, “a new heaven and a new earth.” This means a new creation which will last for ever, a life of endless fellowship with God, an end to all sorrow and finding unbounded joy in God’s presence. This takes place with the fellowship of believers, in communion with all the angels and saints of God.

In the meantime, we disciples are to carry on Christ’s messianic love. We must show to those entrusted to us by God, that is, everyone with whom we live and meet, a love extended to the sacrifice of our own good and life.

As disciples in the service of Christ, we are called to never give up doing good, for the spread of God’s Kingdom on earth. This is the consequence of the Sacrament of Baptism that we have received as infants or at some other stage in our life, that invisible but indelible belonging to God and God to us. In this we are united with Christ through thick and thin.

The Lord invites us to forget ourselves and thereby find our true self, totally dedicated to God and others without counting the cost or shrinking back in fear. May the Lord enlighten our minds and hearts to be on fire for the things of God, today and always. Love one another, as I have loved you,”

AMEN

Easter IV Sermon 2022

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Easter IV, May 8, 2022, at 8:00 and 10:00 a.m.
By the Rev. Stephen Galleher

THE GOOD-EST SHEPHERD

“…him, who calls us each by name.”
(Collect for Easter IV)
“I give them eternal life, and they will never perish.” (John 10:22-30)
God, the shepherd, or, as John’s gospel declares God, the Good
Shepherd, is about as caring and as close as God can get to us human
beings, affectionately known as “sheep.” Shepherds keep a wary and
devotional eye on their sheep. When one wanders off, the shepherd
doesn’t hesitate to go after it and bring it back to safety. And this
shepherd, according to the prayer, calls us each by name. We are not just
a number in the flock. We have names, particular names. This is just
how close the shepherd is to each member of the flock.
Why do you suppose that is? Of course, we know that farmers
raise sheep for a living. It’s in their economic interest to keep tabs. But
calling sheep by names evokes a sense of affection. This shepherd not
only raises sheep for a living, but he loves his sheep, each one of them.
Jesus loves us, this I know

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Because the Bible tells me so.
But let’s hope it is more than that, more than just you’ve read it in the
Bible, or you think you’re supposed to believe it. Do you believe that
Jesus loves you? Let’s put it more broadly and more squarely. Do you
believe that God loves you?
And if you hesitate to say yes, why do you hesitate? This is a very
important question, for it determines the level of your enjoyment of your
life and the level of what you think about yourself. If you don’t love
yourself as God claims to love you, you’re hung up on all the drama in
your life. Of course, all of us get involved in drama. I call this drama the
fretfulness trap, the things that take our eyes off the prize, the prize of
basking in the knowledge of God’s presence with us personally. And by
being all wrapped up in drama, we wind up thinking about ourselves too
much and really becoming quite indifferent to those people around us
and pretty much the rest of the world. Perhaps one way to begin to live
into the love of God for us is to stop thinking about ourselves so
intensely, dourly, pessimistically, dramatically. In other words, let’s
forget about ourselves to find ourselves.

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I want to get at this love that the shepherd has for us another way.
I have been asking people quite a lot lately to answer a simple but
perhaps, at first, overwhelming question. And the question I ask is this,
“Why are we here?” “What is the point of your life?”
I want to pause a moment for us to reflect on this.
[Now I want to ask you to speak out and answer in your own
words.]
The almost unanimous answer I have been getting when I ask this
question—“What is the point of our life?”—is, “We are here to love one
another.” C.S. Lewis puts it a bit differently in his book The Great
Divorce. There the question is “Why were we born?” and the answer is
“For infinite happiness.” And Lewis adds, “You can step out into it any
moment.” Isn’t that wild and wonderful? You can step out into it at any
minute! Our perpetual happiness is just that close. I’ll leave it to you to
answer just why we don’t all do just that, step out into it.
And another friend’s answer to why we are here was this. “We are
here to learn lessons.” Ok, I answer, but what are these lessons for?
What’s the point of the lessons in life? Surely, they are placed in our

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lives for us to learn how to love. This is a lifetime’s task, and it may not
always be so easy, right?
I know, I know. We put up all kinds of arguments as to why love is
not the reason for our existence, the whole point of living. “Love” has so
many meanings, we argue. And there are levels of needs. Having food
and shelter and a living wage seem to take priority over loving. Who
thinks of loving when he’s broke and homeless?
All good questions, but the business of loving still permeates and
informs just how we meet this hierarchy of needs. There is a wonderful
love song about the complexity of love. Yes, love is complex and multi-
layered, but as the song is titled, “But beautiful.”
Love is funny, or it’s sad
Or it’s quiet, or it’s mad
It’s a good thing or it’s bad
But beautiful

Beautiful to take a chance
And if you fall you fall
And I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind at all

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Love is tearful, or it’s gay
It’s a problem or it’s play
It’s a heartache either way
But beautiful

And I’m thinking if you were mine
I’d never let you go
And that would be but beautiful I know
,
But beautiful

and I’m thinking if you were mine
I’d never let you go
And that would be but beautiful I know
Isn’t this what the shepherd is about, never letting us go? Just as Christ
loves us, so ought we to love one another. As they greet one another in
the East, the Christ in me greets the Christ in you.
And as for the Good Shepherd, I heard a Good Shepherd story
from a retired clergy friend of mine this past week. It seems that as a
child my friend suffered from quite severe dyslexia, though they didn’t
diagnose it well back then. One night, he was stuck on his geography
homework lesson and started crying as he was unable to read it clearly.

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His father downstairs must have heard him and came up and sat in a
chair beside his desk. He said, “Don’t cry, son. Let me tell you about
myself.”
And the father went ahead to tell him about his own history of
struggling to read. He concluded by saying, “And one day the light will
burst in your face, and you will see how to do it. In my case,” he
continued, “it started as a glow and the light just got brighter and
brighter through the years.”
The king of love my shepherd is. And we must praise this shepherd
who has been present with us in so many people throughout our lives.
Amen.

Easter III Sermon 2022

Sermon Delivered at Church of the Good Shepherd
Fort Lee, New Jersey,
Easter III, May 1, 2022, at 8:00 and 10:00 a.m.
By The Rev. Stephen Galleher

RESURRECTION
EVERYWHERE AND WHEN!

“Sing to the Lord, you servants of his…Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning. You have
turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy.”
(Psalm 30:4,6,12)
In the midst of persecutions and executions, there is healing. While death surrounded the early church as it

grappled with the news of Jesus’ appearances, there was also a sense of exhilaration and joy that something new
had burst, was bursting into our world. This is the paradox of our existence, isn’t it? That sometimes just at the
very worst time, the penny drops, the sun pierces through the clouds…and, yes, sometimes it happens just as we
close our eyes for the very last time.

Who can fathom this paradox? That out of despair, comes hope; out of hopelessness, comes a faithful
resignation that all is well and all manner of things shall be well.

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This is probably part of the reason that so many of us hang in there. After all, the church doesn’t draw folks
in the way it did in previous generations, even a short while ago. Something fails to attract them. Something
doesn’t speak to the deepest part of them. For, make no mistake, there are dark shadows in each of our lives. There
are longings too deep for words, tears that are shed behind closed doors as folks are unable to open their eyes and

see the glory that shines all about them. The church is here to open our eyes, either for the first time or once
again—to shout that the Lord is risen, and you are risen with God. His divinity is engrafted into you by Baptism.
Remember in the old Milton Berle comedy hour when someone would run out on stage and take a big mitt of
powder and yell, “Makeup!” as he slapped Uncle Milty’s face. “Thanks,” I can hear us say, “We needed that.”

That’s why comedy is so special. It cuts through all the tragic narratives we keep repeating and invites us out to
play, even when the sky is full of clouds and Chicken Little seems in charge of our narrative.
Jesus appears to his disciples right where they are in their lives, on the seashore, at a meal. We don’t have to
work our way up to God, God leans over like a loving father and touches us right smack where we are!

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I was musing the other day with a friend about just how very, very little I know about anything. It boggles
my mind. I was curious, I shared with him, as to whether the future comes to us or do we go towards the future?
What’s moving and where—we to the future or the future to us. My friend replied, amused, “Why should I care?
What difference does it make?”

Perhaps not much difference at all. But perhaps I like mental riddles. We speak of time “flying,” but where
does it fly from and where does it fly to? Does it move at all? We remember the famous line of King Macbeth in
the Shakespeare play, “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow/Creeps in this petty pace from day to day.” I, for
one, wish it would creep a little slower.

And then I wonder do I really know who I am? I love the question, because no matter how much my mind
wants to tell me all about me, especially unkind things about me, I truly don’t really know. Do you know? Or, like
my friend again, “Why should we care?”

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We should care, I suggest, because whatever we say about who we are, most of us paint a rather dim picture
of ourselves. Human nature is the great understater, the great underestimater of our true worth. I say “true worth”
as if I know for sure. But if God is God, then it just must be that we are glorious products of God’s handiwork.
How sad, and how irreverent, that we think less of ourselves than what God thinks of us. God doesn’t disparage or

dismiss God’s creation. On the contrary, he revels in it. Look at the glorification of Jesus. The story of Jesus is not
a sad story; it is a happy story, because it turns the very worst that could happen to a human being and declares it
ok. Spoiler alert: everything is going to be ok. This is our faith, our proclamation and this is our mission: to
proclaim this good news to every single living creature on earth.

Amen.