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There are some obvious advantages to being born male in this world, specifically in regard to the educational and professional opportunities that a woman still finds shut off to her in many parts of the world. But there are disadvantages to be found in being born male as well which can easily be overlooked because part of the burden of being male is the shame we feel in talking about the experience of feeling as though we don’t measure up.  The story of David and Goliath calls attention to some of the burdens that fall disproportionately to men.

The armies of the Israelites and Philistines — comprised exclusively of men — are faced off, preparing for battle. Goliath, the nine foot champion of the Philistines, steps forward to put forth a dare: Instead of having the armies battle, let a Israelite warrior come forth to fight on behalf of his people. Goliath and the Israelite champion will fight one on one — man to man.

In face of the overwhelming size and strength of Goliath, there is no Israelite man willing to step forth. For days on end Goliath steps forth to taunt the Israelites, “Bring me a man!” he sneers.  The implication is clear: the Israelites are all a bunch of wussy boys. They have no balls.

Here is the choice the Israelite men seem to have: feel woefully inadequate in regard to their masculinity, or be killed. It is a choice I think most men can identify with in the course of their lives.

Out of nowhere comes the boy/man David. He is inspired to accept the giant’s challenge.   In one daring act, David permanently solidifies his place in hero mythology, becoming the poster boy of manliness and fearlessness.   Three thousand years later, sports announcers still refer to “David and Goliath” whenever the underdog attempts to unseat the heavily favored opponent.

There are some subtleties to this story that are often overlooked that I noticed as I read it in context. Prior to the events described, we are told that king Saul was prone to bouts of depression. Someone suggests that music might be soothing to his soul at such times. It turns out that the young David is a gifted harpist, and so he is brought to Saul to play for him. His music becomes the medicine by which Saul finds relief from his depression.

A music-playing soother of depressed souls certainly stretches our stereotypical image of masculinity.

I also noticed as I re-read the story that unlike the older male soldiers in the Israelite army, David is able to act because he is free from the burden of having a reputation to defend. His reaction is spontaneous, not calculated on the basis of, “I’d better act here or everyone is going to think of me as wimp.” He is, after all, just a shepherd boy, not someone from whom anybody expects the “great masculine act” of slaying the giant. Rather than a compulsive act required to prove himself, David’s action comes in response to the movement of the Spirit.

The third thing I noticed is that David manifests ingenuity rather than stupidity. Oftentimes in our culture masculinity can often be associated with stupidity, as in choosing to risk getting oneself killed rather than appear “girlish.” It will be pure stupidity for David to go forth and try to match Goliath in terms of sheer might. Goliath is simply too big and strong.

Saul, it seems, is prone to this stupidity, for he gives young David his personal armor and sword, as though the object here is for David to try and hold his own against Goliath in a sword fight. David tries the stuff on and it just doesn’t feel right.

Instead, he applies the skills he has learned as a shepherd boy, carefully selecting five polished stones from the river bank, which he will use with his sling shot. With these he topples the giant, entering the annals of masculine heroes for all time.

It is interesting to note the place of fathers in this story. David’s actual biological father, Jesse, is aging and rather peripheral to the story. David is the last of his sons, and seems to be somewhat off Jesse’s radar screen. Instead, Saul takes on the figure of “father” for David, with David becoming his “son to be proud of”, triumphing on the playing field.

So let me talk now a bit more directly about fathers. It seems to me that there are always two different fathers in play for all of us. The first, who I will call “Dad One“, is this archetypal, cultural image of the great and powerful father that is found in every age. Fearlessly Dad One goes forth into this dangerous world, modeling for us how to leave behind the safety of the nest in order to take on the challenges and opportunities of the world out there. Though this Dad loves us and is absolutely on our side, his love is demanding. He knows we are capable of more than we routinely settle for, and at times he rebukes his children for not giving their best effort.

It is interesting to note that in our Gospel lesson this morning, Jesus embodies the Dad One, the Great Father. He is with his children (the disciples) on a boat at night. When a storm arises, and they are terrified, he is absolutely fearless, calmly commanding the fierce wind and waves to be silent. Once he’s done slaying the giant, he turns to his children and reprimands them, “O ye of little faith, why did you doubt?” You are capable of so much more than you are showing.

So there’s Dad One, and then there is Dad Two, by which I mean real, flesh and blood dads with names like Jeff, and Al, and Bob. In the early years of a child’s life, Dad Two manages to embody Dad One fairly seamlessly, which is important because the child needs his father to be this for him at this stage of the game. The child looks up to his dad and sees his hero, the fearless one who competently interacts with the unknown and often scary world, and thereby finds courage to inch out into the world as well.

But somewhere along the way the seams begin to show. Dad Two is revealed to be, in fact, flawed. Sometimes he wimps out, or does obviously stupid things. Either suddenly or gradually Dad Two comes tumbling from the pedestal he has been standing comfortably upon ever since the child was born. It’s inevitable.

What happens from this point on is pretty critical as to whether peoples’ souls become whole or not. In his Spirit-inspired wisdom, Jesus’ most famous parable dealt with this very developmental issue. A father has two sons. The younger son rather clearly has reached a point where his Dad has fallen from the pedestal. Having become aware that his father isn’t a god after all, the younger son leaves home, assuming he has no more use for this flawed man whom he has called “Dad.”

The son goes forth into the world, where he himself is humbled in the school of hard knocks. He comes home with a new appreciation of his Dad, who despite his imperfections, loves him with a love that is more real than anything he encountered in his journey into the world. At the end of the story, a real father and a real son — not a perfect dad and a perfect son — find one another in a real love.

The older brother — what’s with him? Perhaps he hadn’t really ever come to terms with the fact that his Dad really wasn’t Super Dad — never really taken him off the pedestal. Maybe he clung to the notion that if they could both just manage to play out the script – “I’ll be super son and you be super dad” — the world would make sense. But it doesn’t really work, which becomes painfully clear when the other son — the one who had refused to play out the script — finally comes home and gets loved any way.

David and Goliath lives on inside us, but there are other stories we carry with us as well. In the 20^th century there was another story that caught hold of our imagination, and here I am referring to the Wizard of Oz. Dorothy and her companions are on a journey in search of wholeness. The Cowardly Lion seeks courage like that of David standing before Goliath. He gives this delightful little speech:

“Courage. What makes a King out of a slave? Courage.  What makes the flag on the mast to wave? Courage.  What makes the elephant charge his tusk in the misty mist or the dusky dusk? What makes the muskrat guard his musk? Courage…  What puts the “ape” in ape-ricot? Whatta they got that I ain’t got?”

His friends answer: “Courage!”

The cowardly lion suffers under a misconception of courage – that it is the absence of fear, when, in fact, courage is simply the ability to do what needs to be done even when you are feeling very much afraid. And at the end he discovers that he has actually had bits of real courage all along the way.

And Dorothy, seeking the great and powerful Wizard of Oz — another name for the Great Dad – discovers at the end that the wizard is simply the little man behind the curtain. “You’re a bad man!” she declares when she realizes the deceit.

“No,” he says firmly, “I’m actually a very good man. I’m just a very poor wizard.” Dad isn’t Super Dad, but he’s a good man, capable of offering real love.

If you read ahead in the story of David, you see him struggling with these same issues. After slaying Goliath, David becomes the poster boy of masculinity, with the burden being the Super Dad. He falls short, of course.  We hear the unseemly story of how, as a middle-aged man David tries to restore his sense of masculinity by committing adultery with the younger  Bathsheba, murdering her husband Uriah to cover his crime. A son comes forth from this illicit union who dies as an infant, representing the utter failure of David’s fatherhood.  

Later another son named Absalom sees his father fall from his pedestal, and in response leads an armed rebellion in an attempt to overthrow David’s kingship. When Absalom’s rebellion falls short, David weeps for the boy who ends up getting killed before the flawed father and son can experience reconciliation.

As I noted before, Jesus in the boat with his disciples embodies the fearless Super Dad. And yet as the story proceeds, we see that the sons of this Dad being challenged to see more than Jesus’ power and might. He begins to make his way to Jerusalem, and along the way he becomes a distinctly vulnerable figure.

When Jesus tells his disciples he must suffer and die, Peter, speaking on behalf of all the children, says in essence, “No, Dad stay up on the pedestal. Stay powerful and invulnerable.  That’s what we need you to be.”

When they get to Jerusalem, Peter is intent on staying on script.  “I will be the super son. I will never abandon you.”   Jesus knows otherwise. “Perfection isn’t what we have here, son. What we do have, however, is the opportunity for real love.”

Life humbles us. If things go as they are intended, eventually the son comes back home, humbler and wiser, and he looks at his dad and his dad looks at him, and they let go of the burden of being the perfect dad or the perfect son, and they love one anotherjust  as they are.

And the kingdom of God is found.

 

 

We were made in the image and likeness of God, which means we were given the gift of freedom as our birthright. Unfortunately, we routinely deny our freedom.

I want to tell you a little bit about Dostoevsky’s personal story. Living in 19^th century Russia. As a young man Doestoevsky got involved in the movement opposed to the tyranny of the Czar. He was arrested, and sentenced to death by firing squad. He was standing before the firing squad, preparing to die, when a messenger arrived granting him a reprieve, and sentencing him instead to five years hard labor in prison.

With his life having just flashed before his eyes, a woman Dostoevsky did not know handed him a copy of the New Testament on his way to prison. Reading this book changed his life as he spent his years in prison marvelling at the figure of Jesus.

This morning, when you come to the altar to be confirmed, I will hand you your own personal copy of the New Testament. It’s a translation in contemporary language entitled “The Message” written by a man named Eugene Peterson. I think you will find it far easier to read than the translations you may have read in the past.

I want you to read this book. Somewhere inside your personal copy, I’ve selected a verse for you. You will tell it is your verse because I have written you initials next to it. I wrote it small and in the crease, so you’ll have to search for it.

Read this book. Here’s a crazy suggestion. Why don’t you have your mother or father read the book to you at night when you go to bed? Sure, you’ve probably assumed you are too old for such things. But remember, you’re free, and that means you’re free to do a such things if you choose, regardless of what your schoolmates might say. Let yourself be a kid again. Encountering Jesus would be a nice thing for you and your parents to share together.

So read this book.

You will also receive a cross this morning to wear. People often wear crosses without giving much thought to it. I would like you try and keep in mind Jesus when you put  it on. Jesus said, “Unless you lose yourself, you will not find yourself.” When we get to middle school, we realize that people are self-centered. It easy to spot in others; less so in ourselves. Self-centeredness afflicts the whole human race. When you wear this cross, let it be a little reminder to you that you are going to try as best you can to be less self-centered — not all about yourself.

The only real way to find happiness in this life is to move away from being all about yourself, to losing yourself in something vastly larger than yourself, what Jesus called the “kingdom of God.”

Jesus told this little parable about a tiny mustard seed which gets buried in the earth and amazingly sprouts and grows into this large bush, capable of hosting all the birds in its shelter. There are a lot of different ways to think of this, but one way is to think of the mustard seed as your soul. God has blessed you with treasure — great treasure hidden inside yourself. At this point in time, you have only the barest notion of the width and breath and depth of this treasure. The rest of your lives will be spent in partnership with the holy spirit unearthing these gifts, and allowing them to be used by God to bless this world. Believe me when I tell you that there are more gifts hidden inside you then you can imagine, and never assume you’ve already found all there is to find.

There are a lot of things I might say about the Christian life, but I want to finish by just mentioning two.

First, Jesus said, when you pray go into your room by yourself where you won’t have an audience before which you will perform. Alone with God, pour out your heart and mind, whatever is inside you, the good and the bad. Then be still and simply listen. Be present to the One who gave you this life. This is the way to develop a personal relationship with God. It is also the way to find out who God really made you to be beyond all the expectations others have of you. It is in these solitary times with God that you will rediscover that you really are free, after all. This is something that requires you be alone.

Having said this, the second thing I want to say to you is that the Christian life can’t be lived alone. You need other people; you need a church of people who share a commitment to follow Jesus who will support you and for whom you can offer support. The prodigal son went out into the world and found friends of a sort, but they weren’t “thick and thin” friends, people who would stand beside you come what may. Believe me when I tell you that you will need these kinds of friends as you go through life.

One of the interesting things about church friends is that they aren’t necessarily the people we would have chosen for our friends, since our inclination in our self-centeredness is to choose friends who pretty much resemble ourselves: same age, same race, some opinions. These sorts of similarities have a way of just reinforcing our self-absorption. In church, God gives us thick and thin friends who may well be quite different from us in many ways, and as such, they will challenge us to be larger than we would have been otherwise. The one thing we have in common for sure is Jesus, and if we really get it about Jesus, well that’s a pretty powerful thing to share.

 

 

A sermon preached on June 7, 2009 based upon Luke 5:1-11, entitled “The One Thing I Know About Preaching.”

This morning’s Gospel story touches on the theme of vocations, in this case, specifically fishermen. I am a preacher. It’s pretty much all I’ve ever done. Sometimes I look at people I know who are plumbers, electricians, or, for that matter, fishermen, and I feel some envy. The things they know how to do are so practical, so useful. Sometimes I feel a bit of inadequacy in comparison to them, which is probably not a bad thing, since prideful preachers are trouble.

For nearly thirty years I’ve been writing a sermon pretty much every week, and then delivering it on Sunday. I suppose over the years I’ve come to know a few things about preaching. But when I think about it, I realize there is really just one thing I know about preaching.

It involves the observation that there are basically two states of consciousness in which we spend our days in this world. The most common form of consciousness, the one the world encourages us to live in because it tends generate a certain productivity is what I call “the chicken little consciousness.” (“The sky is falling, the sky is falling!”) It’s that state of mind we’re in when to greater or less extent anxiety is the thing that is motivating us. There is this list of things that need to get done, and I manage to keep the hungry lions of my anxiety that every thing will come unhinged by managing to make progress on my “to do” list. This mindset necessarily leads to tunnel vision; I am not really in the moment so much as I am focusing on the place I’m trying to get to. I feel essentially that I am alone, that the only person I can depend on in getting stuff done is myself. In this state of mind I assume that I know what’s going — what needs to be done, which isn’t necessarily so. Being basically ego-centered, I easily become defensive. Spend a few hours in this state of mind and I become exhausted.

The alternative state of mind in which unfortunately I find myself less often is one in which I feel relaxed, but focused. I am in the present moment. There is this basic trust that there are all kinds of help out there, though I bear responsibility for reaching out for that help.

Perhaps you recognize these two types of consciousness as corresponding to what Jesus was referring to when he spoke of living out of doubt vs. living out of faith. It’s important to note that this state of faith isn’t characterized by either a) a certainty regarding some kind of doctrinal truth or even b) a knowledge of how to proceed or what exactly needs to happen. Rather, it is a trust that, in time, I will get to where I need to be, so go ahead and be in the moment. The state of faith in facts involves a willingness to not knowing so that you can be open to being illuminated.

I’ve learned about these two basic forms of consciousness because in the process of getting ready to preach it makes all the difference in the world which one I’m in. Each week I begin the process by reading over the scripture passage that I will preach on. Inevitably, when I first read the passage, it does absolutely nothing for me. This has in part to do with the fact that generally speaking, I’ve preached on the passage before, and when I first read it over, all I hear are clichés, and in my understanding of preaching, clichés and preaching just don’t go together.

Now, having read the passage through once and found absolutely no inspiration, the temptation can be strong to give myself over to the Chicken Little consciousness. “Oh no, I’ve got to come up with a sermon by Sunday!” I would succumb to this temptation a lot more when I had less experience in the process. I would run about to all the obvious sources of help: Bible commentaries and books with sermons with what other people have preached on this passage, even, God forbid, book full of “sermon illustrations.” All of this frantic searching for inspiration can take on the quality of a trip to the dentist to get my teeth drilled.

If, however, I can enter into the trusting consciousness, and simply sit with the passage, I find that gradually inspirations emerge, and they come from unexpected places: conversations I have with people in the course of the week, memories, peculiar coincidences, books I’m reading that on the surface don’t seem to have anything to do with the passage. The possible sources for inspiration are endless, and the key is to stay present and open and ready to be surprised. As such, this state of mind resembles what a child calls “play.” It is delightful.

It is easier said than done forgoing the Chicken Little consciousness for the trusting one, but the wise thing I’ve learned is to recognize when I’m in the former and not to waste my time there. It is better to go and find some way to clear my mind.

So the Gospel story this week led me to think about these things. One of the fascinating things about the process is that if I can enter into the trusting consciousness with the passage, even if I’ve preached on it a dozen times before, I will hear something new.

This was the case this week, but by way of talking about the new detail of the story that caught my attention, I need to tell you a story of the one and only time I went to watch the New York Giants — the football team — at their preseason practice. Andrew, my oldest child, was only six at the time, and the Giants were practicing at a nearby college campus. As the players came off the practice field, the fans would crowd around the stars hoping to get an autograph. The Giants had just won the super bowl the season before, and OJ Anderson had come away with the MVP, and so one of the biggest crowds was forming around OJ, which we joined. My son quickly caught on to the idea of the autograph game, and suddenly Andrew I couldn‘t see Andrew — he‘s disappeared in the crowd. Then I hear OJ Anderson say angrily, “Stop hitting my leg!!!” at which point I realize that Andrew, being little, has manage to slip through the crowd to stand right next to OJ, where he proceeded to tap repeatedly on his leg in hope of getting his attention for an autograph.

What, you may ask does this have to do with the story? Well we hear that Jesus appears beside a lake, and his charisma and growing notoriety as a healer and preacher draws a big crowd to him. As with OJ, they are pressing in on him, creating a situation that, if it continues, will end up quite frustrating — just ask OJ and my son.

Jesus, however is in this other trusting state of mind — in the moment — out of which he demonstrates a remarkable ingenuity. He recognizes that if he gets into the fishing boat of one of the fishermen, he can get a bit of distance from the crowd and then calmly address them all. The solution involves him getting help from Simon the fisherman, which he trusts Simon will freely give.

He proceeds to preach to the crowd. Luke doesn’t tell us what the sermon was about, which makes sense to me. I heard somebody compare sermons to jokes. We’ve all heard hundreds of them, maybe thousands, but who can remember even one? What we remember with the joke is the belly laugh. What we remember from a good sermon is that it led us into that faith consciousness. The particular content is secondary, and forgettable.

So now the story begins to focus on Simon the fisherman who has provided the boat for Jesus to preach from. Simon is the classic example of the first form of consciousness. He has worked through the night letting down his net, and he has caught nothing. Over and over he has tried the same thing, with no luck. His anxiety and frustration has grown with each failure to catch the fish he needs to feed his family. He’s tired and irritable.

Now this little interlude in which Simon had nothing to do for a time but sit there quietly listening while this guy Jesus preaches, using his boat for a pulpit gives Simon an opportunity to get free from the worst of Chicken Little death grip.  He’s not altogether out of it, but at least when the stranger preacher tells him that he should lower his nets once more, but this time into the “deep water,” he doesn’t bite the stranger’s head off as I suspect he might have done an hour earlier. He’s still doubtful it will do any good, but at least he’s willing to give it a try, and then, to his great surprise, his net gets filled so full of fish that he has to call the other fishermen to come and lend a hand in pulling the net back into the boat.

How did Jesus know that this would happen? Who knows? Maybe because he was so in the moment, he simply observed what others were missing. Maybe in this state of faith — this state of grace — he’s tuned into intuitions and possibilities of cooperation with unseen forces that are available to all of us if we, too, could just dwell deeply in that place.

As I thought about this, I remembered a quote I’ve kept from a great missionary named E. Stanley Jones who spent his life in India. Writing about the mystery of conversion, which involves shifting from dwelling primarily in that first consciousness to that second state of trust, Jones declared that

“Conversion introduces you to power not your own. As one man put it: I used to do things, now we do things,” and that change is a change of worlds–a change from the world of self to the world of a self co- operating with God. Another in one of our Ashrams put it: “I have been living with an undertow, now I’m going to live on the overflow.” He was living with an overflow pulling him forward. He had been living against the grain of the universe, now he was living with it.”

Simon’s reaction to the surprising catch of fish might seem odd: He falls down at Jesus feet and says, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

A clue to what is going on came to me in a quote I came across from Nelson Mandella, who spent over twenty years as a political prisoner in South Africa. He emerged from this imprisonment a powerful agent of reconciliation, having used that time of in prison to go into the deep waters of his soul. Mandella wrote these surprising words:

“Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate, our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us… You are a child of God; your playing small doesn’t serve the world… We are born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just some of us, it is everyone and as we let our own slight shine we unconsciously give other people permission to do so.”

Wow. Perhaps deep inside each of us we sense the possibilities of the light we could bear in this world if we were willing to really walk in simple trust with God.  A moment like the one that Simon experienced reveals the truth of these possibilities, and, in its own way terrifies us. We’re comfortable with the Chicken Little anxieties of “playing small”. It is scary to consider how we’ve been sabotaging both God and ourselves.

The finale of the story is interesting. One reaction that somebody in Simon’s position might have is, “Great, now I know how to fish really effectively!” But having shown to him the power of trust and cooperating with God’s spirit in the concrete practice of fishing, Jesus immediately calls Simon to go of his fishing nets. “For now on, you’re going to be going after people!” Take what you’ve just learned, and help lead others into this wisdom.

What I learned about the preaching process I am sure could also be learned by paying attention in the process of being an electrician or a plumber. It doesn’t much matter. Preaching is what I know, so you just heard about how I learned the lesson. The lesson is larger than the vocation. For me the challenge to take the lesson I learned as I went about the preaching vocation and apply it to every other area of my life. Whenever I can shift out of the compulsive “Chicken Little” consciousness into the state of trust that is like unto play — whenever I can become like a little child and trust that there is more help out there in more forms that I can begin to imagine (if only I am willing to be open and reach out for that help) then all kinds of surprising good things happen.

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A eulogy given for Hugh Ward Gallagher (August 14, 1929 – June 2, 2009) on June 6, 2009.

  

There is no way that we can manage to capture the story of Hugh’s life in the few words we will speak here today, let alone capture the mystery of his soul.  Nonetheless, words is what we have to work with, and we are compelled to try as best we can to use the words in attempt to give God thanks for the gift of Hugh for nearly 80 years upon this earth.

 

So let us celebrate his life.

 

Hugh Gallagher was born in Brooklyn on  August 14^th on 1929, the year of the Great Depression.   He was the only child of Mary Petz whose roots were in Poland, would give birth to.  When Hugh was only one and a half years his mother Mary died, leaving his father, Frederick Ward Gallagher, an Irishman to raise the boy as best he could. 

 

When Hugh turned eight, the darkness of his early years was brightened when his father married a very loving woman named America Garrigo.   Hugh remembered having been totally won over by America before the wedding when she took little Hugh out by herself to the movies, stopping afterwards for the treat of a black and white soda. 

 

America was born in Cuba, and it was her influence that would lead the Irish/Polish Hugh to a life-long appreciation of and openness to various cultures and their music. 

 

Hugh loved America as his own mother, and he delighted when America gave birth to his four siblings:  Freddie, Bobby, Carol and James, who, in the years to follow, Hugh would help look after.    They all looked up to their big “Brother Hughie.”

 

As with most families living in Brooklyn during this era, money was scarce, and Hugh did what he could to help put food on the table.  As a boy he collected bottles for recycling.  The number “11” became his lucky number for life the day he played it at a local fair to win three food baskets to help feed his family. 

 

In high school Hugh excelled in track, football and baseball.  His baseball team took the city championship, and Hugh was named the outstanding athlete of the graduating class of PS 16 in 1947.   He joined the army and served his country during peace time.  Afterwards Hugh took a job at a Titanium Sales company, starting out as a lowly mail clerk, rising up over time through the ranks in a classic American story of improving one‘s lot in life by hard work.  At nights Hugh put himself through Brooklyn College.  Somewhere along the way he put in some time playing semi-pro baseball as a pitcher and a field player. 

 

As a young man living in Brooklyn, there was nothing better on a weekend in the summertime than to relax with cold beer listening to Red Barber call a game of his beloved Brooklyn Dodgers.   On occasion he managed to get to Ebbets Field, where he would always remember seeing a young Sandy Koufax pitch. 

 

(His heart was broken when Walter O’Malley up and moved the Dodgers to Los Angeles, and like any true Brooklyn Dodger fan, he refused on principle to transfer his allegiance to the Yankees, waiting instead for the arrival of the Mets to Flushing to renew his love affair with baseball.)

 

Following Hugh’s graduation from Brooklyn College in 1955, the company he worked for gave him a big promotion that involved his transfer to Cleveland, Ohio, where he was put in charge of the sales department for the entire Northeast.   In the years that followed, Hugh spent a great deal of time on the road overseeing more than 2000 accounts.  Late in his time in Cleveland, however, he did find time to fall for and propose to a young bank teller named Nancy, who was eleven years younger than Hugh.  They were married in a Roman Catholic Church on May 11, 1963.  Revealing his deeply romantic heart, Hugh gave his bride a ring engraved with the time of their very first kiss. 

 

Shortly after their wedding, the couple moved back east to an apartment in Lake Hiawatha, New Jersey.   Hugh had accepted a position helping to start up a new company called  Titanium Fabrication in Caldwell. 

 

Nancy’s mother Lillian had been the first female vocalist to sing on the radio in Ohio, and had passed on her gift and appreciation for the finer forms of music to Nancy, providing training for her as an operatic singer.  Back in the New York area, Hugh delighted in taking his young bride from Ohio on outings to experience the higher culture and arts for which Nancy craved, and that only New York could provide.  They spent their weekends visiting museums and attending plays and concerts.  

 

In 1968 the couple’s only child was born, a beautiful little girl, whom they gave the name Nancy, after her mother.   Her mother had put her name down on the birth certificate as Nancy Ann Gallagher, but recognizing that this would give his daughter the initials “NAG”, Hugh insisted on having the name changed to Nancy Grace Gallagher.  Nancy Grace was surely a gift of grace for her parents, who loved her deeply.  Her father, a hard-working and hard-smoking three-packs-a-day man immediately gave up his long enjoyed cigarettes when he realized the smoke was harmful to his asthmatically inclined daughter. 

 

When Nancy was four the family moved into a house on Hollywood Avenue in Caldwell, the place Hugh would call home for the rest of his life.  Hugh planted his rose garden for which he would become famous.  Every year the family would take a vacation some place special. They had a time share in the Poconos, and traded in time at  places like the Bahamas, Jamaica, Niagara Falls, and Florida.

 

When Nancy was ten, her cousin Lisa who was nine came to live with the family, and Hugh raised her as one of his own. 

 

When Nancy was thirteen, the economy tanked, and Hugh found himself out of work for a couple of years.  He got contracting work where he could, and took advantage of the time to be with his beloved family.  His primary activity outside of the home during this period of time was volunteering at the family’s parish of St. Thomas Moore, doing their gardening and maintenance work. 

 

Hugh always had this innate sense for God’s presence in his life. Pondering the beauty of one of his beloved roses, he would ask, “How could people ever doubt God when you see one of these?”  Gardening was a spiritual exercise for Hugh, a way to commune with God and to partner with God in nurturing the beauty of this world.   To stand shirtless in the sunshine, quietly weeding his rose garden was for Hugh an act of worship and praise.

 

When his wife Nancy’s mother died in Ohio, the one thing Hugh wanted to bring back from her house to remember her by was a small peony bush he dug up from her yard, transporting it back to New Jersey to plant in his yard, where under his tender care, it multiplied and bloomed to bless countless others.  

 

Eventually Hugh re-entered the work force, taking a high-powered job working as the national rep for a Swedish based company called Avesta Stainless.  The position involved regular trips to Sweden.   Nancy graduated high school, and after attending Rutgers for a year, decided she wanted to enter the work world.  She had always dreamed of living near the beach in sunny San Diego.  When Nancy managed to land a job there, Hugh took extended time off work to accompany Nancy on a winding trip across the country with no particular agenda, a time both of them would remember with great fondness for the rest of their lives.   There took their time, watching a sunset in Texas — gazing at the splendor of  the Grand Canyon — whatever caught their eye.  When they finally arrived in San Diego, Hugh stayed in town for a couple of weeks helping Nancy get settled in her new apartment.  Two years later when Nancy decided to return East for a time, Hugh flew back to San Diego in order to drive Nancy’s car back for her. 

 

Hugh was always there to support the dreams of the two women in his life — the two Nancys around whom his life revolved.  He had encouraged his wife to develop her beautiful singing voice.  As time passed, another dream emerged for his wife — a dream to own her own flower ship.    In 1992 Hugh took out a home equity loan to provide the start-up money needed for a flower shop.  The plan was for Nancy the daughter to run the daily operations of the business they named Precious Petals until Nancy the mother could retire from her job to take over the business full time. 

 

But things don’t always work out the way we plan.  In 1996, while Hugh was away at a trade show in Chicago, his wife died suddenly at home, the result of rare, undiagnosed heart condition, breaking the hearts of both Hugh and his daughter.  

 

Hugh never did go back to his high powered sales job.   His heart just wasn’t in it.  He was content now to devote himself to working with his daughter at Precious Petals.   He had always loved the cultivation of flowers; now he found pleasure in being a delivery man, seeing the happiness his flowers brought to his customers.   His employees were devoted to him.  

 

At Christmas time there was a tradition at the shop in which everybody who worked there would take part in $15 gift exchange. Throughout Nancy’s childhood, every Christmas eve there had been a birthday cake baked for Jesus — the family’s way to remember what the real gift was.

 

At some point, Hugh suggested the staff of Precious Petals that a better way to express the true spirit of the season would be for everybody to take the name of a child from St. Peter’s Orphanage in Denville.   He and Nancy would match their funds to purchase a gift for the child.  Everybody loved the idea.  Each year Hugh would serve as the delivery man of the gifts to the children.

 

When Nancy reconnected with BI after so many years, Hugh welcomed him, as well as BI’s extended family, into his heart, and they in turn welcomed him.   He was a happy addition to every party. 

 

The first time I met Hugh was two years ago when he showed up at a murder mystery at our church playing the role of an embezzling senator.  Knowing no one but BI and Nancy, he charmed us all.   He was dapper in so many ways:  a singer of Irish ditties, a smooth dancer, a whistler extraordinaire.   He was, as Nancy said, the ultimate Gentlemen.  He made a point of learning how to say “hello” in a whole host of different languages.

 

He had a simple, heartfelt philosophy by which he lived.   It only takes a little effort to show a little kindness; make the effort.  He believed in cultivating life; he would take the plants home from the store that were dying and nurture them back to health.    He believed that the way to change the world was to begin in your own little corner of the world.  He believed in lending a hand to your neighbor, and in turn his life demonstrated that when you do so, your neighbor more often than not will return the favor.   Hugh’s neighbors,  grateful for his friendship,  made a point of planting his flower garden this past month when Hugh was no longer able to, confined as he was to his hospital bed.

 

Hugh believed that what mattered most in life is the attitude you bring along with you, and that it was a person’s choice what attitude they could bring to life, and he always did his best to bring a positive one.   And when you consider the fact that he endured some truly tough blows in life — the death of his mother when he was just one a half — the sudden death of the beloved wife with whom he planned to grow old — the cancer that invaded his body to suck out the life — his capacity to keep the faith through it all was truly remarkable. 

 

There was another woman who captured Hugh’s heart late in life, and that was his granddaughter Kylie. How he loved her so, and how she loved him.  

 

A year ago with the diagnosis of cancer was made, Hugh refused to quit living.    He kept coming to the parties, kept doing what he could to help with Nancy, BI and Kylie, help with flower shop.  Though he never complained, the cancer took its toll.  “The mind is willing,” he would say, “but the body’s just not able.”  He had little appetite, surviving on mac and cheese and the black licorice BI’s dad provided him with.

 

Six weeks ago he rallied himself for one last trip, accompanying Nancy, BI and Kylie for an excursion to Vermont, which he so enjoyed. 

 

Last month he had so looked forward to making the toast at his brother’s Freddy’s  (with Lillian) 50^th wedding anniversary, as long before he had done at Freddy’s wedding reception.  But he became simply too weak to attend.  He moved in with Nancy, BI and Kylie, and there the family came to visit him.  He so appreciated their visit, sitting up for an hour an a half, so very grateful for their love.   Three days later Hugh entered the hospital, never to be discharged.   His family gathered there as well.   He felt himself loved, which is the way it should be when we get ready to leave this world. 

 

I was honored to get to know Hugh over the past year.   I came to visit him Tuesday afternoon, the day he died.  It was hard for him to speak. Mostly he dozed.  In the little time he was awake, we prayed together.  I told him it had been a privilege for myself and the church to have him in our midst, Hugh, every the gentleman, said it was a privilege for him as well.   He was weary, O so weary, and finally, ready finally to let go.   

 

When Nancy returned home that evening, her Dad was resting peacefully.   Nancy gave Kylie her bath, an activity she had often shared with her father, who called Kylie his “Doll Baby.”  Kylie kept looking off in the distance, as though she could see her grandfather. 

 

Nancy was rocking Kylie to sleep with the phone call came from the hospital telling her that her father had passed.   Two hours later Kylie was quietly sobbing in her sleep, not desperate cry, but a gentle cry, saying farewell for now to her gentle grandfather.     

 

In my sermon last week I mentioned my fascination with contemplating large sweeps of time.  The astro-physicists tell us that the universe has been around for something like 14 billion years ago.  At the precise moment of the big bang the physical laws of the universe were in place that would be required for the eventual evolution of life, and then what we call intelligent life.  It would take billions of years for the earth to be formed, and billions more for life to come about.   About 130 million years ago, the first flower appeared on this planet.   It would take another 129 million years for a creature to evolve who would have the capacity to appreciate the beauty of that flower.  That creature would be us.  

 

It is as if the whole universe was designed so that over a very long period of time, human beings would come around with the capacity to appreciate the beauty of it all. 

 

Hugh standing there marveling at the rose, sitting there contemplating the beauty of the sunset in Texas, the majesty of the Grand Canyon — this is a man for whom God created the universe. 

A sermon preached on May 31, 2009 (Pentecost Sunday) based upon Acts 2:1 – 21 and Romans 8:22 – 27. 

 

As I get older, I find myself drawn to contemplate large sweeps of time. When we are young, an afternoon can feel like an incredibly long period of time.  A year can seem like eternity.  One of the obstacles for taking the Bible seriously, can be that it invites us to consider events that happened at least 2000 years ago.  What does “ancient” history have to do with me now?

 

As I age, however, large sweeps of time capture my imagination.  If you saw The Great Confirmation Play, you know I incorporated some of my reflections on time at the end of the play.

 

Scientists tell us that their observations lead them to concluded that the universe as we know it began something like fourteen billion years, give or take a billion.  (Now we’re talking about some seriously long time which makes two thousand years seem like the blink of an eye.) They tell us that it took several billion years before our earth was formed, billion years beyond that for “life” to appear, and then more billion years yet before what we refer to as “intelligent life” appeared on earth. 

 

They estimate that human beings evolved about a million years ago.  A million years sounds like a long time, but if you put a million years next to the entire 14 billion years of the universe, we realize that in the big picture of time, we’re making a very late appearance.

 

The first flower appeared about 130 million years ago.  It would take another 129 million years before a human being would come along who, in the midst of trying to hunt down some supper to survive, would pause in a meadow somewhere to gaze upon a flower and have the experience of wonder that we human beings are capable of in the face of beauty.  Which is to say that finally, after 14 billion years, a creature was present in the universe with the capacity to be aware of – conscious of – the creation itself.* 

 

This is what you call a big-time leap in the history of the universe. 

 

In recent decades, astro-physicists have taken notice of the fact that apparently at the moment of the initial big bang, when all the energy of the universe exploded forth from one compressed tiny, speck of space, the fundamental physical laws governing this universe were in place that were necessary for the eventual evolution of a planet such ours, life itself, and indeed “intelligent life.”  If these fundamental laws had been altered in just the slightest manner, none of this would ever have been possible.  The fact that the universe is this way is highly suggestive that there was an underlying intention to its design, a “purpose” to it all, which somehow involves the eventual appearance of creatures with this capacity for consciousness.       

  

I read an article on my recent vacation that reviewed a book by Karen Armstrong entitled “The Great Transformation.”  The article stated that anthropologists who study ancient human artifacts believe that “religion” has been around on the earth for something like 100,000.  For 97,000 years, it was all pretty much variations on the same theme:  “an attempt to influence unseen powers to better survive and prosper in a dicey world.”  These religions were, without exception, tribally based.

 

Around 3000 years ago, however, in various different places around the world, there was a major leap forward that took place in what we broadly call “religion.”  A vision took hold that involved an understanding of all life as being connected – that the human race really is in this thing called life together. Tribal-centered religion was transcended with a vision that incorporated, among other things, the practice of compassion and the golden rule.   

 

The article referenced examples of this leap forward in the great Hebrew prophets, the Greek philosophers, Lao Tzu in China, and Buddha in India.  It made it clear that this leap forward never became “normative” – that to a large extent the practice of religion remained much like it had been for the first 97 thousand years.  But it is striking nonetheless that this larger vision began to appear in different places and cultures at approximately the same time.  From a Christian perspective, we see the appearance of Jesus Christ as the ultimate expression of this deeper vision.   His vision, however, was resisted by the defenders of the traditional view of religion, as evidenced in his crucifixion.  

 

Today is Pentecost Sunday.  I was struck by the fact that both of our scripture lessons reference the passage of time.  When the apostle Peter stood up in Jerusalem to try and explain the spiritual phenomenon of “tongues” that people were witnessing whereby the barriers of race and culture were being transcended, he quoted from the Hebrew prophet Joel, who begins by saying “In the latter days, says the Lord, I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.”  He uses poetic imagery to speak of a transformation taking place characterized by a radical equality:  all flesh will receive the spirit, as opposed to just the elite, the religious authorities.  It speaks of young and old, male and female, and even slaves, traditionally viewed as inferior, would receive this Spirit, and anyone (not just one tribe or class) who reaches out to God will be saved.  Joel implies that this transformation will involve terror because the traditional forms will fall apart, creating great uncertainty.

 

The Apostle Paul carries this idea further when he writes, ‘We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit…” 

 

Again, the implication is that the creation has been moving towards the present moment, a time of transformation that will be like child birth, terrifying, but wonderful at the same time. We have have received the first glimpse of this new creation, the first fruits of the Spirit that allow this evolutionary leap forward in consciousness. 

 

Paul didn’t have access to the findings of modern astro-physicists – he had no idea just how long the creation had been around.  But he intuits that the creation is moving towards something extraordinary that is beginning to break forth.

 

So here we are two thousand years after Jesus’ death and resurrection, which can seem like a very long time, but in the context of the 14 billion years of creation, we in the same “latter days” in which the Spirit is poured out.  

 

I know these are rather big and abstract ideas that might not seem to have much bearing on our daily lives.  For me, however, there is something awe-inspiring in this notion that the whole universe has been leading up to the possibilities for love and creativity that are open to us human beings, and whether or not we manage to catch on to living out of this higher consciousness in the ordinary living of our lives is enormously consequential in a way we rarely pause to contemplate.    

 

*There is of course the possibility of “intelligent life” evolving other places in this big universe, but the basic idea remains the same:  the arrival of conscious, aware creatures was a big step for the universe.