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If I’ve shared some version of the following story before, please forgive me. It’s my favorite Trinity story, better even than St. Augustine’s tale about the little child—later revealed as an angel, I think—who had made a hole in the sand on the beach and was trying to fill it with the sea. In that story Augustine was walking along the shore, meditating on the Trinity, trying to put his mind around what it really meant. When he saw the little boy, he asked him what he was doing. The child told him his plan of transferring the sea into his hole. Augustine informed him that what he was attempting to do was impossible. The child is said to have responded, “It’s no more impossible than for you to understand the Trinity.” Now that’s a good story for us to remember today, I think. But, as I said, it’s not my favorite one. Mine comes from David Steindl-Rast, told years ago. I’ve embellished it a little, but the punch line is still the same.
It seems that a Buddhist monk and a priest were having a theological conversation. The Buddhist monk asked the priest to tell him about the Trinity. What was this doctrine that seemed so important to Christians? The priest explained that we believe there are three persons in one God. He went on to say that St. Augustine had described these persons as The Lover, The Beloved, and the Bond of Love between them. The Buddhist monk thought about this, and then he replied, “I don’t understand.” So the priest tried again, this time using Hildegard’s way of speaking about the Trinity. “St. Hildegard, the priest said, describes the Trinity as The Fire, The Burning, and The Flashing Forth. The monk thought about this concept, and then replied. “I don’t understand.” The priest, who had been reading some contemporary theology decided he’d quote Barbara Reid. And so he used her words: “The Persons in the Trinity are The Eternal Giver, the Receiver, and the Outpouring of Joy between them.” The monk thought about this for some time and then he said again, “I still don’t understand.” The priest was getting a bit frustrated by now, and so, in desperation, he said, “Well, it’s a mystery!” The monk smiled and his eyes lit up. “Oh, now I understand,” he said.
That’s really all I have to say today. That about sums it up. Surely, the Trinity is nothing like persons as we finite creatures know persons. Surely, we can’t get our minds around the Creator of the Universe, we who live on one infinitesimally small fragment in that universe with our infinitesimally small brain power. Surely, the mental effort to make any kind of sense about the Trinity is quite silly when you think about it. There’s really only one thing we can do—or are asked to do, for that matter. We are asked to allow the Divinity, so vast it’s described as a multiplicity of persons, to love us. When we do that, we are empowered—and expected—to bring that love into every encounter of our lives, with people, with all the rest of earth’s creatures, with earth itself.
Today’s Gospel describes our situation, I think, when it comes to these great mysteries, the greatest of which is, of course, the Godhead itself. Indeed, we cannot bear it now, as Jesus says, nor do I think we can ever bear this one even in its unending revelation in eternity. What we are told will happen is that the Spirit of truth will always be our guide as we ponder what the first reading’s poetic imagery tries to articulate. Paul talks about the hope that accompanies us in our contemplation, and in that promise we gather now.
I think that’s enough for today. I’ll stop right there. And so, we continue our Eucharist, hoping to be open to that powerful love we celebrate today and which can transform each of us, our community, and all the world.