Chaplain Mel Baars
Isaiah 6:1-8
June 3, 2012
“Trinity Sunday”
I was feeling a
little stumped about how to begin this Trinity Sunday sermon. I have only had
to preach this particular Sunday one other time, a few years ago, and it seemed
a little daunting then, too. Throughout the week, when I mentioned it was
Trinity Sunday, I got a few very quizzical looks. I would say a good portion of
regular church goers, myself included, at least until seminary training, take a
very laissez-faire posture toward the Trinity. We know it’s important, but we
really don’t want to dig too deeply or find ourselves in the position of having
to explain it.
Three in one;
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer-- These all sound
like nice theological words. If you grew up Catholic or even Episcopalian, like
me, you would have encountered the Trinity every single Sunday in one of our
churches oldest and most important Affirmations of Faith, the Nicene Creed
written in 325 C.E. Being a very driven worshiper, I took pride in the fact
that I could say the Creed without even looking at my prayer book, as if it was
some kind of church contest. Of course, the best part of this Creed, in my
opinion, was the part when Jesus went to hell. The fact that it was permissible
to say such a word, and in church of all places, was just plain thrilling to me.
Although, I did run into a slight problem when I went with friends to other
churches where they said different versions of the Creed. Once, at the
Methodist church, I prayed the “descended into hell” part pretty loudly, so impressed with my memorization that I didn’t
realize everyone else was praying something completely different. Not one of my
finer moments of piety. But, throughout all the years of saying the Creed, even
as a young adult in college, I think I mostly took the Trinity for granted. I
believed it, sure. I had been professing it for my entire life, but I really
couldn’t explain what my belief amounted to.
Being tasked to
preach about the subject or just trying to explain it to persons of other faith
backgrounds who have not grown up with some implicit Trinitarian understanding has
made me realize just how difficult the Trinity is to wrap one’s brain around.
Some of the poorest, yet most comical, attempts to describe the Trinity will happen
during children’s sermon this Sunday morning. For the “older” youth, God’s
threefold nature may be likened to H2O, solid, liquid, and gas. This example is
helpful, at least vaguely. We understand ice, running water, and steam, three
distinct elements being strangely one in the same. These are palpable examples
which we can grasp. But, this example is also limiting. It doesn’t explain is
God’s characteristics, who these three persons are and what is significant
about them? Why does it matter that God is three-in-one? What does this mean
for us and for our faith?
Another
favorite, yet heretical, example used is an egg. Surprisingly, this is a heated
debate on certain theological websites. There are quite a few people that get
worked up when the Trinity is likened to an egg: shell, white, and yoke. One of
the problems with this example is that when you take away the shell, what is
left is still “egg.” But, if you take away a person of the Trinity, then God
would be incomplete. Interestingly enough, the egg example was first used by
clergy in the Church of England. This further proves that even those who are
trained in these subjects struggle with how to teach and articulate them. It
seems that our examples and even to an extent, our language, is inadequate to
explain God fully.
Human
inadequacy is the overarching theme for the day, especially as we encounter our
Old Testament text. The prophet’s first words are incredibly telling when he
says, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I
live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” This is why I love the Old Testament so much.
The prophets always keep things real, which is refreshing to say the very
least. But, think about it, what would any if of us say or do if we were in Isaiah’s
shoes. A vision of God on a throne, with seraphs in attendance saying ‘Holy,
Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts, the whole earth is full of his glory,’ with
such power that the foundation of the whole place shudders and smoke billows to
the ceiling.
This
scene is otherworldly, not at all what Isaiah is expecting. But then again,
encountering the holy always seems to have an element of surprise and mystery.
Whether God shows up in a burning bush, as an infant child in a lowly manger,
or anything and everything between, when we are tuned in enough to notice a
glimpse of holiness, feelings of inadequacy, of insignificance, are almost
always in order. Most of us can relate in some way—holding our newborn child
for the first time, hovering silently over a hospital bed as a loved one takes
her final breath, beholding the majesty of mountains lit up by the first rays
of sunlight—in these holy moments,
there are few, if any, words to say. It’s no wonder that the prophet finds
himself on his knees, confessing what he has known all along, but what has
suddenly become clear in God’s presence. But by the grace of God am I.
What
comes next in the story is telling, too. Once the prophet has uttered his
confession aloud, once he has voiced the inadequacy that he feels, one of the
seraphs intervenes. With a flutter of its wings, this creature picks up a hot
coal from the altar and takes it over to the prophet, touching his lips and
saying, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your
sin is blotted out.” Just acknowledging his smallness, his loss of direction,
his need for divine healing, is enough for an intervention. It’s enough for him
to be wiped clean of his faults and sin. In this moment he is recreated into
something new, and all because of his confession, his willingness to respond to
God’s presence with a sense of awe and reverence.
When
we worship, we gather together to remember God’s enormity, we are reminded that
despite all the ways we convince ourselves that we are in control, or wield
significant power, have many of the answers, or continue with our advancement,
ever on the cutting edge of technology or medicine… Despite all that we are
capable of, what we have been able to create and achieve, there are many things
that we cannot command. We are still very small. There are still times when we
find ourselves on our knees, in grief or despair, with a sense of loss or
wonder in the face of life’s mystery. No matter how big we get, we never
outgrow God.
As
Isaiah’s story goes, it’s only after he is made new that he is able to hear God
calling out this question: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”And
in one of the most well known “Call” stories in the whole Bible, the prophet
answers, “Here I am; Send me!” Just like that. I don’t know about you, but it
feels like all of this is happening so fast. Out of nowhere, Isaiah has a holy
encounter. He confesses his inadequacy. He is made new, and the next thing we
know, he is raising his hand, ready to go out and be God’s voice to the people.
It takes place in a matter of moments. And, we are left reeling, wondering
even, if Isaiah really knows what he is getting himself into. Does he really
know what he is saying yes to when he answers so boldly, “Here I am; Send me!”
Anyone who has
ever answered “the call,” no matter what the call happens to be-- marriage,
parenting, ministry, military service, or any other vocation-- has no real clue
what he or she is saying, “Yes” to. Our scripture for this morning doesn’t tell
us the rest of Isaiah’s story, about the heartache, about the dark days, about
all the trials and difficulties that he encounters because of his affirmative
answer. All we know today is that he says, “Yes.” He says “Yes,” despite what
doesn’t fully know or understand. He says, “Yes,” even though he knows he is
small and inadequate, even though he can’t articulate God’s fullness. He simply
says, “Yes.”
On one hand we
have the unknowability of God and on the other hand we have God’s call, despite
all that we don’t know and can’t predict, to go out into the world, ready to do
holy work. Now, I realize that I have pretty much skirted the whole issue of explaining
the Trinity. But, it’s more than an analogy about an egg or even solid, liquid,
and gas. It is so much more than any of these vain attempts. The Trinity, God
who is three in one, is so much more a mystery than concrete, so much more unknown
than known. And somehow, standing with the saints and hosts of witnesses from
every age, past, present, and to come, despite this uncertainty or inadequacy
on our part, we find courage to profess our faith in God the Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit.
We don’t say
yes to God because what God offers us is fact. We say “Yes,” because what God
offers us is true, because somewhere inside of us, we know that saying “Yes” is
the only way to answer. Despite the mystery or perhaps even because of it, we
are filled with the awe and majesty of a God who is never fully knowable. When
we are in the presence of God, when we confess all that we are not and in turn
give honor and praise to all that God is, we are in a position for God to make
us new again, ready, despite any doubts or fears, and even our human limits, to
bear Good News, loving and serving the Lord along the way. Amen.
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