Tag: Trinity

A Trinity Sunday Homily on Racism

Dear Fathers,

I know that many of you haven’t spoken out on racism because you’re not sure what to say. Or because you think it’s too political an issue. Or because you think it goes without saying. But our Church is filled with people who unthinkingly benefit from oppressive structures, with people who are openly or subtly racist, with people who mean well but are unaware of the need to stand with the oppressed and marginalized right now.

Your Black parishioners need to know that you will fight for them. Your other parishioners need your prophetic voice to call them out of sin (sins of omission and sins of commission). So I wrote this homily for Trinity Sunday for those who might benefit. Use it as a jumping-off point or just read it from the pulpit—no need to attribute anything to me.

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Today is the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, the feast that celebrates the central mystery of our faith: that God is one God in three persons, distinct but not separate.

It’s a truth of the faith that we often ignore. We acknowledge that God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and mutter something about a shamrock, feeling rather uncertain about what seems to be a faulty mathematical equation. And once a year you hear about the Trinity from the pulpit and the rest of the year we all go about our lives.

But the mystery of the Trinity reveals something powerful to us about God: that God is communion. When we say God is love, we don’t just mean that God is nice or that he loves you, but that he is love. He has always been love and will always be love, because he in himself is a communion of love.

Since before there was time, the Father has been pouring himself out in love to the Son and the Spirit, the Son pouring himself out in love to the Father and the Spirit, the Spirit pouring himself out in love to the Father and the Son. And when God so loved the world that he sent his only Son to live and die and rise for us, Jesus called on his follower to love in the same way. Not just to “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Not just to “love your neighbor as yourself.” So much more than that: to love as he loves you (Jn 13:34). And how does Jesus love you? He tells us at the Last Supper: “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you” (Jn 15:9).

As the Father has loved him.

That makes the dogma of the Trinity rather more practical than theoretical. The Father loves the Son wildly, ceaselessly, eternally. Which means God loves you wildly, ceaselessly, eternally. And you have to love others wildly, ceaselessly, eternally.

It’s not enough just not to hate. You have to love, to pour yourself out, to sacrifice.

Imagine if God the Son had looked down on his people trapped in sin and plagued by the devil and said, “That’s not my problem.” Imagine if he had seen children abused and said, “Well, I didn’t abuse any children.” Imagine if he had murmured something about “human-on-human crime” and allowed every one of us to wend our way to damnation.

It’s a horrifying image, isn’t it?

God doesn’t love like that. God doesn’t ignore your pain.

My friends, there is a plague in this country. There has been since our founding: a plague of racism and injustice. And let me be very clear: racism is evil. It is a grave sin.

Now I know that many of you don’t hate Black and Brown people. Lots of you don’t even discriminate against them. That’s not enough. You have to fight for them, as Jesus fought for you. You have to listen to their stories. You have to learn about the systems of injustice that have oppressed people in this country for centuries. You have to examine your own areas of prejudice and beg the Lord to make you more like him, with a heart that pours itself out in love.

When Paul talks in the second reading about mending our ways and living in peace, he says that this fighting for justice and unity is the only way that our God who is love will truly be with us. Ignoring suffering and division doesn’t build up the body of Christ, even if you genuinely had nothing to do with it. Loving suffering people, listening to them, fighting for justice in our schools, in our justice system, in our Church—that’s what builds up the body of Christ.

God’s nature teaches us about our nature. He has made us to be like himself: merciful, gracious, slow to anger, rich in kindness. He has made us to pour ourselves out in love. But unlike God’s love, our love is not a pure gift of mercy. It’s demanded by justice. We have to recognize the ways we’ve been complicit, the jokes we shouldn’t have laughed at, the suffering we shouldn’t have ignored. And if we’re going to call ourselves Christians, we have to follow the Spirit’s prompting to grow and learn and love better.

To my Black brothers and sisters1: I’m sorry. I don’t just mean some vague expression of sympathy. I mean I apologize. I apologize on behalf of Church leadership that has failed so many times over the centuries to honor your dignity and fight for your freedom. I apologize on behalf of people who wear the name of Christian while harboring the sin of racism in their hearts. And I apologize for my own behavior, for the ways I’ve been complicit, for failing to listen to you, to fight for you. I’m so sorry.

My friends, this is not a political homily. This is not about police. This is not about protests. This is about a God who is love and is calling you to love sacrificially, even when it’s uncomfortable. I’m just not sure how we can mark ourselves with the sign of the Cross if we’re unwilling to share in the Cross, even in the smallest way, for love of our brothers and sisters.

Ask the Holy Spirit to make you uncomfortable. Ask the crucified Son of God to lead you to love sacrificially. Ask the Father for mercy, mercy, mercy. Pray for justice. Pray for peace. But do the work.

Let us love one another. Whatever it costs.

  1. If I were delivering this address, I would livestream it. And if there weren’t any Black people in the church, I would turn to the camera and say, “To my Black brothers and sisters listening here or online. I would not omit this paragraph. [↩]

Adventures of a Catholic in Mormonland

If you follow me on Facebook (and you should), you know that I spent Thursday and Friday wandering around Utah in this shirt:

Courtesy of the fabulous St. Lawrence Center at KU.
Courtesy of the fabulous St. Lawrence Center at KU.

I figured Mormons understand evangelization and wouldn’t be offended by my offer of dialogue–but I ran it by some LDS friend first to be sure. They thought people would be far more curious than offended, so off I went. When I got to Temple Square on Thursday afternoon, I went straight to the visitors’ center to ask for a tour. But I’m not a jerk, so I told the missionary there who I am:

“Just so you know, I’m a Catholic missionary. I don’t want to step on any toes but I’ve got some pretty deep questions that I haven’t been able to find answers to in my research.”

I totally forgot to take a picture of the Temple. But this lady didn't!
I totally forgot to take a picture of the Temple. But this lady didn’t!

Every time I met a different missionary, I told her something along these lines–I didn’t want anyone to feel ambushed when I started asking for answers beyond the basics. Unfortunately, anything beyond the basics was met with confusion. One missionary told me she was a polytheist, another said she definitely wasn’t. They didn’t know if their Prophet was infallible and didn’t want to say if Heavenly Father had a father. They didn’t know the formula for baptism and were pretty sure they don’t pray to Jesus. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I wasn’t going to get my confusion about Mormon doctrine resolved here.

But let’s be fair: how many 20-year-old Catholics could answer hard questions like that? I would hope that the ones who are in full-time ministry would have a grasp on theology, but if mission work is pretty much expected, as it is in the LDS church, there’s no guarantee of any theological sophistication in any given missionary. And I think they were told not to answer complex questions, which actually makes a lot of sense to me. Mormon theology can sound pretty crazy–as can any theology if you’re not used to it; after all, I worship a cracker. And these ladies aren’t just random Mormon girls trying to answer a question–they’re wearing name tags, which makes them authorities in the eyes of the world. So if they try to answer one of the harder questions and mess it up hardcore, they just further the stereotype of crazy Mormons.

Seriously, these Mormons know from flowers.
Seriously, these Mormons know from flowers.

Rather than give a wrong (or even unclear)  answer, they just don’t touch the tough stuff. I can understand. And I didn’t go there to destroy anyone’s faith, so I admired the landscaping, listened to their heartfelt testimonies, talked about how faith makes trials bearable, rejoiced in our mutual love of the Lord, collected my free Book of Mormon, and moved on.

The next hour wandering Temple Square elicited no questions except from one Protestant (about whom more another time). So home I went, hoping for a busier day at BYU on Friday.

After my uninformative evening at Temple Square, I figured my best bet would be to approach a theology professor at BYU–surely those guys would have answers. And friends, I was not disappointed. My hosts had recommended that I speak with their neighbor, Alonzo Gaskill, a Mormon professor of World Religions and convert from Greek Orthodoxy. From the moment he opened the door, I was blown away.

Seriously, this guy is one of my favorite people I’ve met all year. He spent three hours–THREE HOURS–answering all of my questions and asking all about me and sharing his testimony and offering to pray for me and even–after THREE HOURS of helping me understand Mormonism–making a donation to my ministry. Really, a prince among men.

But I wouldn’t recommend that any of you talk to him. Because Prof. Gaskill is really convincing. I mean, I think I emerged fairly unscathed (although you can always pray for my faith and perseverance), but this guy absolutely obliterated the stereotpye that Mormonism is irrational or incoherent. He was using Scripture and the Fathers and doing a fantastic job. And he was kind and reasonable and interested in answering my actual question, not the question he wanted to answer. He wanted my opinions on things and appreciated it when I corrected his understanding of Catholicism. He clearly respects the Catholic Church and respected me as a Catholic and as an intellectual. Maybe one day I’ll write something for y’all about Mormonism but for now suffice it to say that it’s a lot closer to orthodox Christianity than I ever thought possible but that I’m still not convinced.1

Coming off of that high, I went back out on campus. I’d wandered for an hour earlier, feeling super-awkward and in-your-face in my shirt, but nobody had approached me. This time, I tried standing by a bench praying a rosary. I think it was pretty clear that I was waiting for people and this time I had a little more luck: four conversations in two hours.

Interestingly, only one person actually had a question. She wanted to know what rosary beads were, so I explained the rosary and the mysteries and how it’s a Christocentric prayer. She was very attentive and after we talked about her life a little bit, she headed home.

I mean, it's no Notre Dame, but they do have a big mountain with a Y on it, which is pretty sweet. (Source)
I mean, it’s no Notre Dame, but they do have a big mountain with a Y on it, which is pretty sweet. (Source)

The other three conversations were just young men who were trying to be nice. One guy came up to me just because he could tell I wanted to talk to someone so we talked for a while about his life and being a person of faith. I had a similar conversation with another young man who told me that he had stopped because “it’s always good to see someone who takes their faith seriously.”

One young man stopped to chat. When I asked if he had any questions about the Catholic faith, he thought for a minute. “I don’t really know much about it, so…I guess, tell me about Catholicism.” Talk about a broad question! I ended up talking about the Eucharist since I figured trying to explain the differences in our understanding of God would be a bit much. Again, very polite and attentive but I wasn’t trying to convince him, really, and he wasn’t interested in being convinced. So eventually, he moved on, too.

All in all, I had a great afternoon at BYU. I was a bit taken aback by the guy who was doing a magic trick that required girls to kiss him–at BYU, of all places–but the marriage proposal I witnessed later on more than made up for it. I got a few quick greetings and a number of smiles–gotta love friendly Mormons. Nobody was rude to me; even the guy who asked, “Are you really a Catholic?” was being friendly in an odd kind of way. And while I didn’t “accomplish” much while standing around waiting to answer questions people didn’t ask, it was a beautiful day with pleasant people and who knows what the Lord is doing in people’s hearts? I don’t at all expect that people saw my shirt, went home to start Googling, and will be joining RCIA in the fall. But if one person who saw me becomes a better Mormon because of it, it was time well spent.

Next up: Sin City with St. Paul Street Evangelization! Come, Holy Spirit.

  1. Among other reasons: “the gates of hell will not prevail against [the Church]” but it was completely wrong for 1700 years; no first cause; no Real Presence; the King James Version; I’m not convinced by Joseph Smith or his testimony; eternal marriage strikes me as unbiblical; I believe in Ecumenical Councils; I think the Trinity and the Godhead are two completely different concepts and that oneness in being and oneness in purpose are not the same thing; I don’t think the Father was ever human. But man they’re good at families and community and evangelization and modest fashion and just being really good people. [↩]

Seduced by the Trinity

I was once, when I was about 21, at an Episcopalian picnic. I’m not exactly sure how these things happen to me. But I popped my collar and played croquet and sat around smiling politely and keeping my mouth shut on religion and politics for almost the whole day.

Then some guy asked me, “Do you know why I love being Episcopalian?”

And again, I kept my mouth shut. Decades off of purgatory for that one.

“Because Episcopalians can believe whatever they want,” he said. Like that was a good thing!

Don’t say anything, I said to myself. It is RUDE to talk about religion at a party, I said to myself. It’s not fair to start arguing with this poor man, I said to myself. He doesn’t have any idea what he’s getting himself into, I said to myself. Bite your tongue!!

But I was young and self-righteous and so very educated and, much as I tried, I just couldn’t let that one slide.

“Well, there are some things you have to believe, right?” I said sweetly. My plan, of course, was to point out that in order to be a Christian one had to believe in the divinity of Christ. Then I would establish the principle of non-contradiction,1 point out that either the Eucharist is God or not God, expose the inherent flaws in Episcopalianism, and BAM! make a new convert. Because I am that good. And it’s all about me.

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, either Jesus is God or he’s not, right? He can’t be both.”

“Why does it have to be so black and white? Why can’t it just be gray?” When I tell this story, he starts sounding like a stoner right about here.

“WHAT?” I shouted, genuinely shocked that anyone would say something that illogical.

“Well, he’s God now,” he continued. “But he wasn’t always God.”

“Oh!  Well you’re not a Christian at all,” I said with a smile, glad we had figured that out. Of course, with claim like the one he’d just made he was an Arian or an Adoptionist or maybe a Mormon, but certainly not a Trinitarian Christian.

Turns out people take offense at that kind of statement.

The conversation (if it merits the title) continued for two hours, with me pulling out Scripture and ancient prayers and him repeatedly dropping a beer can, making some point about truth being demonstrable, I think. It’s funny if I tell it in person. Here, I think, not so much. Suffice it to say that the difference we couldn’t get past, like many people in the first three centuries, was a disagreement over the nature of God.

Whether or not you’re a Christian comes down to this: the Trinity.

It’s hard to care about the Trinity–the doctrine, anyway. We come up with long arguments to explain the Eucharist and buy t-shirts to proclaim our commitment to chastity, but the central mystery of our faith gets little press. Sure, it begins and ends all our prayers (“In the name of the Father…”), but beyond that, nothing. I’d guess that many Catholics can’t even name the three persons of the Trinity. I’ve definitely heard some guess Mary.

Why? Because mystery is awkward. And maybe, for some of us, because it doesn’t make any sense. So we ignore it and hope it’ll go away.

The Trinity is our life’s destiny and greatest longing. -JPII

Our life’s destiny and our greatest longing–and we skim over it, dedicate one Sunday to it, and move on!  Or we mutter “One person in three gods…or in three persons…something about how one equals three…well, it’s a mystery, so you’ll never understand it anyway.”  I don’t know about you, but I think that’s pathetic.

The Trinitarian Shield

Well, that clears everything up, doesn’t it?

When we use the word Trinity,2 we mean one God in three persons, distinct but not separate. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit all possess the one divine nature, each possessing it fully. Yet the Father is not the Son, the Son is not the Spirit, and the Spirit is not the Father.

We’re not saying 1 = 3. We’re saying label your terms. 1 yard = 3 feet. 1 nature = 3 persons. This is not illogical. Supra-logical, perhaps. Beyond our reason but not contrary to it.

Think of it this way: God is like H2O (bear with me here).

But H2O exists in three phases: solid (ice), liquid (water), and gas (steam). Ice is fully H2O, water is fully H2O, and steam is fully H2O. But ice is not water and water is not steam and–okay, you get it.

Or, for those who are more musical than scientific, try this on for size:

Ignore the fact that middle C is doubled. Or pretend it has something to do with the hypostatic union.

Each of these notes is C–ask any musician. Gentlemen, sing a low C to a child and he will echo the note a few octaves up. They’re the same. And yet they’re not. High C has a frequency of 512 hz, middle C 256 hz, and low C 128 hz.3 Distinct but not separate.

Or we could pull a St. Patrick and use the shamrock. One plant, three leaves. (As an aside, a shamrock is St. Patrick’s 3-leaved explanation of the Trinity; a four-leaf clover is a pagan symbol of luck. You’re welcome to tattoo either on your butt, just make sure you pick the one that matches your convictions.)

I’m pretty sure St. Patrick looked a lot like this but with a miter instead of that funny hat. And clearly this picture was taken during Ordinary Time.

I could go on all day, but I think we’d do better to look at the nature of God.

God is love (1 Jn 4:16). But in order to be love, God must have a beloved. He could not be defined as love from all time if he were alone. If that were the case, he would have created us out of need, the need to have an object for his nature. But it is a fundamental truth believed by all monotheists that God does not need us. Peter Kreeft puts it simply: “If God is not Trinity, God is not love.” Because if he is not one God in three persons, he is either an egomaniac, eternally enamored of himself, or pathetically needy, creating an entire universe in order to fulfill the purpose of his being. None of those mesh with the testimony of Scripture.

The Fathers understood it this way: the Father is the Lover, the Son is the Beloved, and the Holy Spirit is the Love between them. They are eternally caught up in loving one another, eternally pouring themselves out as gift for the others.

What this means for us is that God doesn’t just choose to love us–he is love, which means that by his very nature he has to love us. He can’t stop loving us, no matter what we do.

It also means that God himself is community. The fact that we need each other is a manifestation of the fact that we are made in the image and likeness of God.

I think the doctrine of the Trinity is most important, though, because we don’t need to know it. We could be saved just knowing that Jesus came to save us, even if we didn’t understand how he relates eternally to the Father. God chose to reveal himself to us in his depths as Trinity not because he had to but because he wanted to.

Frank Sheed says (and really, just go read the whole chapter–it’s brilliant):

The revelation of the Trinity was in one sense an even more certain proof than Calvary that God loves mankind. To accept it politely and think no more of it is an insensitiveness beyond comprehension….

It seems natural that a God who is love would go to any lengths to save us (Rom 8:32), even dying for us. But to love us enough to reveal his inner workings–that’s extreme. I’d throw myself in front of a bus for a lot of people, but I’m much more hesitant to share my heart.

When we talk about the Trinity, we don’t mean some dry theology, drawing artificial distinctions between “person” and “nature” and calling everyone a heretic. We mean that God himself loved you so much that he wanted to reveal himself to you, a gesture so intimate it’s generally reserved for the marital embrace (in a perfect world). He wanted to be known by you–fully known and embraced.

Yes, it’s a mystery. Gentlemen, on the night you are married, your wife will reveal herself to you. And you will know her more fully and be enraptured by that knowledge. The next morning, she will still be a mystery. Each day of your life, God willing, you will understand her better. But she will never cease to be a mystery. And this mystery isn’t awkward, it’s fascinating, enticing!  In our personal lives, we find this alluring. Let’s look at God the same way.

The mystery of the Trinity is an invitation to unveil the beauty of One who loves you unconditionally. Why do you shy away?

  1. A thing cannot be itself and not itself at the same time, or X is not equal to not X. That is to say, murder can’t be wrong for you because you think it’s wrong but not wrong for me, because I don’t. Or a doughnut doesn’t become God just because you believe it is. No joke–someone actually made that argument to me once. [↩]
  2. Which, by the way, is nowhere in the Bible and comes to us solely from the Church’s authority, via the Ecumenical Council of Nicaea (think Nicene Creed) in 325. What’s that you say about sola scriptura? Oops, turns out you can’t be a Christian without Tradition. [↩]
  3. According to a million places on the internet. [↩]