“The
mystery of the Most Holy Trinity is the central mystery of the Christian faith
and life. It is the mystery of God in
himself. But his inmost Being as the
Holy Trinity is a mystery that is inaccessible to reason alone.” This is from the Catechism of the Catholic
Church--a weighty document with which I am becoming increasingly familiar as I
am challenged by what many are calling a crisis within the Church today. I am
challenged to defend my positions on any number of issues in light of this same
document, challenged too as to whether; by my words or actions, I am truly
Catholic. I am far less disturbed by the prospect that I might not be “truly
Catholic” than by the attitudes of those who would level that charge against
me.
But let’s
talk about the Trinity for a moment. I have no expertise in this area; my grasp
of Trinitarian theology is weak, at best.
When Fr. Fred asked me to offer a reflection this weekend I went home,
looked up today readings and almost said “no.”
A more reasonable person might have, but where reason fails, imagination
and observation kick in. Still, when I
came to Friday morning mass, distracted by the fact that I was at a loss as to
what to say in this reflection, I put my hand on the door of the church, and
whispered, “Help me Lord, because I’ve got nothing.”
Then my
head cleared as I looked at the sanctuary walls and thought about how to change
the church décor to reflect today’s feast. Trinity Sunday is the first Sunday
of Ordinary Time, which follows the Easter Season and the feast of Pentecost.
So, I hung
the green, the liturgical color for Ordinary Time.
Green, to
represent the creative energy of God the Father, who gives us life and calls us
into being. Red, to reflect the
sacrificial offering of the Son, who takes on our flesh and blood to bring us
salvation. White for the Holy Spirit, to suggest the breath of God, if you
will, that inspires and lives within us all—and is the universal and fiery endowment
of Pentecost.
Ok, so it
doesn’t have the brilliance and simplicity of St. Patrick’s symbol for the
Trinity—the three Persons like the three lobes of the one shamrock leaf. But it speaks to me, and it speaks to my life
within the church—to the way in which I have been called and continue to serve
with joy and the delight of working with beautiful fabrics. Being the “church decorator” is a perfect use
of my time, my talent and my treasure—another “trinity” of sorts, I guess.
Trinitarian
unities abound in creation, reflections of the One who made them all—the
shamrock is but one example. People in
more tropical areas might symbolize the Trinity with a banana—and it might
actually be a better one. (When I finished writing this reflection, I thought
it should be called, “God is a banana, and we are all nuts. Let’s make banana bread and feed the world.”
That may be poor theology, but it makes sense.) The cosmic wisdom of three is unmistakable. We
speak of such things as mother, father, child—the basis of human and animal
families—regardless of how we visualize or live as “family.” Our democratic government in this country
consists of three branches, legislative, judicial and executive. The Church speaks of itself in this three-fold
way, the Church militant, the Church penitent, and the Church triumphant.
The one I
am particularly concerned with at this point in time is the Church militant,
the Church on earth. While the work of
the church militant is to do battle against the world, the flesh and the devil,
(this from the Catechism) it seems we are increasingly doing battle against
each other. The hierarchy and the
Vatican seem to be waging war on our religious sisters, silencing priests and
theologians, and even investigating the Girl Scouts. Our bishops ask us to defend our freedom of
religion in this country by opposing the health care mandate, but locally will
not give written support for an increase in funding for children’s health care
in Alaska. We have drawn battle lines around the issues of homosexuality,
contraception and abortion. We have taken
sides and we are increasingly polarized on so many issues. We call each other liberals, or
conservatives, and assume that if a person’s view is “liberal” or
“conservative” on one issue, it is therefore “liberal” or “conservative” on all
issues. Instead of talking to each other,
engaging with one another and building relationship, we throw up a wall and
say, “the case is closed, the Church has spoken, the answer is no.”
This is
not the way of love; it is the way of absolute power, which corrupts absolutely. As a woman in the Church today, I simply
cannot stand by and say or do nothing.
For the past four Tuesday evenings I have gathered with a couple dozen
people in front of Holy Family cathedral to pray in solidarity with our
religious sisters, and to pray for our bishops, our pope, and our Church. It is risky to publicly protest anything,
more so to pray publically. Maybe that is why there are less people doing so
than there should be. I know this risk
well. Years ago I was no longer able to write
for the Catholic Anchor because, in an letter to the Anchorage Daily News I
openly criticized the findings of the John Jay report regarding sexual abuse by
the clergy. I asked Archbishop Schwietz
to “bring on the pain” and disclose the full extent of the abuse. My byline appears occasionally in the Anchor
again, but I know by my actions and now perhaps by my words, I may again
jeopardize my writing privilege. To a
writer, audience is everything.
As I
walked in prayerful reflection with those who joined me on the sidewalks
surrounding the cathedral, I thought about all those who have gone before me to
make publicly express their discontent with oppression, with abuse of power and
with the failure to truly live as Jesus taught us, with love for one another. I thought of those who worked to end slavery,
to secure women’s suffrage, to end racial and all forms of discrimination. In today’s first reading, Moses asks a
question about our God that could be applied to those constitutional changes
that resulted from people taking a risk to secure justice: “Did anything so
great ever happen before?” Great things
only come about through action, not complacency, not accepting that the
dialogue is closed. We too easily give
up our place at the table because we are fearful, or lazy or the absolute
worst, just don’t care. I challenge you
to care.
But let’s
get back to the Trinity for a bit. The very concept of three destroys the
polarity of dichotomy. Two can oppose or
agree with one another. Three do not relate—or oppose one another, in that way.
A whole different dynamic is at work
when there are three. Think of how the
addition of a child changes the relational dynamic of a couple.
The most
important thing you need to know about the Trinity is not how to symbolize it,
but what it represents:
Relationship. There is a saying
among community organizers (and you know this) the power is in the
relationship. God’s power is the love of
the Father for the Son and the Spirit, an infinite reflection of each in the
other. It is a relational dynamic of
their creative and sustaining natures.
It is “all power on heaven and earth.” We are baptized in the name of
this power and in the reality of our relationship to all the baptized, indeed
all who are endowed with the Holy Spirit.
Dialogue
then, really isn’t an option. There is no real relationship without dialogue. And
like it or not, Paul reminds us that we are all children of God. We don’t have the luxury of refusing to talk
to one another. He also promises us that
while like Christ we will suffer, we will be glorified with him as well.
As we
continue to pray and to push for this dialogue, and our place at the table,
let’s try to remember to temper our emotions, our rhetoric, and our actions
with love. Tempering is often painful. To temper something is to strengthen it with
intense heat, as with metal or glass.
Perhaps this is why Jesus said, “I have come to cast fire on the earth
and how I wish it were already kindled.” There are some, I believe, who truly wish that
this fire would destroy those who oppose the Church. There are those who would
burn—at least figuratively—the heretics and the infidels and those who question
dogma or authority or the patriarchal power structure of our Church. They speak of a remnant that will rise from
the ashes of the purging of dissent in our midst, as a purer, more authentic
Catholic Church. But this too should
perhaps be viewed as a tempering of sorts, an opportunity to be a tested and
visible witness of the Holy Spirit at work in the world. This tempering should strengthen us not only
in our resolve to work for justice, but to do so with charity and patience.
Right now, this witness looks more like dissonance, polarized factions fighting
among themselves while the world careens toward increasing disregard for the
dignity of human persons, contempt for creation, demanding our rights while
disregarding our duties.
To be a
credible witness in the world, the Church, in my opinion must continually call
people back to gospel values, to the work of Jesus in welcoming the stranger,
advocating for the weak and powerless, to a self-sacrificing love that demands
a certain degree of suffering, even persecution. As I see it, it is our
religious sisters, not the Church hierarchy who best exemplify how to live
these values. But as they, and those who
stand in solidarity with them know, it isn’t easy, it isn’t always appreciated or
recognized. Sometimes it is met with
contempt. But that’s okay. The central
mystery of the Christian faith and life is this Holy Trinity, into which we
have died and been reborn. We have been freed of slavery in the waters of
Baptism and are not to fall back into fear, as St. Paul reminds us.
While this
is clearly a time of unrest in our Church, I truly believe it is one of great
hope and promise. And why not? Come what may, Jesus himself promises to be
with us until the end of the age.
