Into the Mystery of the Most Holy Trinity

I suppose there was a time when a perfect stranger would dare not have asked personal questions of a young man concerning his marital status and what sort of girl he hoped to marry some day. They certainly would not have done it on TV, but then again the young man would dare not have responded so publicly either. He also would not dare limit his choice of girl, pronouncing himself only on the basis of height, weight, hair and eye color. But it happens now, as I have seen time and again in interviews on TV. I guess one could say, "well, that's TV. In real life, normal people are more reserved about such things and in his heart of heart, even today, a young man is looking not for a blond or brunette with a certain type of bone structure but for a friend and lover, a good mother for his children." Would that it were so.

Although I'd like to believe in the thoughtfulness and purpose of youth, just like I'd like to believe that there's a silent majority out there somewhere which respects life and loves God, the point is that this sad little TV interview I mentioned is not far from where many folks are, both young and not so young. I can remember some years ago a childhood friend called me to tell me that her husband of over 15 years had walked out the door on her for a younger woman. When she asked him why, he responded with a very criptic "You're no fun any more." Sad but true: I suspect there are more folks out there shopping for a marriage partner on the basis of eye color than we'd like to believe. No doubt I'd be kidding myself too if I were to insist that the so-called pars sanior (the healthier part) of society is the greater part. There's lots of good out there, but there's also lots that needs to heal and grow. For all the progress our world may boast about, we need to talk today, perhaps more than ever, about where truth is to be found and what really makes life better, what makes things right in the world. The sad little orphan in the Broadway musical Oliver sings and asks the question in his loneliness, "Where is love?" Where indeed is love? Who is truly happy and why?

An important part of the effort which should characterize our reflection on this day of rest called Trinity Sunday is that theological dimension of the whole doctrine of who God is in His very self. Our effort today is about coming to grips in our individual lives as Christians with the beautiful truth of the threeness of persons in one being. God is one and three. This Sunday, above all others, invites preachers to be: teachers and affirmers of the greatness of our God.

On the other hand, what does the message of Trinity Sunday have to do with confronting what we might label "the life of empty show"? Much in every way, I would say, in that immersed within the Mystery of the Most Holy Trinity - in God - is where we ultimately want to be or should want to be. The grass whithers, the flower fades, blonds and brunettes all eventually gray, and at certain age, a man has to look into the mirror and see that he's not "cute" anymore. The truth about what it means to live life to the full is not to be found in that "travel channel show" about the Caribbean vacation, eating raw shellfish and dancing until dawn under the coconut palms. As you may have suspected, the boring parts were edited out to give room for the commercials. The fullness of life is Christ in God. Life is as it is perfectly within the Trinity. God-like oneness, the treasuring of the other, the recognition of the other as seen in God's eyes is our goal, our life's project. To the extent that I, as a temple of divine life, can do God's work of renewing the face of the earth by allowing His Light, Life and Love to fill the lives of others, to that extent really I am accomplishing the purpose for which I was created.

The Dewey decimal system put the categories of sports and arts together and rightly so. Youth, health, and appearance are not the be-all and end-all of human existence, however. There are those who achieve on the sports flied or on the stage, in the concert hall, but otherwise live the life of empty show and there are those who are intrigued by them and in some way wish they could or hadn't in some way fallen short of that lifestyle because they didn't practice the flute or haven't the credit line they needed for the plastic surgery and the personal trainer to make it all possible. We would do better if we were to choose God as the light of our lives.

In the lives of some of the saints it is recounted that at the moment of death the scars of their suffering and illness disappeared and the room where they died was filled with a wonderful fragrance. In other words, it is in death that people recognized the beauty and purpose of a life of self-sacrifice and suffering. One of the dimensions of the Feast of the Visitation is recognizing the sanctity of the Blessed Mother in her generosity as a young woman, not dwelling on Gabriel's message for her, but responding to the angel's prompting and hurrying off to be of service to her older cousin Elizabeth. Ultimately, generosity welling up from within us because of the life of God within us should be what we hope and strive for. Both the celibate life and the married life take wings and fly to the extent that they are bound up intimately with the life of the Most Holy Trinity.

Our place really then is hidden and radiant in God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The flood lights of the stage, the arena or the movie set cast a pale light by comparison with the radiance on the face of Christ shining forth in our daily lives.

Palm Sunday

Whether in the pre-reform liturgy or in the present, the Latin Church's way of celebrating this day truly reflects life when one thinks of how quickly the Hosannas of Passion Sunday pass and the palm branches are laid aside for the reading of the Passion (this year from Luke's Gospel). Even the Jerusalem procession on Palm Sunday afternoon from Bethphage to St. Ann's just inside the Sheep Gate (as close as a Christian in procession dare get nowadays to the site of the Old Temple) is more marked by the view of the City from Dominus Flevit than by any idea of the stones crying out should the children remain silent.

Here in the neighborhood the surface of the pond was rippled for a couple of weeks by one man's exasperated and exasperating plea for more hosannas and palm waiving in our Catholic life and church services (?) after the example of our separated brethren, who scour the islands always on the lookout for an unreflective, frustrated or bored soul susceptible to the temptation of settling for a Sunday morning jump and shout marathon instead of worship in spirit and in truth. Our man seemed willing to call for a casting aside of the more restrained and sustained Catholic reading of the Scriptures, of the silences not often enough respected and even of the Holy Sacrifice. Waiving of palms, dancing and shaking up and down the aisle, packing 'em in seemed to him to be viable alternatives and adequate signs of the presence of a Holy Spirit, who evidently isn't to be counted as present if sumthin isn't burnin... at least to his mind.

I had a friendly intruder in the yard at breakfasttime the other day, who told me he had abandoned the Catholic faith of his youth for a race related confession set up by some 1970's social theorist. Why he did it for this guy or when he did it, he didn't say.

A certain Milingo keeps telling the press he doesn't put any stock in the canons and what they have to say about certain acts as violations of Catholic communion which leave one outside the fold (excommunicated). One wonders by whom and why this old man is being bankrolled to fly to Brazil and beat the bushes for sympathizers for his liason with a Korean acupuncturist on the eve of a visit from the Holy Father and a celebration of Catholic faith for Latin America. Does he miss us enough to say I'm sorry and return, or will he continue to jump and shout in search of company who will to accept him on his terms?

Meek and riding on a donkey He came, the Son of David. Somewhere on the Mount of Olives (we call the place Dominus Flevit) He stopped and shed tears over the City and its inhabitants who did not recognize the hour of its visitation. They were expecting a different sort of Messiah. Many folks today must be doing the same.

We'll waive our palms and sing our Hosannas; we'll shout them loud, children, maybe so. But we'll quickly lay them aside in respect for His obedience to the Father's will, even unto death, death on a Cross.

I always understood as a child that in Catholic Liturgy we were caught up into the great things, the cosmic things, the ultimate things, the things of heaven. I never doubted, no matter how long the liturgy, that I was where I was supposed to be. In the children's choir we worked hard to learn Latin antiphons we didn't comprehend; we sang Kyrie's, Sanctus' and Agnus Dei's. It was all great and God was there. It still is great and God is still there. From the simplest chapel to the greatest cathedral we sing our hosannas and then do our best to accompany the Son of David from the Upper Room to Gethsemane to Pilate to Golgotha... and beyond, of course!