Trinity Sunday – Candle in a Cave

The story is told of Franklin Roosevelt, who often endured long receiving lines at the White House. He complained that no one truly paid any attention to what was said. One day, during a reception, he decided to conduct an experiment. To each person who passed by and shook his hand, he murmured, “I murdered my grandmother this morning.” The guests responded with phrases like, “Marvelous! Keep up the good work. We are proud of you. God bless you, sir.” It was not until the end of the line, while greeting the ambassador from Bolivia, that his words were actually heard. Nonplussed, the ambassador leaned over and whispered, “I’m sure she had it coming.”

A recent article stated that 96% of people believe they are good listeners. The article also stated, “The bad news is that there’s a massive disconnect between the confidence in our listening and our actual abilities.”

There are several reasons for this: we are more interested in what we will say than in listening to what the other person is actually saying; we drift off—tune out because we aren’t interested, or we are more interested in something else. Another article stated, “In the act of listening, the differential between thinking and speaking rates means that our brain works with hundreds of words in addition to those that we hear, assembling thoughts other than those spoken to us. To phrase it another way, we can listen and still have some spare time for thinking.” (Source)

Your brain works much faster than a person can speak, although I have known some individuals who can put the words out there at a remarkable pace. In between the spoken words, our brain processes not only what we hear but all sorts of other information. What does this mean? How do I respond? Can this person really be this thick? Did I remember to start the dishwasher? I wonder who just texted me? Oh, heck, I’m going to be late!

There are things we need to hear, but there is so much more information coming at us. “Scientists have measured the amount of data that enter the brain and found that an average person living today processes as much as 74 GB in information a day (that is as much as watching 16 movies), through TV, computers, cell phones, tablets, billboards, and many other gadgets. Every year, it’s about 5% more than the previous year. Only 500 years ago, 74 GB of information would be what a highly educated person consumed in a lifetime, through books and stories.” (Source) That was written in 2012, and if you were listening, you know that the amount of information increases by 5% a year. I’ll let you do the math as to how much information there is now, because I didn’t listen so good in math class, but it is a massive amount of information.

So, when you’re having a conversation with someone and they tell you the time and place of a particular event, and ten minutes later you can’t even remember who you were talking to, much less what the conversation was about… blame it on that 74 GB of information pouring into your head along with your own desire to speak and your general lack of attention.

“Jesus said to the disciples, ‘I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.’” And we all respond, “I’m sorry, JC, what was that?”

The Holy Spirit of God will guide us and speak to us what He hears from Jesus and the Father. Yet, in this noisy world, how easy do you think it will be to truly hear what God is saying to His people? Perhaps if He sent His words out in an email or text message, we might take the time to read them; however, His words are communicated to us far more softly. We must learn to listen, and what is spoken will not always be displayed in flashing neon messages.

You know, I went on vacation to Japan. It was a wonderful trip, but the language barrier is real. While in Osaka, I went to the Doguyasuji Arcade, a large outdoor covered mall filled with hundreds of small and large restaurants. It is also wall-to-wall people, mostly teenagers. At the time of day or the day I visited, I was very much in the minority, and I was surrounded by all these young, energetic Japanese teens, who were all speaking Japanese. In addition, all the signs were in Japanese, and even Google Maps was messing up and showing everything in Japanese, leaving this particular older Caucasian a bit lost. However, as I walked along, there was one thing I briefly heard—two people walking in the opposite direction speaking English. In the midst of that cacophony of noise, language, lights, signs, and information, I could isolate one soft voice that I could hear and understand.

When I lived in Montana, I had some friends who owned a small ranch that was located down in a narrow valley. They kept about seventy cattle, and the second quarter of each year was calving season. One year, they wanted to take a week away and asked if I would watch the ranch. No problem. I had done it before and enjoyed it. Only a few mommas hadn’t calved, and they weren’t expected to that week while I was on duty. To keep me company, other than the cows, there was Bear. Bear was a great big ol’ fluffy mixed-breed of a dog, and Bear never barked—never—unless he spotted a coyote.

One evening, it is about nine o’clock, I’m sitting inside watching TV. I start to hear a dog barking, but I live in town and am accustomed to hearing dogs bark. For probably fifteen minutes, I didn’t think much of it. Dogs are always barking, but then it clicked. I jumped up and ran, stopping only long enough to grab a shotgun on my way out the door. One of the mommas had calved, the coyotes had smelled it and came down into the valley, and Bear, who never barked, was raising a fuss. I was so accustomed to hearing barking dogs that I had almost become deaf to one when it really mattered.

One more story, also from adventures in Japan. Japan is an incredibly clean country. Truly. There is literally no garbage on the streets and no graffiti on the buildings. Shopkeepers are out every day, sweeping up leaves and any other debris. Cement trucks, eighteen-wheelers, and dump trucks—all of them, even though in use, look like they just drove off the showroom floor, spotless and shiny. Additionally, Japan is as safe as it is clean; the crime rate is almost non-existent.

I’m in Tokyo, and I’ve no idea where I am, but I’m safe and I’m exploring. I turn onto one street and then another. There are a lot fewer people. I see someone sitting on a curb, drinking from a bottle. That was very unusual. Next, for the only time I’m in Japan, someone approaches me and offers to sell me drugs. Wow, I think, this is so weird. I look down, and it strikes me, there’s garbage on the street. It is exceptionally rare and quite small, but I have managed to find the bad side of Tokyo. If I had been paying a little closer attention, I would have picked up on these subtle changes long before I ended up where I shouldn’t have been.

You know how a dog will cock its head when it’s listening, trying to understand and hear more clearly? That should be us as we practice listening to the Holy Spirit. Listening in this way implies a sense of bending or leaning our body or mind toward a source. Since the Holy Spirit isn’t providing God’s word to us through neon signs, we must learn to isolate the Spirit’s voice from the cacophony of voices that surrounds us, knowing that the Spirit’s voice is the voice of truth. We must not become so accustomed to listening to all the other voices and the incessant flow of information that we grow deaf to the voice of the Spirit, ignoring it when it truly matters. We must also open our eyes, paying attention to the subtle changes around us and acknowledging that these changes may very well be the Spirit’s voice warning us of potential dangers.

In these and many other ways, God speaks His truth to us, speaks His word to us, and guides and teaches us. We may get by with truly hearing only 50% of what other people may say to us, but we can ill afford to listen to only 50% of what God tells us.

When the Lord wanted to speak to the young Prophet Samuel, Eli the priest instructed the boy to say, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” This must be our prayer as well: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening—listening in all the many ways You may speak to Your people—so that I may grow in Your ways, know Your truth, and follow where You lead.”

Let us pray:
Come, Holy Spirit, Creator blest,
and in our souls take up Thy rest;
come with Thy grace and heavenly aid
to fill the hearts which Thou hast made.
O comforter, to Thee we cry,
O heavenly gift of God Most High,
O fount of life and fire of love,
and sweet anointing from above.
Amen.

The first copy of a particular comic strip arrived in my email inbox on Saturday, May 28th while I was still in Italy. I’m guessing it was in the paper that morning. It was from Jean Mc. and it was a copy of the Hagar the Horrible comic strip. As you probably know, Hagar is the Viking that finds himself in various circumstances. In this instance, Hagar is visiting his doctor and says, “Guess where I’ve been for the last month!” The doctor replies, “Italy!” Hagar responds, “Great guess! Did I pick up an accent?” To which the doctor replies, “No, you picked up fifteen pounds!”

As I said, Jean was the first to send this to me but they just kept coming for the rest of the day. It got to the point that I was wondering if you all were trying to tell me something!

I spent a week in Florence and a week in Rome. There is truly something very special about Florence, but from many respects, Rome truly does feel like the center of the world.

Charles Dickens in Pictures from Italy writes, “It is a place that ‘grows upon you’ every day. There seems to be always something to find out in it. There are the most extraordinary alleys and by-ways to walk about in. You can lose your way (what a comfort that is, when you are idle!) twenty times a day, if you like; and turn up again, under the most unexpected and surprising difficulties. It abounds in the strangest contrasts; things that are picturesque, ugly, mean, magnificent, delightful, and offensive, break upon the view at every turn.” And that is so very true.

You can be walking down a very narrow street that the sun might find its way to shine down on for an hour a day and then walk out into a sun-filled piazza with a bubbling fountain at one end and a cathedral towering above you at the other. Across the street from a gelato shop, you will find the ruins, many feet below the current street level, of the courtyard where Caesar was assassinated. And then you can walk into some obscure church and find some of the greatest works of art ever created. In the end, you are so overwhelmed by it all that you’re more exhausted than you are awed.

My advice to anyone who walks through these magnificent places: don’t forget to look up! The ceilings are as impressive (if not more so) as the surrounding walls and it was on one of the ceilings that I saw the one work of art that stopped me cold.

It was on the second floor of the Papal Palace in the Hall of Constantine, Constantine being the first Roman Emperor to legalize and convert to Christianity. The walls depict scenes in the life of Constantine and the Church, but the ceiling depicts another hall. In it stands a pedestal and on the pedestal is a crucifix. On the ground below and broken into many pieces is a statue of one of the old Roman gods. The fresco, by Tommaso Laureti, is called, The Triumph of Christianity. Not today, but you’re going to have to hear a sermon on that, but the point is that all of your senses are bombarded from every angle with light, color, sounds, smells… everything and it is amazing. Yet for me, all of that I was seeing was not what truly moved me. Let’s go back to Charles Dickens and his travels through Italy.

Dickens and his companions travel outside the old city walls to the Church of St. Sebastian. There they are met by a “gaunt Franciscan friar, with a wild bright eye” who was their guide through the catacombs that lie below the church. These catacombs have almost seven miles of tunnels where, in the early years, some 65,000 people were buried and of them, Dickens writes, “Graves, graves, graves; Graves of men, of women, of their little children, who ran crying to the persecutors, ‘We are Christians! We are Christians!’ that they might be murdered with their parents; Graves with the palm of martyrdom roughly cut into their stone boundaries, and little niches, made to hold a vessel of the martyrs’ blood.” It is at this point that Dicken’s Franciscan guide stops and says to them, “The Triumphs of the Faith are not above ground in our splendid Churches. They are here! Among the Martyrs’ Graves!” The faith of so many is not found in the vast buildings and treasures of art. Instead, the faith is found in the souls of God’s people, both the living and the dead, and I tell you about Dicken’s experience in this place because I also had the opportunity to walk through those very same catacombs. (I just finished reading Misery by Stephen King. The crazy lady in the book is Annie Wilkes and when Annie wants to say something is disgusting or creepy, she says it is “Oogy.”) Well, some may think this “oogy”, but as I was walking through those catacombs, I couldn’t help but trace my fingers through the niches where the bodies of the Saints once lay. I couldn’t stop from running my fingers along the walls touching what had been touched by so many faithful Christians who had come before me.

All the painted ceilings, great vaulted ceilings, domes, and masterpieces of art were truly overwhelming, but what truly moved my spirit was being so very near to these holy people and understanding that all that was above is built upon the foundation of those who were below.

I had the blessed opportunity to pray the Rosary at the tomb of one of my greatest heroes of the faith: St. Josemaría Escrivá. I touched this little medal of mine against his tomb, but as inspiring as it was to be in that place, it was so much more about being near to him and to greater holiness.

I had the opportunity to spend about thirty minutes in the Sistine Chapel. Before arriving, our guide helped us to understand what we were seeing and all that went into creating it. Amazing, but as I sat along the side staring up at the ceiling and the surrounding walls, I couldn’t help but think of all the great Saints that throughout the centuries had passed through this one place.

I saw the burial place of St. Paul and I saw a small niche in the catacombs below the Vatican above which, in Greek, was written, ΠΕΤΡΟΣ ΕΝΙ: “Peter is within” and in the niche was a small ossuary containing twenty-two bones of St. Peter. I confess, I cried, but it wasn’t just that place and those bones, it was more about being so near to one who had spoken to and learned from Jesus. One who had touched Jesus. So very close to the holy.

As Dicken’s Franciscan monk said, “The Triumphs of the Faith are not above ground…” they are here below, and it’s what is below that forms the foundation.

There was Escriva, but he was built upon the foundation of the martyrs at St. Sebastian and those like them, who were built upon the foundation of those greats who had passed through the Sistine Chapel, who were built upon the foundations of St. Peter and St. Paul. And what does Paul teach us about ourselves in his letter to the Ephesians? “You are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord.” And St. Paul goes on to say, speaking to that church then and this church today, “In him… In Christ Jesus… you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.”

Today is the celebration of the Holy Trinity and for me, all that I saw and experienced defined that last sentence and the workings of the Holy Trinity: the living and the dead who are in Christ Jesus are being built together into a church, the dwelling place of God—physically represented by the beautiful structures we build of marble and wood and bricks and spiritually represented by the communion of all the saints—and knit together by the very Spirit of God. Who we are is not only about what happened 2,000 years ago, but it is also about this building and the knitting together of all the saints including us today, and our role as a Christian people is to continue to build and form the foundation upon which others will build in the future, so that they might look upon our works and say, “The Triumphs of the Faith are here, found in those who built upon the solid foundation upon which we stand.”

Of all the greatest masterpieces and cathedrals, it is this foundation, this building, this cornerstone—Christ Jesus—which is the crowning jewel and you are one of the myriads of facets reflecting the light and glory of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Let us pray:
We pray You,
almighty and eternal God!
Who through Jesus Christ
has revealed Your glory to all nations,
to preserve the works of Your mercy,
that Your Church,
being spread throughout the whole world,
may continue with unchanging faith
in the confession of your name.
Amen.

Tag: Trinity Sunday

Sermon: Trinity Sunday RCL C – “Listening”

Sermon: Trinity Sunday RCL C

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