Reflection on Trinity Sunday, Year C
(click here for biblical texts)
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit (Ghost).
This the formula by which all things holy are done in Christian contexts.
But what does it mean? Does anyone really know?
Trinity Sunday—first after the Day of Pentecost–is intended
by liturgical planners to help us understand the ancient doctrine
containing all the power of our faith.
But what kind of power is it?
A cleric intones the words, all respond Amen, seeming to say
the deed, whatever it is, is now done.
But what if the Trinity is not done, what if instead
of finality it is just the beginning? What if that Blessed three-sided
family is always on the move in a dance of divine proportions,
touching, engaging each other and all living beings in an endless
do-si-do, moving themselves and us to embrace and part over
and over to create new life, new meaning, without end?
And more, why does it have to be Father, white Father with white beard
at that? If the Creator is old why is he, or she, not black—the first
humans were Black in Africa, and their parent surely could be, should be
it seems to me, the same. And why not mother, does not a woman
give birth to all life of all sorts? Holy Mother God, an ample bosomed
Parent in whose loins all are birthed and at whose breasts all are suckled!
But more than a birthing, nursing machine, She sets the beat
of the dance, teaches the steps, commissions her two cohorts
to go forth to touch, empower, raise up, renew all life .
And they, Blessed Son and Holy Spirit, eager always to engage life,
on the move, being fed and taught by Mother, bring fierce truth
and energy everywhere whether invited or not, even as
they know rejection and avoidance from all at least some of the time.
But they do not stop, when dismissed or slain they do not truly leave
or die but await a new opening to heal the breach and recreate
the love of life they carried and taught the first time, indeed
every time, world without end.
Blessed Son is male, with penis and all that signs maleness,
going forth among us from time immemorial to teach and counsel and lead,
daring to be what no man before or since has been or will be.
Could then Holy Blessed Spirit be some of both, Mother and Son, transcending,
indeed expanding, preciously paltry ideas of gender?
So that where She/He goes we are impregnated and birthed
at the same time, to join the endless dance, the do-si-do
of eternal creation, growing, when we listen to the divine beat,
in spiritual strength, claiming our holy origins,
unafraid to be really alive from the soul out to
pulsing fingertips and toes, whirring brain
energy seeking not stasis but vibration that moves
all life to be in relation with Holy Mother God
and all She creates and nurtures.
In the Name of the Mother, Blessed Son, and Holy Spirit,
may it be so, and more, may we not miss the dance!
©Robin Gorsline 2016 faithfulpoetics.net
Please use the credit line above when publishing this poem in any form
About this poem . . .The Trinity seems to most of us a mystery explaining a mystery. And sermons seeking to explain it can become pedantic, especially if they are consumed with the need to defend that which really needs no defense. Doctrine rarely makes good homiletics, or indeed poetry. I am indebted to a somewhat mediocre yet strangely powerful work of fiction, The Shack, by William Paul Young, for sharing a glimmer I have long had of these three-in-one moving, alive, laughing, living to the fullest in all directions, dancing because there is no tomorrow, only always today.