Trinity Sunday 2021

Trinity Sunday 2021

It turns out that this is a windswept corner. When the wind blows gently from the south, the leaves on the drooping branches of the big old silver birch out on the front lawn dance on the breeze. When the wind blows with more force, the windows of the church—and of the vicarage next door—rattle and thump, and the louvres on the tower whistle, in happy if tuneless praise. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is, with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (John 3:8)

As many of you know, Jo and I go running. At times, especially when we run up and back down along the coast, we find ourselves running into a headwind, or with the wind at our back. To run against the wind saps your strength; to run with the wind is to be carried along, not effortless but with your effort blessed. We all experience the wind—its power, and impact on the weather—but we do so as a mystery, that even professional weather forecasters cannot predict entirely accurately, but only in broad familiar patterns.

There is a pattern, throughout the Bible, that moves from revelation to greater participation in mystery. In Genesis chapter one, we hear a detailed account of God’s work bringing life and harmonious order out of chaos, that finds its completion in God resting, and inviting the human beings into that rest. We have no idea what they did, that day. With me, God might have a lie-in, read a novel, kick back in a hammock, or go for a run. With you, God might enjoy rest in different ways.

Then there is Moses, who first meets God in the light of a burning bush at the bottom of the mountain, but is later drawn up the mountain to meet with God in thick darkness. Or Isaiah, who has a vision of God in the temple and is sent out, by God and for God, to speak to a people who will not listen, until the land is desolate. Or Nicodemus, who has seen something of God revealed in the signs done by Jesus, and comes seeking greater understanding, but instead is invited to participate in the life of the Spirit. And that is what lies at the heart of Trinity Sunday. Not an explanation of the mystery that our God is one God in three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but the deep truth that God sends Jesus to draw us into the life of the Spirit.

I love the way this mystery has wooed and won the hearts of women and men down the centuries. Saints and Martyrs. Adventurers and visionaries, storytellers, healers, and teachers of the faith. One of the things I have appreciated most over the past year has been the stories of some of those men and women that Brenda has shared with us week by week by email. In the past week, the Church has remembered John and Charles Wesley, evangelists and hymn writers; the Venerable Bede, monk, scholar, historian; Aldhelm, Bishop of Sherborne; Augustine, first Archbishop of Canterbury; John Calvin, Reformer; Philip Neri, founder of the Oratorians, spiritual guide; and Lanfranc, Prior of Le Bec, Archbishop of Canterbury, scholar. This week, the Church remembers Josephine Butler, social reformer; Joan of Arc, visionary; Apolo Kivebulaya, priest, evangelist in Central Africa; Justin, Martyr at Rome; the Martyrs of Uganda; Petroc, Abbot of Padstow; and Boniface of Crediton, Bishop, Apostle to Germany.

As I was preparing for today, I spilled out a mound of long ribbons, pale blue and white, on the floor of my study. Jayne had given them to me, for our Christmas baubles, but they were too wide for that purpose, and I have held on to them, knowing they would be useful at some other point. The swirling ribbons reminded me of the wind, and of the Spirit of God. The white ribbons, mixed in with the blue, reminded me of Nicodemus, who first came to Jesus by night and later, with his friend Joseph of Arimathea, claimed Jesus’ dead body, wrapped it in strips of linen, and laid it in a tomb. A second womb, from which he would break forth in new life three days later.

And then I also looked out the small compasses that we had used in one of the prayer stations set up for Lent last year, to mark the Year of Pilgrimage. The first lockdown put a premature end to that. Sometimes the path ahead appears to be blocked, as we seek to follow the Spirit, yet we press in, even when we cannot press on. “For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God.” (Romans 8:14) Those led to write hymns; record history; campaign for women’s rights to vote and to an education, and for the abolition of sex trafficking of women and children. Those led to England, or Central Africa, or Germany. Children of God, sons and daughters, on whom the Spirit was poured out that they may have visions and prophesy, or proclaim the things they have heard from God. People like Floyd McClung, the gentle giant who died yesterday, and his wife Sally, who together, for many years, ministered to drug addicts in Amsterdam’s red-light district.

Last Sunday, I gave everyone an origami grasshopper, that tipped on end like a Pentecost flame, to remind us of God’s disruptive grace. This week, as you go from here, I shall—with sanitised hands—offer you a ribbon and a compass. Take them; play with them in your hands over the coming days; and to ask the Spirit of God to fill your sails and set your course, and carry you deeper into the mystery of the love of God.