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Trinity  Sunday  (a)   June  15,  2014    

Night  Diving  

Genesis  1:1-­‐2:4(a)   Matthew  28:16-­‐20    

  When  I  graduated  from  high  school  more  years  ago  than  I  care  to   admit,  my  parents  agreed  to  buy  me  a  reasonable  gift  of  my  choosing.   My  father  emphasized  “reasonable”  because  he  knew  I  had  a  friend   whose  parents  were  foolish  enough  to  buy  him  a  Corvette.    So,  I  decided   on  something  less  expensive  but  only  slightly  less  dangerous:  scuba   diving.  That  summer  I  enrolled  in  a  scuba  certification  program  with  the   understanding  that,  once  I  had  passed  the  class,  my  father  would  help   buy  me  some  basic  gear.     I  enrolled  in  a  small  class  that  met  twice  a  week  for  two-­‐hour   sessions  at  the  local  YMCA.  It  was  a  very  serious  and  methodical  course.   No  horsing  around.  We  had  to  read  portions  of  a  training  manual  in   between  sessions  and  would  be  tested  on  such  things  as  the   decompression  table.  We  started  off  training  in  the  deep  end  of  an   Olympic-­‐sized  pool,  learning  basic  maneuvers  with  only  a  mask,  fins  and   snorkel.  Eventually,  we  started  going  on  lake  dives  with  a  tank,   regulator  and  wet  suit.  We  were  outfitted  with  top  of  the  line  equipment   that  included  an  adjustable  weight  belt  and  buoyancy  compensator  vest.     The  weight  belt  would  make  your  descent  quick  and  easy.  Once  your   depth  gauge  registered  thirty  feet,  you  would  push  a  button  attached  to   a  hose  on  your  tank  to  inflate  the  vest  just  enough  to  hold  you  at  zero   buoyancy.  You  would  then  undergo  a  short  compression  rest,  deflate  the   vest  and  descend  some  more.  Each  time  we  were  taken  to  slightly   greater  depths.  At  the  end  of  the  summer  would  be  our  check  out  dive,  a   sort  of  final  and  comprehensive  written  exam  followed  by  a  one-­‐on-­‐one   dive  with  the  instructor  that  would  be  at  night.     I’ll  never  forget  the  night  of  my  checkout  dive.  I  met  my  instructor   at  Percy  Priest  Lake,  inspected  my  gear  and  loaded  it  into  his  boat.  He   had  the  coordinates  for  a  deep  part  of  the  lake  several  miles  away.  Being   a  night  dive,  we  descended  with  powerful  waterproof  flashlights.  Unlike   the  crystal  clear  waters  of  the  Caribbean,  Percy  Priest  is  a  huge   manmade  mud  hole  with  extremely  limited  visibility.  Each  of  us  needed   a  light  to  keep  from  losing  touch  during  the  long  descent.  Everything   went  according  to  plan.  I  observed  three  rests  and  soon  made  it  to  the  

 

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70-­‐foot  point.    There  was  plenty  of  lake  below  us,  but  that’s  a  far  as  we   went.  Then  I  responded  to  a  command  that  had  been  discussed  in  great   detail,  but  never  executed.  I  made  sure  that  I  was  hovering  at  zero-­‐ buoyancy,  which  meant  that  I  was  neither  ascending  nor  descending.     Then,  with  my  instructor  counting  backward,  “three,  two,  one,”  we   turned  off  our  lights  and  began  to  spin  head  over  heels  for  about  a   minute.  All  it  took  was  a  minute  at  that  level  of  depth  and  absolute   darkness  to  simulate  what  it  would  feel  like  to  be  weightless  in  outer   space.  NASA  was  known  to  use  this  method  in  the  training  of  astronauts.   There  was  no  sense  of  what  was  up,  down,  left  or  right.  Unable  to  see   my  compass,  I  couldn’t  determine  north,  south,  east  or  west.  It  was   drilled  into  me,  “you’re  going  to  become  disoriented,  so  for  God’s  sake   don’t  panic!”    I  knew  I  had  plenty  of  air.  I  wasn’t  going  to  drown.  I  had  an   experienced  instructor  who  assured  me  that  every  student  of  his  made   it  back  to  the  boat  alive.  I  had  no  reason  to  fear,  but  fear  was  beginning   to  grip  me  tighter  than  my  wet  suit.  Suspended  in  the  dizzying  darkness,   my  breathing  grew  more  shallow  and  rapid.    Just  when  I  was  on  the   verge  of  clicking  on  my  light  to  “see”  my  way  out  of  this  predicament,  an   intuition  came  to  me  out  of  nowhere…  it  calmed  me  and  showed  me   what  to  do.    As  I  exhaled  bubbles  through  the  vent  in  my  regulator,  I   placed  my  hand  over  and  around  them  and  felt,  from  the  depths  of  my   blindness,  where  this  stream  of  air  was  leading.  It  was  leading  up!  Air   rises!  I  didn’t  need  my  light  after  all.  I  could  feel—rather  than  see—my   way  to  the  surface!  Under  different  circumstances  that  flash  of  insight   could  have  saved  my  life.  I  didn’t  know  that  I  needed  to  know  what  I   needed  to  know  until  I  needed  to  know  it.  Funny  how  that  works!    I   passed  my  checkout  dive.   This  experience,  etched  in  my  memory,  came  to  mind  when  I  read   today’s  lesson  from  the  Genesis  creation  story:  In  the  beginning…all  was   formless  and  void…darkness  covered  the  face  of  the  deep…a  wind  from   God  swept  over  the  face  of  the  waters.     The  word  for  “wind”  that  brooded  above  the  waters  of  creation  is   ruach,  translated  as  the  Spirit  of  God.  Ruach  was  known  to  the  ancient   Hebrews  to  be  the  breath  of  creation  that  animates  all  living  things.  It   both  animates  and  illuminates  with  a  quality  of  knowledge  that  is   greater  and  deeper  than  mere  intelligence.  Some  would  call  it  wisdom.   And  as  our  children  and  grandchildren  live  to  remind  us,  wisdom  isn’t   entirely  learned  or  earned.  Some  are  wise  beyond  their  years.  Like  the   Holy  Spirit,  given  at  Pentecost,  it  is  a  gift  that  rushes  in  from  the  outside  

 

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and  also  bubbles-­‐up  from  the  inside.  As  the  psalmist  (Psalm  139)  so   eloquently  put  it:   7  Where  can  I  go  from  your  spirit?     Or  where  can  I  flee  from  your  presence?     8  If  I  ascend  to  heaven,  you  are  there;     if  I  make  my  bed  in  Sheol,  you  are  there.     9  If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  morning     and  settle  at  the  farthest  limits  of  the  sea,     10  even  there  your  hand  shall  lead  me,     and  your  right  hand  shall  hold  me  fast.     11  If  I  say,  “Surely  the  darkness  shall  cover  me,     and  the  light  around  me  become  night,”     12  even  the  darkness  is  not  dark  to  you;     the  night  is  as  bright  as  the  day,     for  darkness  is  as  light  to  you.     In my late teens I was drawn to a band of Pentecostals who gave themselves to the ecstatic speech of the Holy Spirit, or “speaking in tongues.” As a novice, I was asked one night at a revival if I had the gift of tongues. When I said “no,” a dozen or so of the church’s “prayer warriors” laid hands on me and urged me to “work” with them until I possessed the gift. After two hours of intense praying I limped away, without the gift and bewildered. As I made my way up the aisle toward the vestibule, I was approached by an elderly, old-school Pentecostal woman (with a long dress, no makeup or jewelry, and a “beehive” hairdo). I had never seen her before or since. She took me aside and said something that completely changed my outlook: “young man, don’t give up…the Holy Spirit isn’t anything that you can possess…it is a power that already possesses you…you may not know the Holy Spirit…yet…but the Holy Spirit knows you…and that is all that really matters.”   I  didn’t  know  that  woman’s  name,  but  she  became  my  spiritual   night  diving  instructor.  In  retrospect,  maybe  she  was  the  Holy  Spirit   who  came  to  me  only  after  I  had  prayed  and  prayed  and  felt  completely   exhausted  of  all  my  resources.  At  the  time  I  didn’t  have  the  theological   language  to  express  what  I  learned  that  night,  but  it  was  revealed  to  me   in  an  instant—like  air  bubbling  through  me  and  beyond  me  to  the   surface  of  the  lake:  God  is  more  like  a  verb  than  a  noun.    God  is  not  an   object  “out  there,”  but  is  radically  subjective  at  the  heart  of  everyone  

 

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and  everything.  As  an  anonymous  thirteenth  century  philosopher  so   famously  put  it,  “God  is  an  infinite  sphere—the  center  of  which  is   everywhere,  the  circumference  nowhere.”     I  decided  to  begin  this  morning  with  a  few  personal  testimonies,   by  sharing  stories  about  night  diving  and  praying  with  Pentecostals.  I   believe  that  biography  precedes  theology.  Life  stories  that  hint  at   epiphany  experiences  are  the  only  meaningful  way  I  know  to  talk  about   the  mystery  of  God…if  we  must  talk  about  the  mystery  of  God  in  the  first   place.  I’ve  been  a  minister  for  over  thirty  years  and,  to  be  honest,  I  am   increasingly  wary,  and  even  frightened,  by  the  audacity  of  preaching.    As   I  get  older  the  words  of  Lao  Tzu  haunt  me:  “He  who  knows,  does  not   speak.  He  who  speaks  does  not  know.”   Because  this  is  Trinity  Sunday,  preaching  on  such  a  subject  is   confounding  and  audacious.  Trinity  Sunday  has  been  the  curse  of   preachers  for  hundreds  of  years.  This  morning’s  gospel  concludes  with   Jesus  telling  his  followers,  “Go  therefore  and  make  disciples  of  all   nations,  baptizing  them  in  the  name  of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son  and   of  the  Holy  Spirit.”  While  the  triune  nature  of  God  is  implied  by  the   Great  Commission,  it  would  be  centuries  before  the  doctrine  of  the  Holy   Trinity  would  be  developed,  debated  and  articulated  ad  infinitum  in   tomes  of  theological  writing.  Too  often  church  theologians,  with  the  best   of  intentions,  have  sought  to  illuminate  mystery  only  to  further   obfuscate  it.  The  Creed  of  St.  Athanasius,  found  in  the  Book  of  Common   Prayer,  begins  by  saying:  “we  worship  one  God  in  Trinity,  and  Trinity   in  Unity,  neither  confounding  the  Persons,  nor  dividing  the   substance.”  St.  Athanasius  digs  himself  into  a  deeper  hole  as  he   continues,  “The  Father  uncreate,  the  Son  uncreate,  and  the  Holy   Spirit  uncreate.  The  Father  incomprehensible,  the  Son   incomprehensible,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  incomprehensible….And   yet…there  are  not  three  incomprehensibles,  nor  three  uncreated,  but   one  uncreated  and  one  incomprehensible.”  George  Bernard  Shaw  used   to  mutter,  “The  whole  thing  is  incomprehensible.”     The  theologian  Karl  Barth  understood  this  dilemma  when  he  said,   “writing  theology  is  like  trying  to  paint  a  bird  in  flight.”  All  of  our   words  fall  short,  are  provisional  at  best  and  never  capture  the  complete   beauty  and  grace  of  the  bird  in  flight.  By  this  I  don’t  mean  in  any  way  to   disparage  theologians.  To  the  contrary:  All  believers  are,  for  better  or   worse,  called  to  be  theologians.  Most  of  us  don’t  have  academic   credentials  or  teach  at  a  university,  but  our  lives,  faithfully  lived,  seek  to  

 

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express  the  inexpressible  according  to  the  gifts  and  talents  that  come   our  way.    Some  of  us  may  use  words,  but  most  wisely  explore  mystery   through  music,  art,  architecture,  medical  science  and  other  vocations   and  avocations.  Some  of  today’s  science  is  discovering  that  what   theologians  have  been  writing  about  for  centuries  and,  quite  ironically,   are  inspiring  new  theologians.  Franciscan  priest  Richard  Rohr,  one  of   my  favorite  contemplative  writers,  says  this:     One  reason  so  many  theologians  are  interested  in  the  Trinity  now  is   that  we’re  finding  both  physics  (especially  quantum  physics)  and   cosmology  are  at  the  level  where  the  sciences  in  general  are  affirming  and   confirming  our  use  of  the  old  Trinitarian  language—but  with  a  whole  new   level  of  appreciation.  Reality  is  radically  relational,  and  all  the  power   is  in  the  relationships  themselves!  Not  in  the  particles  or  the  planets,   but  in  the  space  in  between  the  particles  and  the  planets.  It  sounds  a   lot  like  what  we  called  the  Holy  Spirit.   No  good  Christians  would  have  denied  the  Trinitarian  Mystery,  but   until  our  generation  none  were  prepared  to  see  that  the  shape  of  God  is   the  shape  of  the  whole  universe!   Great  science,  which  we  once  considered  an  enemy  of  religion,  is   now  helping  us  see  that  we’re  standing  in  the  middle  of  awesome  Mystery,   and  the  only  response  before  that  Mystery  is  immense  humility.   Astrophysicists  are  much  more  comfortable  with  darkness,  emptiness,   non-­‐explainability  (dark  matter,  black  holes),  and  living  with  hypotheses   than  most  Christians  I  know.  Who  could  have  imagined  this?1       Lessons  learned  from  night  diving,  both  in  lakes  and  among   Pentecostals,  has  confirmed  in  me  this  same  insight  about  the  Holy   Spirit  and  the  mystery  of  the  Trinity  that  we  celebrate  today:  there  is   deep  truth  that  we  can  never  learn  in  any  conventional  way.  Call  it   wisdom,  call  it  ruach,  call  it  anything  or  better  yet  nothing  at  all.   Whatever  “it”  is,  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator  invariably  it  takes  shape  in   the  midst  of  our  lives,  especially  in  the  predicaments  of  our  lives,   through  relationships  of  trust  that  tip  us,  ever  so  slightly,  beyond  the   edges  of  our  assumptions.  It  is  only  then,  only  after  we  turn  off  our   searchlights  of  certainty  in  the  dark  abyss  of  a  muddy  lake  that  we,  like   the  Magi,  will  find  our  way  home  by  a  different  path.  Amen.                                                                                                                       1  Richard  Rohr,  Yes,  And…Daily  Meditations     Cincinnati:  Franciscan  Media,  2013,  p.  151  

 

 

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