Trinity Sunday by The Rev. Martin Elfert

June 7 Up

June 7 Down


Genesis 1:1-2:4a

2 Corinthians 13:11-13

Matthew 28:16-20

Psalm 8


I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted.

I am physically exhausted, emotionally exhausted, spiritually exhausted, full of grief. There has been so much loss and hurt and anxious uncertainty during this pandemic. To use the particular example of church, the appearance of Covid-19, partway through this past winter, forced us radically reinvent our models for community. Suddenly, without really any runway to work with, Jeanne and you and me were asking the question: what does being church right now look like? It’s been cool to answer that question with you. And it’s also been one of the most intense things that I have ever done, certainly the most intense thing that I have ever done in and around a church.

And then the reappearance of the America’s ancient pandemic, which is racism or white supremacy, added another layer. Well, that last sentence is probably inaccurate, because reappearance implies that white supremacy went away for a while. And it did not. What we had was a forceful reminder of America’s ancient pandemic via George Floyd’s murder, via the subsequent protests, and via the violence which so many of those protests have been greeted.

I’m going to admit that I am a little nervous about sharing my exhaustion with you, my grief with you. I am nervous because I am someone who really likes to appear to be calm and in control, and to visibly be neither of these things is hard. And I am nervous as well because I hear and applaud the activists who say: White people. Don’t you make this moment about you. Amen. Folks like me mustn’t do that.

There are three reasons that I am choosing to fight through my nervousness and name my exhaustion with you. First, my sense from talking with so many of you is that this exhaustion is something in which a lot of you share. One of you this week, when sharing with me about the experience of watching the police raining tear gas down on protestors, described your feelings of helplessness. I know about that helplessness. Another one of you spoke of the fear that you are feeling. I know about that fear. Still another one of you spoke of your grief. I know about that grief. Many of you have spoken about your anger at watching still more violence against black bodies. I know about that anger. And equally many of you have told me about the loss that is to unable to touch, to hug friends or children or grandchildren. I know about that loss.

We have a deep need as human beings to know that our hurt is seen. And I see your hurt. I see you.

Second, if my experience is anything like what is typical, you may be feeling confused or conflicted or even embarrassed about your fear or your grief or your helplessness. My colleague Sylvia is an inveterate youth minister, and she spent a number of years working with youth in a thoroughly privileged context. And what Sylvia says is that a number of the youth with whom she worked became depressed and they had this double challenge that not only did they have to battle depression but they had to battle the shame that they felt about their depression. They were aware that they were privileged and, indeed, radically privileged, that there were millions if not billions of people in the world who did not have the resources that they had. How silly, how pathetic, they thought to themselves, that I have all of this and I am depressed.

Maybe, if you are like me, you are experiencing something similar now. I am well fed, I am financially stable, I am about as safe as it is possible to be. Is it pathetic or unworthy of mention that I am exhausted, that I am encountering grief and anger and helplessness? Maybe this is stuff about which I should just put away, that I should just keep to myself.

Except – and I say this at just about every funeral at which I have the privilege of serving at – trying to put away grief never, never, never works. The idea of achieving closure on grief is one of the most destructive notions circulating in our culture. You cannot close a box on grief.

Perhaps you had the experience as a child of being at a swimming pool or in a lake or the ocean and trying to hold a ball underwater. It takes all of your effort, all of your concentration, to hold that ball down. And the instant that either your focus or your grip slips, that ball will go ballistic and smack you in the face. Trying to deny our exhaustion, our grief, our anger – trying to achieve closure on it – is just the same. We will end up a prisoner of our exhaustion and our grief. What if, therefore, naming our hurt is not an impediment to participating in working for justice but is actually a prerequisite for it? What if doing the work of grieving is what is going to permit us to let go of that ball, let it float to the surface, so that we can focus on what matters, which is declaring and insisting that black lives matter.

Third, and last of all – and here I am drawing on the wonderful Jesuit Priest, James Martin – what if our anger, our sadness, our grief, our exhaustion is something holy and, therefore, something worthy of our attention? What if what we are hearing through this emotion is our conscience speaking or, if you prefer, is the Holy Spirit speaking, is God speaking?

When you see something deeply unjust, it is a risk that we will slip into despair. But what if the heavy emotion that you feel – and that millions and millions of other people feel – is the emotion of God. What if that is evidence that God is with us?

There is a famous icon of the Trinity. I’ve shared this with you before, but it bears repeating on this Trinity Sunday. It is an image of three people, all but identical. In some understandings or readings, these are the three who visit Abraham and Sarah in their tent. In every reading, these three are the Trinity: Creator, Redeemer, and Friend; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Infinity, Immanence, and Intimacy.

In the lower part of the of the icon there is a patch of what some folks think is glue. And there is a guess that what was glued upon it was a mirror. If that’s right, then there is a fourth member to the Trinity. And that is you. And me. And everyone else.

Look into that mirror and see. That God is with us. That God shares with us in our exhaustion and grief. That our divine shared hurt is evidence of God’s longing for wholeness, for love, for justice, for what the Kingdom. That they are proof that God is with us and that, as we act to bring justice nearer, to bring the dignity of every human being closer to reality, to insist that black lives matter, that God will act with us.

Trinity Sunday/African Mass by the Rev. Dick Toll

June 16, 2019


Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Romans 5:1-5

John 16:12-15

Psalm 8

Today is Trinity Sunday.  It is the only Sunday of the year that is set aside for a theological concept.  It is a Sunday to speak to the mystery of God and attempt to explain the unexplainable…to try to speak to the profound mystery that cannot be explained but because we are human beings we enjoy the mystery and want to define God.  Thus, the Trinity.  God is known in three ways.

First of all God is Creator-Father.  The one who has set in motion everything we know within the created order, the world as we know it, Creator of all things, creatures who have lived and died, humanity, space, and time.  We speak of God as a Creator and as human beings we delve into the mystery of God as we learn about creation through science and our God given brains to discover what is already there.  Profound, mysterious, here we are.

Second, is the person of Jesus who came to us as one of us in our humanity as the reflection of the living God to share with us that that is the fullness of our humanity?  He lived and died as one of us.  His reflection of God and the mystery of God is a moment in time that is a transition of our story with God.  We cannot escape His presence in the world.  Millions and millions of people have been a part of his life, death and resurrection over the centuries and today we find the uniqueness of his person in the Eucharist.

And then finally, we experience the mystery of God in the life of the Spirit.  Last week we moved through Pentecost and have once again discovered the way that God moves within us and creation.  We are surrounded in our individual and community lives by the Spirit of God offering light to the world that often lives in darkness.  We know darkness.  We know light.  We know that the darkness if overcome by light and it is in this knowledge that we are led into relating to God as Trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  Or maybe expressed as Creator, Redeemer and Friend.

Thousands upon thousands of books have explored the subject of the Trinity so I trust that you will read as many of these as possible to further your knowledge.

But, the truth is that each of us as individuals carries the Trinity within us.  And, we are walking, talking, expressions of the Trinity of God as we live and move and have our being.

One way to look at the Trinity is a three legged stool with the seat representing everything within creation, including us, as individuals.  When I was in seminary the theologian by the name of Paul Tillach described the meaning of God “as the ground of all being”….everything below us, around us and above us is the ground of our being.  In Christianity, we discover ourselves through knowledge of our relationship with our neighbor, ourselves and our God.

I am going to switch to a story now and ask you to reflect on what I have just said.  Elaine and I had another opportunity to go to London, England, and feed two cats last month and house sit.  This could become an interesting habit.  The people we cat set for are friends of our daughter.  So, we hope she has many friends in other far away places.  We went to a play in London that had just arrived in Piccadilly Square.  The name of the play is “Come From Away”.  I had never heard of it before, but it is wonderful.  It is a story about 9/11.

Where were you on 9/11?  I was sitting in a restaurant in Milwaukie having just finished my 7:00 o’clock Tuesday morning service and was ordering my breakfast.  The darkness that can invade our lives was happening that day and as the day unfolded we experienced that darkness.  And as a helicopter crashed this week in New York, it was a reminder of the tragedy and fear that sweep through New York and our country on 9/11.

But the story of 9/11 was not just in New York City.  Planes that were in the air throughout the world were diverted to other landing places because no one knew what was happening.

Do you know about the Island of Newfoundland off the East Coast of Canada?  In 2001 on 9/11 the town of Gander in Newfoundland, a town of 10,000 people was suddenly asked to house, feed and comfort 7,000 passengers of 38 planes that were diverted during 9/11.  Thirty-eight planes with 7,000 people became a part of the Gander community for 5 days until their planes were allowed to fly to their destinations. 

The play is filled with individual stories of how the town responded generously to the tragedy that was unfolding in New York City and the way the people of Gander pulled together to welcome total strangers into their homes.  The local radio station would update the needs three times a day and the play itself shows how humanity can do and does respond to the need of others.  There is one person that takes care of the responsibility of caring for 19 dogs and cats aboard the planes and even 2 monkeys.

Relationships come into being.  People fall in love.  Stories of the past are shared.  A Rabbi hears the story of a Jewish man who had survived the Holocaust.  The call for toilet paper fills up a classroom at the school and the radio announcer has to say, “enough is enough”.  The room at the school has no more room for toilet paper.

As the worst was happening in New York City, the 7,000 people saw the best of humanity.  Many of the passengers could not speak English, many religions were represented including Muslim…how to accommodate the many and various needs, dietary, medical, relatives in other countries?  One passenger could not reach her son who was a firefighter in New York.  She later found out that he died during the collapse of the Towers.

A number of children from the Make a Wish Foundation were on their way to Disney World for their birthday.  A 16-year-old girl put together a birthday party for them, which included 350 people with balloons, clowns and cakes.

In general, the people of Gander reacted to the strangers as they would their neighbors: opening up their homes, their hearts, offering food, phone time, showers or just a hug.  So the play is about the 5 days with 7,000 strangers suddenly arriving in a town of 10,000 people.  And, what we find is that in the midst of the darkness there is a light that is lit that shines brightly as people share and care.

And, I would submit to you that the understanding of God as we know God was being acted out in the midst of a community that accepted their place within Creation, shared their space with diverse people.  To remind ourselves of the reading from Romans that we heard earlier, I will read it again.  “Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God.  And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

The God of History was acting through the lives of many and this story in Gander, Newfoundland is just one example of how God moves within creation bringing light out of darkness, healing out of suffering as we offer ourselves to each other and to God.


Trinity Sunday by Matthew David Morris

Trinity Sunday Whole


Isaiah 6:1-8

Romans 8:12-17

John 3:1-17

Psalm 29

In the name of the Triune God; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“No person ever steps in the same river twice,” the philosopher, Heraclitus,
said a long, long time ago, “for it’s not the same river and they are not the
same person.

As a field education student, I came to Grace Memorial with questions –
some philosophical, some practical – as well as the hope to learn something
about what it means to be a priest. In the past 9 months, the time it takes to
hatch a new human being: I have preached, right here; I have processed,
carrying the cross, the torches, the paschal candle, and the church banner; I
have carried the Gospel to be read, and I have read the Gospel aloud, in
Spanish, among a cacophony of Pentecost voices; I have dressed up like an
angel and danced with the children; I have made meals for our houseless
friends and neighbors, and I have served around this table; I have listened
to the anxieties of this community, and the hopes of this community, and
the joys of this community; and, I have had the true and unexpected
pleasure of joining a small group of pilgrims on a journey to Jesus’ own

Standing here today, looking out at all of you, I can say that I am not the
same man that I was when I first walked through those red doors.

Now, I’ve been told that everyone just has one sermon that they preach. Lay
or clergy, no matter what Sunday that it is, it’s just one . I thought when I
came here I knew what my one sermon was. I thought I had it down. I
thought it was a sermon about justice, or about challenging systems of
domination, of proclaiming Beloved Community in the name of Jesus.
But now, I don’t think the real one sermon that is at the core of a Christian
heart is one that they choose for themself. It’s not about what aligns best
with their political views. It’s not necessarily one that they want to preach.
But it’s the sermon that they have to preach, because it is the one sermon.
Discovering how to preach that one sermon in your own voice is a process
of formation and discernment, and it begins I think – at least for me – with
an acute sense of uncertainty.

Nicodemus, is uncertain. Nicodemus has questions – some philosophical,
some practice. Nicodemus is attempting to situate Jesus and his teaching
into a clear, logical framework. He’s applying what seems like
straightforward and accurate science to Jesus’ metaphor.

       “You get born once, Jesus. Once. One time. What do you mean, ‘be
       born from above?’ How can this old body of mine – which I have
       subjected – mind you – to years of work, and stress, and the occasional
       indulgence – how can it be new again? How can this mind of mine –
       which has taken apart and inspected every precious story and belief
       and dream that was ever given to me by my mother, my grandmother,
       or my teachers – how can it see things new again?”

Jesus speaks poetry to Nicodemus, and Nicodemus simply doesn’t
understand how this poetry is logically coherent. Nicodemus wants it all to
make sense. And Jesus keeps pointing to the mystery.
Today is Trinity Sunday, which we might as well call “Mystery Sunday.”
This is a day that many preachers fear. And I’ll have you know, Martin – this
is the day that is notorious to give the seminarian Trinity Sunday. This is
the day. Give it to the Field Education Student. Have him explain the
greatest mystery in Christian doctrine. Sure. That’s great. And on his last

Thank you, Martin.
That’s fine.

Elizabeth Johnson, in her book, Consider Jesus: Waves of Renewal In
Christology, recounts this really beautiful story about St. Augustine and the
Trinity, which goes like this:

       So, St. Augustine was walking on the beach, trying to figure out the
       mystery of the Trinity. As he watched a little child with a pail trying to
       put the sea into a hole he had dug in the sand, Augustine said, “You
       cannot do that.” To this the child (actually an angel) replied, “Neither
       can you fit the mystery of the Trinity into your finite mind.”

Done. Sermon’s over. Done.

No. But there’s so much value in that. There’s so much value in that.
All language is symbol. Words are images meant to represent ideas, some of
which are too expansive to fully encapsulate in a series of letters are sounds.
Trinity is one such word. Triune God. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This
language is symbol, which is not to say that it is not real. Rather, it is the
realest of the real — so real, in fact, that the holes we dig in the sand with
our logic-shovels and our rationality-pails cannot contain it.

But at the heart of this symbol of Trinity is an invitation into the mystery of

God is calling us into relationship with God’s own relational nature.
We speak of God as three persons, undivided. God is at once the Creator of
all things, and the Redeemer of all things, and the Giver of Life to all things.
As Creator, God has made us. As Redeemer, God has walked with us. And
as Giver of Life, God is igniting a fire within us to speak a true word about
God’s love. Our very salvation is woven into this interconnection of

God’s invitation into the mystery of relationship is not only what makes
salvation occur, but it is what makes community come to life.

Relationship, I have learned, is the foundation of Grace Memorial Episcopal

This sanctuary is made beautiful every week through relationship. The
hymns of praise and thanksgiving we sing are made majestic through
relationship. People of all ages, abilities, and backgrounds are fed, and
educated, and inspired, and challenged here every day of the week through
relationship. You might say that is what church is: it is about being in
faithful relationship with each other, so that we can be in faithful
relationship with God.

Nine months ago, when I accepted the call to be in relationship with this
community, I did not expect that the most important thing I would learn
during this time, both through Martin’s own example and through the
example and witness of the entire community, is the value of relationship.
But it’s undeniable. And, its trinitarian.

The ethic of relationship which says that my humanity is bound up in your
humanity, and our shared humanity is animated by the very God who made
all things and who suffers and celebrates with us — woo — that is an
affirmation of the Triune God. You might not think you that get the Trinity
(I don’t all the time), but I have learned that if you show up here, and if you
love one another and you love God, and if you respond to the presence of
God by sharing that love with the world, then you are living into the
Trinity. Just trust in that.

To be a Christian is to be in relationship with a relational God who is
eternally seeking relationship with us. To be a Christian is to follow God
into relationship with all those who are led by God’s spirit, in and outside of
the Church; all those who, by following God’s Spirit are, in Paul’s words,
“children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs
with Christ.”

Friends — Grace Memorial Episcopal Church — you do not need to know
with perfect certainty how to preach your one sermon in order to share the
good news that God loves you, that God has already saved you, and that
God is calling you to transform the world through the power of God’s own
loving, life-giving and liberating nature.

“Who will go for us?” God asks.
“Here I am,” we say.” “Send me.”

“Who will go for us?” God asks.
“Here I am,” we say.” “Send me.”

“Who will go for us?” God asks.
“Here I am,” we say.” “Send me.”

YES! You… you.. One more time:
“Who will go for us?” God asks.
“Here I am,” we say.” “Send me.”

That brought me here. And I don’t know where it’s going to lead you, I do
not know… I’m off book now…

I don’t know where God is leading you, but I know that God is calling you.
That is a true word.
I don’t know where God is leading you, but I know that God is calling you.

And I pray that you respond to call from God with courage. I pray that you
respond to God’s call with excitement, and imagination, and creativity, and
all of the talents that you have. And give them back to this community.
You’re already doing it! You are already living into that vision. I am so
excited to one day walk through those red doors again and discover how
God is continuing to move and work in this place.

It’s not about me being here. It’s not about Martin being here. It is about
the collective reality of this place. All of y’all.

The Lord will be praised.

Trinity Sunday by The Rev. Martin Elfert


Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Romans 5:1-5

John 16:12-15

Psalm 8


If you are a veteran of Sunday school or, perhaps, a graduate of a class that sought to get you ready for baptism or confirmation, you may have had the experience of encountering that diagram that maps out the Trinity. Do you know the one? If you aren’t familiar with it – or if you can’t quite remember it – don’t worry: turn to the back of your leaflets and, there, you will find it printed.

Here is a triangle. And here in the middle of it is the word God. Orbiting God, on the three points of the triangle, are the words Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Running between each of these three words and the word God is a double-ended arrow or, sometimes, as in this case, simple a line or a pathway. And in the middle of those three arrows or lines we find the word is. So, the Father is God, the Son is God, the Holy Spirit is God.

On the exterior of the triangle, there is a second set of bi-directional pathways or arrows, each arrow running between the members of the Trinity. These are arrows of negation, they are labeled is not. The Father is not the Son, the Son is not the Holy Spirit, and so on.

You can cross-reference whichever way you like. Let’s take the example of the Holy Spirit, that frequently neglected member of the Trinity. The Holy Spirit is God. And yet She is not the Son or the Father. The same pattern holds true when you examine the other two names on the outside of the triangle.

And now you understand the Trinity.


There are times when I have looked at this diagram and wondered if it was Christianity’s answer to Hans Christian Anderson’s 19th-Century parable, The Emperor’s New Clothes, if it was a kind of test. I thought: Dare I be the one in the catechumenate or the inquirer’s class to put my hand up and say, “I don’t understand”? Do you need to have the bravery of a child to be the one to blurt out the theological equivalent of, But the Emperor is naked! and say:

But this diagram doesn’t make any sense!

Now, at one level, this diagram really doesn’t make any sense – and nor, for that matter, does the reality that it describes: the Trinity. Here’s the hard part for us living in 2016. The level at which this diagram doesn’t make sense is precisely the level at which, today, we spend most of our time, it is precisely the level which we most privilege. This diagram doesn’t work as a fact or formula or data or even as a hypothesis. There isn’t – and I’m going to go out on a limb and prognosticate that there never will be – a peer-reviewed study that gives us the answer “Trinity.”

If basic math is explained well enough to you – say, 1 + 2 or 27 ÷ 9 – you can say: Yes. Yes I understand. Yes that’s true. Yes that’s predictable. The answer in both cases is “three.” The Trinity, however, refuses to be factual, it refuses to be predictable. Is the answer to the question that the Trinity poses “three”? Well, yes. But hold on, isn’t the answer to the question that the Trinity poses “one”?

Well, yes.

Let’s back up a little. Let’s see if we can find a place of deeper meaning, a place where the Trinity makes a little more sense. A place where it is true.

Among the great stones that build the foundations of Christian faith – think of God’s creation of the earth, think of the Exodus from Egypt, think of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection – the Trinity is unique in two significant ways. First, it isn’t unequivocally Biblical. Today is Trinity Sunday and, thus, our readings are focused on this holy triangle, on Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. But notice that none of the readings explicitly use the term “Trinity” and nor do any of them explicitly describe the reality that we see in our diagram. And that’s because, well, there aren’t any readings like that in scripture. It’s quite possible that, if you were to learn ancient Greek and borrow a time machine, you could go to visit Paul and say, “Tell me about the Trinity.” And Paul would respond:

“What do you mean?”

The second thing that sets the Trinity apart from the rest of the foundational elements of Christianity is that it isn’t a story. Or let me amend that, because this is where I’d like to spend some time with you this morning, the Trinity isn’t a story as we conventionally understand stories. The stories of Creation, of the Exodus, of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, have a rhythm, a plot, they more or less have a beginning, middle, and an end. So:

God created, and it was good, and God rested. 


Jesus saw that the people were hungry, he shared food with them, and there was food left over.


The women came to the tomb and they saw that it was empty and they shared the news with everyone.

The Trinity doesn’t have that kind of plot. But I do want to suggest that it is a story nonetheless. It is a story that our ancestors in faith left for us about who God is. It is a story that is Christianity’s very best effort to respond scripture and, as importantly, to respond to our ongoing encounter with God.

Christians tried out some other stories first. They tried out a story in which Father, Son, and Holy Spirit were each God at different times in history (the Father is God in the Old Testament, Jesus is God in the Gospels, the Holy Spirit is God now). But that somehow didn’t work, it wasn’t true. And so they tried a story in which each of the three were different modes or forms of God, much as water can be a solid, a liquid, or a gas. But that story didn’t work either. And so they came up with the story that we remember and celebrate today, the story that we call the Trinity.

The Trinity is a story about paradox, about relationship, and about motion.

Paradox. The story of the Trinity is paradoxical because, as we’ve already discovered, no matter how hard you try, you cannot confine it to the realm of the intellect, you cannot make sense of it with your head alone. The Trinity is a bit like a Zen Kōan (“What is the sound of one hand clapping?” or “Without thinking of good or evil, show me the face of your mother and father before you were born”). One of the things that the Kōan which is the Trinity says is this: God is always more than we can name or measure or contain or control. The Trinity declares that, as that brilliant and difficult old Saint, Augustine, put it, “If you understand it, it’s not God.” The Kōan, the parable, the paradox, the story which is the Trinity declares that God is not a puzzle to be solved, but rather is a mystery to be encountered.

Relationship. Notice in our diagram that everything – or everyone – is pointing at or flowing towards everything and everyone else. Everyone is in relationship with everyone else. The story of the Trinity says that God is who God is because of relationship. Together, the three persons who are one combine to make this holy triangle. (Forgive me if this is awkward or incoherent: we are at or beyond the limit of what human language can express right now. As one of my mentors says, “When I speak to you, I have to use words.”) I wonder if this relationship is what 1John is getting at what it declares that “God is love.” The story of the Trinity says that God is always reaching outside and beyond Godself, God is always seeking to connect. And that brings us to:

Motion. I’ve wondered sometimes if the Trinity was what was TS Eliot was getting at when, in Four Quartets, he wrote of “the still point of the turning world” and then (speaking of paradox) he went on to add, “there the dance is.” Here at the very centre of things, at the still point, is God. And here as well is the dance of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. They are not frozen in the past, they are not frozen in scripture, they are dancing right now. The story of the Trinity is that God is on the move. Notice that our new Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, tends to refer to our tradition as the “Episcopal Branch of the Jesus movement.

If this thing we call church is, at its core, about trying our very best to be like Jesus, then the story of the Trinity is a big deal for you and me. Because being like Jesus means participating in the story of the Trinity. It means honouring this story, it means being a part of of paradox, relationship, and motion.

The paradox of the Trinity says that, yes, we are individuals, yes we are unique, yes we are the authors of our own stories, yes we are by ourselves on the outside of the triangle. And it says that, simultaneously, we are One we are an integral part of a bigger story, a story that involves every other living thing. The relationship of the Trinity says, Yes, You and I are called to me our brother’s keeper, You and I are called to be neighbour to the one who lies wounded on the side of the road, You and I are called to visit and clothe and feed the least of these. And the motion of the Trinity says that the work of God is something that is happening right now, something that is changing and growing and getting ever more wondrous, it is something that you and I are invited to move with.

The Trinity declares that the still point of the turning world is everywhere and, therefore, that it is here. This, this is where the dance is.