Sunday, May 31, 2026

The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday, May 31, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Randy Greve

The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday, May 31, 2026



The first rule of preaching on Trinity Sunday is no analogies.  The Holy Trinity is not to be compared to a three-leaf clover, water, or, alas, an egg.  This is not a problem-solving occasion.  The Trinity is not a math equation on how God can be three and one at the same time.  The Trinitarian formula of the early church, summarized in the Nicene Creed, emerged after a long struggle that perplexed the first theologians as much as it might perplex us.  It required pushing language to the edge of what language can do - naming the reality, yet not going too far in seeking to explain the how of the reality.  They sought to faithfully apprehend the nature of God as revealed in Jesus Christ - a revelation in the world which changed reality.  Yes, we speak of one Being in three Persons, not separate, subordinate, or hidden, but language, as necessary as it is, can at best create a rhetorical guard against outright heresy, not define the essence of the mystery.
In The Roots of Christian Mysticism, Olivier Clement writes,
“In their expositions of the Trinity, St Basil and St Maximus the Confessor emphasize that the Three is not a number (St Basil spoke in this respect of ‘meta-mathematics’).  The divine Persons are not added to one another, they exist in one another: the Father is in the Son and the Son is in the Father, the Spirit is united to the Father together with the Son and ‘completes the blessed Trinity’ as if he were ensuring the circulation of love within it.”  
The scripture readings for today all speak of the human community participating in the communion of God whose life is relational and sharing.  The divine image mentioned in Genesis chapter one is relationality and identity in and through connection and union with God and one another.
We are not observers of a narrative today.  We are on the inside of the mystery.  This is the one feast (with the possible addition of All Saints Day) of the year not referenced to a historical event.  As a highly sense-oriented person who loves the concrete symbols of liturgy, today is notable for the absence of a visual.  Today there is no manger or mountain or cross or empty tomb.   Some aspects of reality are just simply beyond the categories of the physical world.  The Holy Trinity points us beyond history, beyond time and space to celebrate an eternal and cosmic reality revealed to us as mystery.  
Christian formation too often prioritizes the intellect at the expense of other modes of perception.  Most of us have grown up with the expectation that assenting and conforming to doctrine took priority over the inner experience of the presence of God.   In our enlightened and scientific age when learning is reduced to data and information exists more to be possessed than appreciated, we are in danger of flattening the human experience into heads on sticks, mere data processing centers who evaluate right and wrong, good and bad, in and out, with no larger vision of a story, a mystery beyond what can be grasped, that is not meant to be understood with the brain but delighted in with the spirit.  Jesus is less dogmatic in that way than we tend to be.  He more often walked around and observed and asked questions than insisted on a set theology or yet more rules.  In our tendency to explain and possess, we descend into a mechanization of faith and disenchant the universe.  Trinity Sunday is the call to re-enchant the world with the practices of wonder, adoration, exultation, and sheer delight.  Those are as important to our growth as information and theology.
It is good and right to believe in the Trinity as the truth about God, but that belief must be more than “it is true”  - check the box and move on.  The mystery of the Trinity calls forth questions about how we relate to Christian truths and whether our intellect is the best or only way of relating.  Our imagination is a better tool than our intellect.  
While visual analogies are inadequate, perhaps there is a sensory way to enter into the mystery.  Jeremy Begbie, a priest and musician who has dedicated his vocation to the theology of music, has been a helpful voice in approaching and appreciating the mystery of threeness in oneness.  Our eyes cannot perceive three colors in one as separate.  Mix colors together and they mush into something that loses their individual differences.  But we can hear three in one. Perhaps, says Begbie, part of the spiritual power of music is that more than one sound can be fully distinct in our ears at a time and the very relationships of sounds create something new.  The Trinity, he says, is musical sympathetic resonance, the closest thing our senses can experience to three in one.  Music is a beautiful expression of how theology transcends the limiting categories of control, certainty, and protection and ushers us into the joyful freedom of uniqueness within difference, structure and spontaneity that unfold mystery, wonder, and trust.  Liturgy is musical, whether we are singing or not, because it is participatory - it is the incarnation of being creatures made in the image and likeness of God.  And because the Christian life is liturgy, perhaps we can discover ways to play our way into God’s delight with the instruments of our lives as a reflection of the Trinity.
Blessing and honor, thanksgiving and praise, more than we can utter be to you, O glorious Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, by all angels, all mortals, the whole creation, for ever and ever. Amen.

Sunday, May 24, 2026

The Day of Pentecost, May 24, 2026

 Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert Leo Sevensky, OHC

The Day of Pentecost, May 24, 2026

The spirit of the Lord has filled the whole world, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.


The Book of Common Prayer tells us that there are seven principal feasts observed in our church. Traditionally and by common consensus Easter, the feast of the Resurrection of our Lord, is the principal festival of the church year—the feast of feasts, if you will—but next in dignity is today's feast, that of Pentecost. It is the day that closes out the long Easter cycle that we began more than ninety days ago on Ash Wednesday. And it's a great feast…isn't it? Well, let’s be honest: for most of us, it's not.


A recent article in the [UK] Church Times was titled: “In the Parish: why is Pentecost undervalued?”  The author, Sally Welch, begins by saying that Pentecost as a festival made very little impact on her as a child. Then fast forwarding to young parenthood, she notes: 

…I was startled one Sunday by the appearance of jumpers and scarves of vivid scarlet making a strange contrast to the duns and heathers of the rest of the church going outfits. “It’s Pentecost!” crowed an over-enthusiastic curate. “We celebrate by wearing red!”  This was my first introduction—a congregation-wide wardrobe malfunction—to one of the major feast days of the Christian Church. 

I think we've all had such experiences, some rather more unfortunate than the wardrobe malfunction that Ms. Welch refers to. I've seen red streamers, felt banners with multicolored butterflies or silver doves, sheet cakes celebrating the birthday of the church, very large puppets, birds—preferably white—set free though usually not venturing very far, the gospel proclaimed in assorted languages, and various other liturgical actions, all well-intentioned perhaps but faintly embarrassing, at least to me.  My favorite story is from my parish in Harrisburg PA where one year the children were all given helium-filled red balloons. Inevitably several escaped and got tangled in the overhead fans where they remained dangling throughout the hot summer and into autumn, limp and spent and altogether a rather sad memorial of a distant feast.


Why is it so hard to celebrate Pentecost in a way that engages us at a deep level? Partly of course it has to do with the very subject matter, which in this case is the very figure of the Holy Spirit. What do we make of this Holy Spirit? Who is this Spirit and what is its nature and its job description and how does it fit into the Christian doctrine of the Holy Trinity? Happily, next Sunday is Trinity Sunday, and I'm confident that our preacher will unfold this mystery for us once and for all. But today we are asked or invited or forced to reflect on this a bit...perhaps in anticipation of next Sunday’s great reveal. 


One of the reasons it is so hard for us to wrap our hearts and minds around this feast is that there is not just one Scriptural story pointing to the outpouring of the Spirit, however we might understand her, but several. We are all familiar of course with the account from the Book of Acts which takes pride of place. And what a story it is. Ten days ago, we celebrated the Ascension where, as Jesus departs from his friends he tells them to wait for the promised gift of the Spirit. And they wait for ten days praying together and likely getting a little antsy. And suddenly the Spirit is poured out upon them--tongues of fire resting on their heads, people speaking in languages that were understood by others without benefit of Google Translate, new energy, new direction, renewed purpose and a novel way of being in the world, a way that would become known as Christian. It's all very exciting, even if it doesn't make you want to wave a red streamer.


But there is another story, one of several, which also speaks of the outpouring of this mysterious Spirit.  We heard this morning the Evangelist John offer us a rather different account. In his version, there's no waiting fifty days.  It's Easter day in the early evening and the disciples are gathered in Jerusalem in fear and confusion, with locked doors and locked hearts when suddenly Jesus is there with them. In a model of succinctness but with marvelous energy, Jesus twice greets his disciples with the word “Peace.”  He shows them his wounded hands and side as if to confirm his identity. And he breathes on them.  (I think most of you are aware that in both Hebrew and Greek, the word for breath is the same as the word for spirit, so there’s a lot at play here.) And then Jesus doesn’t simply invite them, but commands them: “Receive the Holy Spirit.”  And he sends them out to be agents of forgiveness and reconciliation in an unforgiving and alienated and alienating world.


These two stories are quite different, but they are not contradictory. In some ways they complement each other deeply. And which are we celebrating today…God breathing God’s spirit again into the clay that is Adam and you and me?  God overthrowing the linguistic confusion and pride of the Tower of Babel? I hope both, and perhaps many others as well.  We can have it both ways. Yet the question remains: who is this Spirit of which both stories speak?


Consider for a minute the possibility of looking at the wind or at breath. In a sense we can never do that except perhaps with very sophisticated scientific instruments or under certain unusual circumstances. In everyday life we don't look directly at wind or breath. At best what we look at are the effects of the wind and breath. We notice the fluttering of leaves on a tree or waves moving over grasslands or clouds scudding across the skies.  Perhaps we feel a cooling caress on our cheeks or hear a fierce howling.  Sometimes it’s the destructive effect of forceful winds uprooting trees or driving wildfires.  Or the mysterious scent of distant flowers or a decaying carcass or whatever. It's the wind, the air, the breath that brings us these. But it is not given for us to see the wind. We know it by its effects. I believe it is the same with the Holy Spirit.  As Jesus says in another context: “You will know them by their fruits.”


The spirit of God, the spirit of Jesus, that which/whom we call the Holy Spirit can't be apprehended directly, but we can see it and experience its effects. We see it in creative work around us. We see it in surprising reconciliation between and within people. We come to know it in a thousand little acts of love which punctuate world and our lives. And we celebrate it in the experience of human solidarity. St. Paul in that wonderful passage from his Letter to the Galatians offers a list of the fruits of the Spirit, extensive but by no means exhaustive:  love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.  Paul adds: “Against such things there is no law.”  No indeed.  See these and while we are not directly seeing the Spirit, we are seeing the Spirit’s footprints. Become these, and we become Spirit bearers whatever our faith or family or lack thereof. 


We can’t, I’m afraid, define the Spirit or reduce Spirit to a concept or a category.  But we can rest assured that whenever and wherever God’s spirit is loosed upon the world, if these signs are present, there is God.  And we can be equally certain that God’s spirit does not act by anger, hatred, ignorance, rudeness, envy, exploitation, indignity or a multitude of other sad and destructive attitudes, habits or works which oppose and frustrate the Spirit of the living God.


On Pentecost, I often think of my experience as a child growing up in a Polish religious tradition. And among Poles, as among almost all the Slavic peoples, Pentecost is not much about red vestments. In fact, in Polish the name of the feast is Nieziela Zielone, that is to say, Green Sunday. And on that morning—terribly ecologically unsound but what did we know back then? —whole birch trees were cut down and set up at the doors of the church and around the altar and the pulpit. There was no mistaking it:  Pentecost was and is above all else a feast of life, a feast of new creation, a festival of new birth. Yes, this Slavic custom likely points back to a pre-Christian agricultural festival.  So, I might add, do the Jewish festivals of Passover and Shavous, the latter otherwise known as Pentecost among Greek-speaking Jews. It is a folk custom that speaks with an insight that begs to be emphasized. And that is that the Spirit of God, however we understand Spirit, is all about life, abundant life, fullness of life. And that God is on the side of life always: yesterday, today and forever.


Some of you may remember our late brother Roy Parker whose calligraphy was so beautifully done and so popular, and none more so than his simple work that quotes Irenaeus of Lyon, a second-century Bishop. It says simply: “The glory of God is the human person fully alive.” That, my friends, is Pentecost today and tomorrow. 


But remember there is a second line to this epigram from Bishop Irenaeus which is equally important: “…and that life consists in beholding God.”


May we each today catch some glimpse of God or God’s footprints, in the power and agency of the life-giving Spirit.  


And now, friends, perhaps it is time to pick up those red streamers and party.  Amen.

Sunday, May 17, 2026

The Seventh Sunday of Easter, May 17, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Seventh Sunday of Easter, May 17, 2026


Religion can be a very dangerous thing. We have used it to say all kinds of things about God, about ourselves, and about each other, often with frightening certitude, that entrap us in belief systems that perpetuate ideology over humanity, blind assertion over wisdom, and security over generosity. In the post-modern era, this realization brought about the condemnation of religion itself, a convenient way to circumvent the demands of healthy religion. Instead of deep observation and reflection on how religion can be manipulated, how God can be made to say what may serve our will instead of the divine will, or acknowledge the great good that religion has often inspired out of the heart of humankind, an easier option has been
chosen by many…to throw the baby out with the bath water and go at it religionless. This choice was understandable, even if shortsighted, in light of the gross violence perpetrated in the name of religion, indeed, in the name of God, throughout the centuries. In saying religion can no longer be trusted, the post-modern mind has, though, in effect, too quickly said God can no longer be trusted. And in this vast theological wasteland what has emerged is a human consciousness rootless and without a ground on which to stand and a spirit parched wondering where to slake its thirst.

This is not, however, an entirely bad thing. Sometimes, maybe oftentimes, our images of God need to die in order to give birth to more adequate ones. The crises of church history have done just this…forged theological revolutions which birth new belief systems which better serve the human spirit and better foster a more universal peace. Perhaps we are living in such a time now.

Liturgically speaking, we are indeed at the cusp of a new birth. The tide of Easter has crested, the Lord has Ascended, and, in a week’s time, the Holy Spirit will fill us anew. And the lections for this  seventh Sunday after Easter (note seven being the number of fullness), take us right into the heart of the story of this new birth…this revolution of a religion.

The birthing of Christianity out of Judaism is not about a Christian but about a Jew…a Jew suffused with the ancient stories of his faith and the sacred traditions which helped form his religious sensibilities and belief system. Yet, Yeshua (Jesus), son of Joseph and Mary from Nazareth of Galilee, had a special attunement to the divine, and this attunement allowed him to sniff out bad religion with the snout of a bloodhound. His fidelity to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was at once doggedly traditional and daringly original. In being traditional, Jesus would assert the messianic hope and hold to the fulfillment of the covenantal promises of Israel’s God. In being original, he would also assert that he was himself that fulfillment.

A rupture of the old from the new was bound to follow. Or from another perspective…a new birth.

From reading the Gospels one doesn’t, however, get the sense that Jesus saw himself as a religious revolutionary. One, rather, gets the sense that he was just a faithful Israelite with a strikingly original vision of God and his intimate proximity to this God. Jesus was less interested in intentionally overthrowing a religious system as in simply…and wholeheartedly…living inebriated in the love of the God his own religious system proclaimed and which so claimed him. This was no new god. This was the same God of the covenants, of the prophets, and of the sages of old but internalized in such a way that first-hand experience gave validation to the testimony of the sacred page. And it was this…his experience of the covenantal love of his God as a faithful Jew…that would become the arbiter of his spiritual compass and would lead him along a path where he would at once put forth his revolutionary teaching about God’s kingdom and simultaneously critique with the fire of a prophet any misrepresentation of this God he had come to know with such
personal assurance.

From reading the Gospels we also get a clear sense of Jesus’ own
understanding of his mission. The course of his life was set and his destiny was never in doubt. From the perspective of the Fourth Gospel, the purpose and identity of Jesus are intertwined as one. He is the Word of God come to reveal, at the appointed time, the glory of God, and he is the Son of God come to bestow the eternal life and love of the Father…and no one who heard him was prepared to
receive either.

The clashing of light and darkness that resulted was not just a clashing of good and evil, it was a clashing of competing theologies, ideologies, and authorities. There was no way that there would be two left standing in the end…one of these would have to be defeated for the other to survive. And Jesus was well aware of this. He had calculated the cost but there was no question that he could ever deny his experience of the one he knew as Abba. The love that so claimed him was the one and only truth of his life. Everything about him flowed from it and led back to it. And it was his mission, as he understood it, to share this love every chance he got.

So he calls others to follow him. He shepherds them, nurturing them on this good news about God’s love and merciful kindness. He challenges many in authority to see God differently. He incarnates the way of God not as a way of dominance and power but as a way of service and compassion. He confounds everyone while intriguing some and repelling others. Those who stick with him are asked what seemed impossible: to bear a cross of suffering and persecution for
remaining true to their own experience of the God they encountered in Jesus and his teaching.

This is all the backdrop of the “Farewell Discourse” of John’s Gospel. Beginning in Chapter 13 and stretching through Chapter 17, in the context of a meal, Jesus opens up his heart and shares God’s vision with astounding beauty and clarity. He first kneels before each of his friends and washes their feet, an act embodying what he is about to speak. He breaks bread with them not even leaving his betrayer out. And after his betrayer departs and the final act of Jesus’ life on earth is commenced, he begins to tell them what is about to take place.

He tells of the way God’s love will be made known to them very soon when he will be lifted up and glorified. This glory, he explains, is the very love of God, and it will also become their glory. So, he gives his friends a new commandment…to love one another. This is how the world will come to know who God really is. He tells them not to worry or be afraid in the troubling days ahead because he will soon send the Advocate to be with them always. He will have to depart soon. But this is a good thing because it is in this very departing that the love of God will be made known with the greatest intensity…with the greatest glory. This Advocate, the Holy Spirit, will strengthen their hearts when they are weak in faith and will comfort them in their sorrow at his departure. Stick to this Spirit, he says, as a branch to a vine, and you will indeed be comforted. This Advocate will also teach you everything about God’s love and you will come to know, he assures them, the Father in the very same way as he knows him.

It is here, after these instructions, that Jesus raises his eyes to heaven and, surrounded by his disciples, prays his prayer for glorification we hear in today’s Gospel. In his prayer he acknowledges that he is done preparing his disciples for his departure, “the hour has come” for him to be glorified. His glorification, his being lifted up both on the cross and back to the Father, he acknowledges, will be the gift of eternal life for those who have become his own. These, his own, will then come to know the love that has eternally existed between the Father and the Son…they will come to know the very name of God. There is nothing that will be held back. The name of God…God’s essence, reality, being…they will come to know as love itself in this glorious lifting up. Everything that God has is gifted. Everything that Jesus has is gifted. And the glory of the Father and the Son is to be known in the abounding love of God’s own: “All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.” So, Jesus prays that the Father may protect those that are his own in this name of glorious love and bear witness to this love in their unifying love they will share with one another. 

Friends of Christ, we too find ourselves now present at this same meal of Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse.” We have heard the Word, and we will soon call down the Holy Spirit upon bread and wine as a commemoration of his being lifted up and
glorified. The very same gift of God given once upon a cross is now given in bread and wine…and nothing will be held back. The full expression of God’s love,

God’s glory, will become personalized to you and to me. Spirit and sacrament together we will encounter and no one should be left wondering if they too are included in this family of love. Time, this moment in which we now find ourselves, will be impregnated with eternity, and heaven and earth will kiss. And the God of heaven will, once again, take abode in human flesh. This is the glory of God!

So, yes, religion is a very dangerous thing. But it needs to be purified rather than discarded. The Gospel of John presents us with a theological vision that does just this: it dismantles every form of human impulse that would seek to use religion as a cloak to buttress any form of self-propagation and strips it bear upon the altar of a cross. If religion is about anything other than love…and many have been, including Christianity…then it deserves to die. For the only hope for our world and its transformation is a religion where glory is found in sacrifice and power in a cross.