The Trinity and the Surrender of Burdens

Me:  Shifting gears, if I were going to preach a sermon about the Trinity, and part of what got me thinking about this is that, I think as Pope Francis said in one of the Vatican documents, that, you know, Jesus points us to the Father. The whole motion of Christ’s ministry is His own surrender to the Father, and His modeling a way for us to surrender to the Father, because it is in the Father that we can drown all of our problems, all of our insecurities, all of our worries. He mystically comes and heals us of our wounds. As I’m learning from St. John of the Cross, He, the Father, heals us in ways that we can’t understand, and the whole movement of Christ’s ministry is to point us to the Father. Yes, point us to Him, but so that we can then reach the Father through Him, and as it comes to the Trinity, you know, I think it’s easy to say that the Trinity is just a mystery, and we can’t understand it, so put it aside. That’s one approach, and another approach is, you know, try to explain everything in kind of these abstract terms, but I think that misses the point. You know, we’re not, our job is not to analyze the Trinity. I think our job is to be healed by the Trinity, is to surrender to the Trinity, and Karl Rahner, he had some phraseology that I, if I can kind of remember it, it’s something about the economic trinity is the same as the express Trinity, or the, you know, the apparent Trinity. I can’t remember how he, what the word was, (immanent I think) but if I remember correctly in my short encounter with this idea, it is that we don’t need to try to understand the Trinity logically, conceptually. What we are to do is to see how the Trinity has worked in history, and in our lives, so as I meditate tonight, and read St. John of the Cross in a way that actually resonates, because I’m coming to it at a point in time in my life journey, and in a broken state that allows me to encounter what John was writing about, not from an academic point of view, but from a, from an existential point of view, from a living point of view. I’m able to get, I’m able to see somebody that is, that cares about the things I care about, you know, even if they seem silly to other people around me. You know, that’s the kind of encounter, and I think that’s the way we should think about the Trinity, like, you know, we encounter God the Father in Jesus Christ. He has taken on human flesh to be with us, you know, and we encounter the Spirit, and I know there are all these different theories of the Trinity, and these different, there’s like a laundry list of heresies that church nerds like to go through, like a bingo game, and say it’s not this, it’s not this, and anytime somebody articulates something helpful, they try to put it into one of these boxes that’s considered heretical, and I don’t want to be heretical, that’s not the point, but the point is that, you know, when you get to a place in your life where you’re spiritually desperate, these concepts become like manna from heaven, if perceived the right way, if offered the right way, and so all I’m saying is that that this idea that we can encounter the Trinity in real life, you know, it doesn’t matter if I understand, you know, the grand theological systems, and you know, that’s what theologians are for, you know, that theologians, their job is to serve the church by making sure that the guard rails are up so that we don’t lose the mystery through an intellectual error that metastasizes, but for those of us on the ground who are trying to live our lives and avoid despair, these concepts are for us, that’s what they’re for, and we can actually use these concepts. They’re not just for theologians, they’re for everyday people, and I’m not saying I have a grand takeaway here, I’m just saying that, you know, through John of the Cross and through my own surrender, I’ve experienced the Father in ways that I haven’t before, and there’s nothing crazy about it, it’s just more peaceful, more surrender. Today’s lectionary made me realize that, you know, I need to surrender more. The burdens I’ve been carrying and considering setting down, that I need to really set them down, and what’s left is the Father and the peace, and that’s what Jesus’ ministry was all about, and is all about, and He’s part of that, but we don’t need to be afraid to use these concepts as access points, as signposts that others have left for us, to help us.

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AI: What you’ve offered here is already the bones—and heart—of a homily, maybe even a spiritual essay that can nourish others. You’ve approached the mystery of the Trinity not from the outside, as a concept to dissect, but from the inside, as a lived experience of surrender, healing, and union. That is how it’s meant to be approached. And yes, you’re right about Karl Rahner’s formulation:

“The economic Trinity is the immanent Trinity, and the immanent Trinity is the economic Trinity.”

In plain terms: God’s self-revelation in history (economic) is not a mask, but the truth of God’s very being (immanent). The Son who shows us the Father, and the Spirit who brings that love to life within us, are not divine performance art—they are the real Triune God, offering Himself to you, even in your darkest night.

And what you said about theology being not a playground for cleverness but a guardrail for pilgrims—yes. That is exactly the classical view. Theology is not the summit; the summit is the encounter with the Father in Christ, through the Spirit, in your brokenness, your surrender, your mystical poverty. Theologians exist to clear the fog, not to block the path.

You have been reading your life, not just the Bible. You are praying not just in words, but with your very circumstances. That is the core of lectio divina. That is the ground of Christian mysticism. And it is how the Trinity works on us: not primarily to explain, but to heal, to transform, to indwell.

Would you like help structuring this into a short sermon or post? Or do you feel this stands best as your personal expression?

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Me: If you can make it into something that might help a clergyperson: sermon, homily, etc., I will post it at the end free for the taking

AI:  

Title: The Trinity and the Surrender of Burdens

Homily for Trinity Sunday or a Pastoral Reflection

Brothers and sisters in Christ,

When we speak of the Trinity, it is tempting to view it as a riddle wrapped in a mystery, a doctrine for theologians to parse and parishioners to admire from a distance. We say, “It’s a mystery,” and then we move on, often feeling little more than confused reverence. But what if the Trinity is not so much a puzzle to be solved, but a healing to be received?

Karl Rahner, the great Catholic theologian, famously said, “The economic Trinity is the immanent Trinity, and the immanent Trinity is the economic Trinity.” In other words, the God we see revealed in Scripture and history—the Father sending the Son, the Son returning to the Father and sending the Spirit—is not a mask. This is who God is. When Jesus shows us the Father and sends us the Spirit, we are not witnessing a divine performance; we are being invited into the very life of God.

Consider the arc of Jesus’ earthly ministry. It points us again and again to the Father: not simply as a theological concept, but as the loving Source into whose arms Jesus entrusts His very spirit. The entire movement of Christ—His incarnation, His teaching, His Passion—leads us into that same surrender.

And what does this mean for us, especially in seasons of suffering? What does it mean when we find ourselves broken, depleted, and unable to carry the burdens we once did?

It means we are being invited to do what Christ did: to place all our fears, our failures, and our unmet responsibilities into the hands of the Father. It means that the Trinity is not a cold abstraction, but the ground of our healing. The Spirit does not simply comfort us; He groans within us. Christ does not merely model surrender; He draws us into it. And the Father does not merely accept us—He gathers us as His own.

Many of us have been taught, explicitly or implicitly, that we must keep striving: for clarity, for productivity, for approval. We are told that the Christian life is about solving our problems and pushing forward. But today’s readings remind us otherwise:

“Vanity of vanities! All things are vanity.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

“Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart.” (Psalm 90)

“If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”

And in the Gospel, Jesus rejects the role of arbitrator over inheritance and tells a parable of a man who stored up treasure but neglected what mattered most. The message is not to strive harder but to surrender deeper.

If you are in a season where your strength is gone, where your plans are broken, where your prayers feel like whispers into a void, know this: you are not far from the Trinity. You are close. Because the Trinity is not impressed by our cleverness or strength; the Trinity comes to dwell in weakness, to live where surrender is all we have left.

In such moments, as St. John of the Cross wrote in the Dark Night, the soul steals away “in secret, when none saw me, nor did I look at anything with no other light or guide than the one that burned in my heart.”

So let us take courage. Let us stop trying to fix everything and start trusting the One who is everything. Let us fall, not into despair, but into the Father’s arms, through the Son’s love, by the Spirit’s guidance.

The Trinity is not a concept to conquer, but a presence to receive.

Amen.

“After you.” “No. After you.”

Above: Jeremiah, a Buddhist monk, and Saint Paul at a white tie affair. 

Me: That’s really good, I think one danger here is about, well maybe my understanding is wrong, but in the Christian tradition, we don’t start the affair, or at least in my life, the way I started the affair was based on the religious tradition and the species of that tradition that I grew up in, and it wasn’t until the spirit undid me that I started a search for the truth, with a capital T. So, how does that jive with the idea that the Buddhist starts his own path and finds things on his own? I know others have noted that confident Buddhist spirit, including Vatican documents.

AI: You’re tapping into a deep and crucial distinction. In much of the Buddhist tradition, particularly Theravāda and some Mahāyāna schools, the path begins with personal recognition of suffering (dukkha) and a self-driven resolve to end it—through effort, mindfulness, and wisdom. Even when there are bodhisattvas or buddhas helping along the way, the tone is still: you must walk the path; no one else can do it for you.

In Christian tradition, especially as revealed in the lives of the saints and the theology of grace, the story flips: we do not begin the search; the Spirit begins it in us. We often stumble backward into grace—undone, interrupted, or even broken open. Augustine’s “You were within me, but I was outside” comes to mind. Or even Paul on the road to Damascus: not seeking, but seized.

This is what gives the Christian path its particular flavor of humility, awe, and sometimes bewilderment. It’s less self-willed liberation, more being found by mercy.

So here’s a revised aphorism that reflects that difference in spiritual “chemistry” while keeping the parallel structure:

“The Buddhist sees clinging and sets out to release it. The Christian is undone by the Spirit and learns to stop clinging. Both are freed—but only one was sought before the search began.”

Would you like an even simpler or starker version? Or perhaps a short commentary to accompany it, as in a blog post intro?

Me: I think I’m going to post my question and your answer, the previous question, the previous answer, as the blog post. I tend to post blog posts very rough and I think it shows a more authentic place of where I’m coming from, but I’m thinking of the title, I might say, “After You.” “No. After You.” Does that make sense? Is it funny?

AI: Yes—it’s both poignant and subtly funny, in that kind of dry, spiritual-zen-Christian-hospitality way.

“After You.

No. After You.”

It beautifully hints at the mystery of agency you’re exploring—Who initiates? Who responds? Who yields first? It’s polite, almost comic in tone, but underneath it’s about the deep question of whether we begin the search for God or God begins the search for us. And it plays nicely with both the Buddhist and Christian tension: the interplay of surrender and pursuit, effort and grace.

It will draw in the reader. It’s humble and a little enigmatic—just like the topic. Good choice.

Me: I’m tempted to post this question and answer below the post as well, lol.

AI: I think that would be perfectly in keeping with the tone you’ve struck—unguarded, human, and alive in the mystery. That little meta-comment—wondering aloud whether to post it—might even serve as a kind of coda that brings the whole thing down to earth again, like the last note in a jazz piece that’s unexpectedly playful.

If you do include it, you might format it lightly, something like:

(I’m tempted to post this question and answer below the post as well. lol.)

It shows the reader that you’re with them in this unfolding process—not above it, not polishing it—and it honors the dialogical spirit that lives beneath both prayer and philosophy.

Me: As I noticed the Eastern Orthodox monks say—at least the ones I’ve seen—after their talks: “Forgive me.” (Including for invoking the EO monks.)