The Masks of God
The sermon preached on Trinity Sunday by Fr. Ernie on June 4, 2023.
The Masks of God
by Ernest Boyer
Today is Trinity Sunday. You can see that in each of today’s three readings. The first reading gives the story of creation from the book of Genesis. It presents a picture of God as the mighty creator of all things, the Source of all that is. Clearly this is the first person of the trinity, God the Father. It is the Gospel that gives us the second person, of course. It presents us with God the Son, Jesus, who tells us in this passage that his Father has given him authority over heaven and earth. Finally, it is in the reading from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians that we are told of the third member of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. Paul closes his letter by asking the Holy Spirit to bless those he is writing to.
The Trinity is a great mystery of course, the idea that these three persons are all one. I can’t tell you how much ink has been spilled trying to make sense of this. As one teacher once told me: “The only people who really understand the Trinity are the ones who find it completely baffling.” I guess that means that I really don’t understand it, because I actually don’t find it very baffling at all. For me the truth of the Trinity is very simple. It’s this: God (being God) can come to us in different forms.
Christianity primarily deals with the three main ways that God can come to us. First, God comes to us as an awesome mystery. This is God the Father, God the creator. We encounter this form of God, on a dark starry night, for example, when we look up at the sky and realize just how small we are and how vast the universe is. Next, God comes to us in the form of other people. This is the form of God that Jesus showed us, God the son. This is the God we meet whenever someone is kind to us or shows us love. It’s the form of God we try to give to others too. Finally, there’s the form of God that comes to us as a quiet little voice we hear whispering in our heart — the thing that some people call their conscience — the silent voice that lets us sense which way we should go or that lets us know when we’ve done something wrong.
These are what the early Christians called the three masks of God. The Latin word for mask is persona. It comes from a similar word in Greek. In the ancient plays, which were often about the Greek gods, a few actors played many roles. They could do this by just putting on one mask — one persona — to play one god, then another mask — another persona — to play another god. Personais where we get our English word for person. It is also why you sometimes hear people say that there are there persons in the Trinity. This originally meant that God has three personas, in other words, that God comes to us wearing three masks.
Now, I have to warn you, there are many people who say that this interpretation is too simple. It can’t be right because it makes too much sense, and the Trinity isn’t supposed to make sense. They think it must be wrong. I nod when people tell me this, but I don’t agree. The explanation works for me so I stick with it.
That’s because I believe that God can have many other forms too. God can come to us in so many, many ways. But all of you know that. You know that there are many ways to meet God. People often meet God in nature, for example.
In fact, just this past week a friend was telling me a story of how she first became convinced that God was real. She had always believed this as a child, but when she was about 12 some of her friends began to question the idea of God, and this troubled her. She started to wonder if she was making a mistake by believing in God. Was there really no God after all? This is what she said:
“I just had to find out if there was a God, so one day I went out into the woods near my house,” she said. “This was a place I often went when I wanted to be alone. It was quiet there. No one ever disturbed me. I sat down under one of the tall pine trees and tried to sort out my feelings, reviewing the arguments against God that my friends had made. Those arguments didn’t seem quite right to me, but I couldn’t really say why, and that bothered me. Finally, worn out by this struggle, I got up and moved a little away from the tree, then stretched out on the ground, looking up at the sky. Slowly I became aware of just how still it was. I didn’t even hear any birds. There was just the sound of the wind and the faint stirring of the branches. So I looked up through the branches to the sky itself. Pine trees were all around me, pointing like arrows to heaven, and suddenly I felt like I was part of it all, part of everything — the ground, the trees, the wind, the deep blue sky above, all of it. It was all part of me and I was part of it. And not only that, there was something more there too. I was not alone. There was something there that was somehow one with me but also so much more than me, and I felt such peace, such comfort, such certainty.
“That’s when I was certain, She said, ‘There is a God,’ I thought. ‘Of course, there is. How could I have ever thought otherwise? God is here right now. How could I have let those silly arguments get to me? I had forgotten about times like this when I just know that God is near me, God is with me, God is in me.’
“You know,” she said to me then, “I’ve never forgotten that day. I never doubted God again. That was the last time. I’ve also never forgotten where I was when I first discovered this, either. I love the forest. I love it because it’s where I feel closest to God, and whenever I feel troubled, or discouraged, or alone, I try to arrange for a time to walk alone in the woods. That refreshes me. That reminds me of where I have to go to find myself again. I have to go to God, and I find God in nature. I have to be surrounded by the forest — by trees, and moss, and undergrowth, and all that goes with that. It’s not that I believe that nature is God. It is God wearing the forest as clothing, that is, a mask. These things are all just the garments that God puts on to walk with me, the clothes God wears so that I will feel comfortable with him and come in time to see him for who he is. Whenever I have trouble seeing God, I go into the forest. There I always find him. I catch sight of him at once.”
How many of you know what she is talking about?
God takes many other forms too. My wife Sondra feels closest to God at the ocean. Others find God on top of mountains, or in the silence of the desert. Still other people encounter God most fully while listening to music. They’re ears stretch beyond the harmony of the instruments to the harmonies of the universe where God himself is playing the instruments. Still others see God in children at play.
And that’s just the beginning. And then there’s church. Don’t forget church. Here we have so many of the forms that God comes to us, as loving people, as music, and also as beauty. My wife Sondra told me that she finds our church of St. Stephen’s one of the most beautiful and inspiring that she has ever been in. She finds that she can’t take her eyes from that magnificent stained-glass cross that rises behind the altar. I love it too. In fact God comes to me in many of the forms I’ve mentioned — in the forest, in other people, through the ocean, through music, in the fellowship over food in the hall right after the service, but also right here behind the altar. God comes to me in the Eucharistic prayer and in the worship. And in fact, God comes to me most tenderly in the instant of contact I have with each of your hands as I press the communion bread into your palms. Every single time I do that it moves me.
What form does God take most often for you?
God comes to each of us in our own special way. Did you know that? It’s true. You and God have your own special meeting place, where God dresses up just for you. Do you know where that is for you? If not, pray about it. If so, then please try to go there this week. God is waiting for you. Amen.
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