Unholy Trinity Antidote
Nineteenth Sunday Scripture Readings
Our homily subject today will be the antidote to the issue we considered last week, that is, what I call the heresy of the unholy trinity. If you remember, that was the fallacy that true success in life can be achieved through the pursuit of wealth, property, and prestige. The antidote to this futile pursuit is a life lived in faith. Still, that poses yet another issue: what do we mean by faith? I want to look at that for a moment before we even consider today’s Scripture readings—all of which focus on the topic of faith.
When most people talk about faith, they’re referring to a defined system of beliefs, writings, doctrines, and dogmas that teach about God and human beings’ relationship to the ultimate questions. We talk about different faiths: the Catholic faith, the Christian faith (as if those were two different things), the Jewish faith, the Mormon faith, the Hindu faith, the Islamic faith, and so on. In that context, faith is a conceptual framework and vocabulary that allows us to ponder those ultimate questions and to share insights with one another. In this world of traditional faiths—that is, a series of conceptual frameworks and vocabularies passed down from generation to generation—many people today reject them, claiming that they don’t believe in those kinds of gods. Why?
I can only speculate that, for a large number of people, what they’re saying, in effect, is that the structural framework and vocabulary they’ve inherited no longer resonate with them. Maybe they never did. A big part of the problem is how we’ve been taught to think of the truth, as if truth is something “out there” somewhere, and our job is merely to accept it…or not. It makes sense that, if the conceptual framework and vocabulary we’ve been given isn’t the truth—that is, it doesn’t jibe with our experience—then we should reject it. Right?
We can no longer accept that naïve and distorted view of truth, though. Truth is, and must be understood as, dialogical. Only part of the truth—that part we’ve been given—is “out there.” The other part is “in here”—in other words, how we interpret and understand what we’ve received. We’re not just passive receivers of facts. We’re active interpreters of them. Therefore, all belief systems, all conceptual frameworks, and all our God-languages are but invitations to a dialogue. What’s the ultimate purpose of these dialogues? They’re designed to be introductions to a spiritual encounter with the Mystery who underlies all existence, including our own. They’re expressions of the transformative spiritual experiences of the women and men who’ve gone before us. They’re meant to point us in that direction so that we, too, may encounter the transformative spiritual experience that they’ve had, which has revolutionized their whole attitude toward life, toward others, and toward God’s universe.
All statements of faith are not only dialogical, requiring our interpretation, but they’re also analogical. That means that spiritual realities can never adequately be defined; they can only be described. The terms we use are analogical. The term “God” is as analogical as the term “love.” We can’t define love so that someone can look at our definition and fully grasp it. We can only describe it through stories, art, poetry, songs, dance, theater, and films. Yet, all of them together can’t fully convey the reality. It’s the same with God-language. Still, carefully interpreted and understood, it can lead someone to the threshold of the God-experience, but ultimately, they have to take that final step themselves. Stepping into a God-relationship necessarily involves a commitment. Can anyone truly understand love before ever actually saying to another, “I love you”?
Any religious language, any profession of faith, any conceptual framework, and vocabulary related to God can lead you to that threshold. If they don’t, it’s not necessarily because they’re not “true.” The experience they point to—that experience we call “God”—is true. The problem lies in us, how we interpret the message, and our faulty understanding of it. Some people go from one conceptual framework to another, looking in vain for the truth, without ever considering that the issue might be with their own understanding. Embracing a conceptual framework and language like this takes work. Every one of them was created at a time and in a culture different from ours. If we want to understand, we have to be willing to dig deeply, to learn, and to interpret what we find in terms that are meaningful to us.
What, then, is faith, after all? Faith is the goal toward which all these religious systems and expressions are meant to direct us. Faith is a transformative spiritual experience that leaves a person no less radically changed than the experience of being in love. It’s an intimate personal encounter with One who is entirely trustworthy. On that note, there’s one further aspect of this spiritual encounter that we need to understand. When God communicates with humankind about himself, he communicates himself. God himself is both the messenger and the message. That’s why we stand at the reading of the gospels, because the Word of God is communicated to us in and through the words of God.
Now, finally, we can look at today’s Scripture readings. Let’s begin, for a change, with our second reading from the Letter to the Hebrews. Right away, the author gives us his definition of faith. “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.” There’s nothing in there about any belief systems, conceptual framework, or vocabulary. Faith, in his eyes, is future-oriented. It’s the fulfillment of future success based on present trust and reliance on God. What does he mean by “evidence of things not seen”? There’s nothing anywhere in the remainder of this text that refers to invisible things—angels, or saints, or even God himself. What’s unseen is the fulfillment of our hopes for the future. Our hopes are for a secure future. What’s the root cause of our anxiety? What drives our temptation to employ the unholy trinity of wealth, power, and prestige? It’s the uncertainty of that future. That’s what’s unseen. That’s what’s frightening. That’s what requires faith.
What we see in all our readings today is trust in the God with whom we’ve experienced a profoundly transformative personal encounter. That’s what’s meant by faith. The Book of Wisdom, in our first reading, says that “…with sure knowledge of [God’s] oaths in which [our Fathers] put their faith, they might have courage.” Then, the Letter to the Hebrews tells the story of how Abraham’s faith entrusted his future to God alone, not once, but many times, despite all evidence to the contrary. Why? Because “…he thought that the one who had made the promise was trustworthy.”
Finally, the gospel today drives home the message. “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your belongings and give alms.” Do you think that Jesus meant for us to sell everything? Probably not. It’s hyperbole. Yet, he’s saying the same thing we’ve encountered all along: don’t be afraid for the future, don’t think you need wealth, power, and prestige to get by; only one thing is necessary: to trust the One who is trustworthy and who has promised to bring you through it all. So, be prepared. Sharpen your trust in God and rely on him, knowing that, regardless of what the future may bring—even crucifixion and death—the Father will bring you through it all. The resurrection of Christ himself is the seal on that promise. That, indeed, is “the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.” That is faith.
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