Trinity

Imagine that you are a slave in the American South some two hundred years ago.  It’s morning, but still dark.  You rise from you lice-ridden straw mattress already in a sweat from the stifling heat.  A long day of back-breaking work in the cotton field awaits you.  You will not be back to the shack you call home until dark.  Like your fellow slaves, you live in a one-room shack with which keeps you neither warm in the winter nor cool in the summer.  You dress in threadbare clothes and survive on a subsistence diet.  This will be your life until the day you die.  You think to yourself, “Why do I keep doing this?”  Of course, you know the answer.  If you don’t, you will be punished severely.  The stripes on your back constantly remind you of this.  You are a slave to a master who considers you no more than a piece of property; who treats you no better – no, even worse – than he treats his horse or his ox.  You live each day in fear, but you cannot escape.

You would think that nobody in his right mind would actually choose to live such a life, and certainly no American slave chose this hellish life.  They were simply victims of greed, victims of racism, and victims of sin. 

Yet for much of my life, I chose to be a slave, not in the physical sense of 18^th century American slavery, but a slave nonetheless.  Of course, I didn’t think of it that way.  I worked hard in school for good grades that got me to Notre Dame.  For me at that time, this was Catholic kid nirvana!  I’m guessing that for many here, it still is.  Good grades at ND led to a great job; that was what my parents and I expected and hoped for.  I earned many promotions and made lots of money.  All was good.  Even better, I was at Mass every Sunday and Holy Day, I donated to charities, I followed all the traditions.  Life seemed perfect.  But I had chosen to be a slave.  I had chosen to live in fear. 

For no matter how hard I worked, it seemed there was always something more that I could not have unless I worked harder.  And if I knew I couldn’t dream of working any less, for then what I already had would quickly collapse.  I feared I would not be able to work hard enough to get all I wanted and feared that if I stopped, I would lose what I already had.

At least if I kept going to church every Sunday, kept donating my time and money, doing good deeds whenever I could, I’d be ok with God, right?  But what if I missed Mass, what if I just didn’t have the time or the money to give, would I lose heaven, too?  Even in this aspect of my life, my motive was simply to stave off the fear of the consequences for not doing what my master – materialism, perfectionism, the American dream, whatever name it took – demanded that I do.

St. Paul understood my slavery very well.  He lived the same life as a slave to the law.  Like me, St. Paul lived under a harsh master – his master was the Jewish law.  The law was never satisfied with how much he had done – there was always more to do.  And if he slacked off at all from the law’s obligations, punishment was severe and certain.  But St. Paul realized that Jesus freed him – as he frees us – from all cruel masters.  Paul describes this new freedom as justification by faith.

When we have faith in the God who created us – out of boundless and unconditional love – in his own image and likeness; when we have faith in a God who saves us – out of his great mercy – by becoming one of us and dying an ugly and painful death on the cross for us; when we have faith in a God who remains with us – out of his divine providence – to guide us, to strengthen us, and to enlighten us, this faith unites us to the one God who created, saved and sustains us. We are no longer slaves of fear and anxiety.  We are no longer slaves of the law and of sin. 

So what changes?  On the surface, perhaps not much.  Yet, we are fundamentally transformed.

While we may do many of the same things we formerly did – we work hard, we go to Mass, we do good deeds – we act this way not out of fear, but for love and gratitude for the love we’ve already received.  We may still be accosted by evil and suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but, as St. Paul tells us this morning, we live in peace and joy united with God through the mercy of Jesus Christ and the love of God poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

This is our Trinitarian life: a life of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control.  Not much of choice, the fruits of the Spirit or the dehumanizing slavery of sin.  Why did it take me so long to choose rightly?

In that light, I pray for you as Paul prayed once for his disciples in Corinth - may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.