Trinity Sunday
My friends who are Glen.
Many of you have patiently endured preacher after preacher, year after year, trying to explain the Holy and Blessed and Undivided Trinity.
With great fortitude and resilience, you have watched and listened as preacher after preacher failed in spectacular fashion to reach the dizzying theological heights of announcing and clarifying that which never can be articulated.
So, rather than try to achieve the unachievable, I thought that I would talk about three of my good friends, all of whom happen to be named Glen. All three of them are heartwarming, engaging, bonhomie comrades indeed. All of them, quite distinct and yet all of them have a great deal in common. In fact, they are so similar that I wondered whether there might be something in the name ‘Glen’, so I had a look at a screen and discovered that
Glen means 'a deep, narrow valley, especially in Scotland or Ireland’. More about this later.
First, I’d like to introduce you to Glen the gardener.
Glen faithfully tends the soil and has watched over his patch of dirt for decades. His greatest thrill is to plant tiny seeds in the ground and watch them sprout, grow, flourish and then ultimately harvest his well-deserved vegetables and flowers. He also has the hobby of creating superb clay earthenware pots and statues. His work is to be admired, and it is always inspiring. When you gaze upon it, you find yourself in a different space. You can’t help but want to imitate Glen’s creative genius and rush home to your patch of dirt and make something wonderful.
Then there is Glen the priest. I have known him for pretty much all my ordained life. I have seen him at some of his finest moments, and some of these are noted publicly, and they are shiny and lovely. But there are other times when I have seen him broken, and he has seen me broken. There in the spaces where no one sees and no one will ever know, we meet each other in our fragile and hurting selves and discover to our delight and amazement that we are not that much different after all. He admires the gifts that I hide from myself, and vice versa. Over the decades, he has generously and selflessly poured out his life in the service of others, often at great cost to those who are closest to him and always at great cost to himself. His life has been a sacrifice that has enhanced and sanctified all who have touched the hem of his garment.
Finally, there is my good friend Mr. Glen Livet. Mr. Livet boasts an ancestor, Mr. George Smith, who lived in a secluded valley in Scotland. It’s an isolated place, and just as well because Glen’s ancestor George was in the illegal distillation trade. When the legislation changed, George did the right thing and acquired a licence and the company. In his chatter, I have always found Mr. Livet balanced and nuanced. To engage and indulge him in an encounter is an experience that is both indescribable and unforgettable. He also has a distinctive type of aftershave which I can only describe as having traces of almond and spice. A talented musician he can produce alluring melodies with sweet velvety notes which leave you glowing and relaxed. He has always fired my imagination and warmed the cockles of my heart.
Time to fess up.
When I first wrote this homily, the other two “Glens” were actually Mr. Glen Morangie and Mr. Glen Fiddich.
I was going to make the point that all three are fine whisky, all are expensive, all are flavoursome and yet each is unique and distinctive, which makes it a fun but flimsy parable for the Trinity. It was a frivolous homily indeed, and at the very least, you deserve an attempt to do better.
So I decided instead to talk about Glen the Gardner, a type of God, the creator Father, Glen the priest, a parable for THE priest, and I selfishly kept Glen the distiller for the Holy Spirit.
None is better than the other. Each has its own unique quality, but they are not identical. They are never in competition with each other, just as members of the Trinity are never in competition with each other, for the Trinity is of such love that it can never be divided.
But like all images, it can never describe who God is, for God is completely ‘other’. We can go a part of the way, but never all the way.
For example you can never have too much God, but you can have too much whisky. There is a significant cost when you buy whisky, but God’s grace is free and you can probably think of other ways in which my little images must inevitably fall over under the weight of necessary logic.
This homily may not have taught you much about the theological academic intricacies of God. But that is not the most exciting or the best bit about God. The most intoxicating part about God is just getting to know him, enjoying him and savouring him.
So perhaps you might forget everything I’ve said and just grab a glass and do the obvious and the wonderful.