“What are you doing?” Augustine asked, “Do you think you can put the whole sea into that little hole?”

“No,” the little boy answered, “And neither can you put God into that small mind of yours no matter how smart you think you are.”

The story reminds us how limited our minds are before the mystery of God, even the smartest, most brilliant minds,   God is beyond us. The Feast of the Holy Trinity is a reminder of how incapable we are to know God completely.

And yet, this feast also reminds us that God has approached us and revealed  himself to us as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. As Father, God’s the creator of heaven and earth. All creation ultimately comes from God’s hand. The gift of life, the gift of all things. God, our Father and Creator, has given us everything. Through these same gifts we come to know him.

God has also made himself known to us in Jesus Christ, who was born of Mary over two thousand years ago, who walked this earth and died on a cross, who rose from the dead and remains with us in his church and his sacraments.  We have his words, his actions, his promises. He’s our Savior and Redeemer, a sign of God’s love;  he’s promised us life eternal..

The Holy Spirit also is God with us, within us, guiding us and our world to our common destiny.

Yet,  though we believe that God reveals himself to us, we’re still like the little boy on the seashore. We’re looking at an unmeasured sea that we approach with the little buckets of our minds. We can’t grasp it all.

You remember the story of the conversion of Paul the Apostle; one of the most dramatic stories in the scriptures. Saui, the unbeliever, was on his way to the City of Damascus to persecute the followers of Jesus, when suddenly a blinding light throws him from his horse. “Who are you, Lord?” Paul cries out. “I am Jesus whom you persecute, “ the voice from the blinding light says.

Jesus Christ is like the blinding light of the sun. He shares in the nature of God, who is brighter than sunlight, who blinds us when we try to see him. God dwells in light inaccessible, the scriptures say. So, even though we know so much about Jesus from the scriptures, even though great scholars can describe him, he is still beyond anything we can know.

Like the sun, Jesus is like a blinding light, yet, paradoxically a light that shines into the darkness of creation to give life and light. At the beginning of his gospel,  St. John says: “No one has ever seen God. The only Son, God, who is at the Father’s side, has revealed him.” (John 1,18)

As people of faith we’re not like those who say you can’t know God at all or like those who say God doesn’t exist because my mind cannot grasp him. Yet, as people of faith we know God little by little. That’s why we come to church week by week, that’s why we pray for our daily bread, that why we search for God in life as it unfolds day by day.

As we consider the mystery of God today we also have to recognize that we are children of the Enlightenment, that movement in our western world that tells us there’s no need to pay much attention to God. Pay attention to the world at hand. Pay attention to yourself.  That’s the important thing.

But, we should never leave the sea. We’re meant to stand before the mystery of God and reach out to him with our minds and to love him with our hearts, small as they are.

There’s a trivialization of the mystery of God today.  I think you can see it in the way the name of God and the name of Jesus Christ are tossed about in our ordinary talk. “You shall not take the name of the Lord, your God, in vain.”   You can see it in God’s absence from our culture, our schools, our media. our homes. You can see it in the belittling of our church and the signs of God’s presence. Even churches can become human gathering spaces, instead of holy places where we meet God.

The Feast of the Holy Trinity is a holy reminder of the mystery of God at the center of our life and the life of our world.

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I like the hand in the picture above of Bernini’s famous window in St.Peter’s. Who’s hand is it, anyway? A believer’s hand. Yes, for sure. But also the hand of all who walk this earth searching for truth.

“Wisdom breathes life into her children” (Sirach 4,11 ) Like much of the wisdom literature in the bible (Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Wisdom, Psalms) the Book of Sirach, our reading for the beginning of ordinary time, draws much of its content from the culture of the middle east which influenced the Jews at home and in their exile in other lands.

As the gift of God breathed into ordinary time, the Holy Spirit “renews the face of the earth.” We can discover the Spirit’s wisdom everywhere.

The best place to look for the role of the Holy Spirit in our lives in ordinary time is probably the scriptures at Pentecost. Some of them recall the Spirit’s dramatic appearance, but others remind us that the Spirit comes quietly, when we’re hardly aware.

The Spirit dramatically came on the Jewish feast of Pentecost, fifty days after Passover, according to the Acts of the Apostles. (Acts 2,1-11) Strong winds and tongues of fire came upon the disciples gathered in the Upper Room, the Cenacle, and they were filled with energy and joy. Immediately, confidently, they preach the gospel to people from the ends of the earth gathered in Jerusalem for the feast. “Where did these Galileans get all this?” their amazed hearers ask.

“Their message goes out to all the earth,” to Asia Minor, to Rome, Africa, Asia. Occasionally, the Spirit works like this in the church and in the world.

But more often the Holy Spirit comes quietly as an everyday gift. We may prefer strong winds and tongues of fire, but the Spirit mostly comes quietly, in ordinary time.

John’s gospel, read also on the Feast of Pentecost, probably best describes the quiet coming of the Spirit. When the Risen Lord appears to his disciples on Easter Sunday, they’re locked in a room in fear, fallen and dispirited, expecting nothing except that things will get worse. Then, Jesus appears and wishes them peace and shows them the wounds in his hands and side. Then he breathes on them and says “Receive the Holy Spirit.” (John 20,19-23)

What’s more quiet and ordinary than breathing? Yet in this simple act, Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit on them. Why does he show them the wounds in his hands and side? They’re signs that everything that evil could do to him was done to him, yet he conquered every evil, even death.

We’re tend to minimize ordinary time. So ordinary. Nothing’s happening, we say. Yet, day by day in ordinary time the Risen Lord offers his peace and shows us his wounds. Every day he breathes the Spirit on us. No day goes by without the Spirit’s quiet blessing.

Then, immediately, confidently, they preached the gospel to people from the ends of the earth who are amazed at their new knowledge and new words

Certainly the Holy Spirit gave them a burst of new enthusiasm that day.  We marvel–as their first listeners did– how these ordinary Galileans were transformed by the gifts they were given.   Peter eventually made it to Rome. John may have gotten to Ephesus in Asia Minor. Maybe Thomas got to India. Inspired by the Holy Spirit, “their message went out to all the earth.” Transformed, they began a universal church centered on Jesus Christ.

But, like the other mysteries of our faith, Pentecost is repeatable, on-going.  It’s not one burst of enthusiasm, a jump-start never to happen again. Without the strong wind or tongues of fire we experience the Holy Spirit too, usually in quieter ways.

Behind the Chair of St. Peter in the Vatican Basilica, the artist Bernini, created a beautiful alabaster window where a steady light pours into the dark church through the image of the Holy Spirit,  in the hovering form of a dove.

Day by day, the light comes quietly through the window. Day by day, the Holy Spirit dispenses light for the moment, graces for the world that is now. As Jesus promised, the Holy Spirit dwells with us. The Spirit remains with us as Jesus’ final gift.

“Lord, send out your Spirit and renew the face of the earth…Come, Holy Spirit, and fill our hearts with the fire of your love.”

The gospel of John is read at Mass these last days before the Feast of Pentecost. We’re brought to the Sea of Galilee where the Lord first called Peter and John and others to follow him. Now, from the shore the Risen Jesus calls them again. They’ve fished all night and caught nothing. Not only are their boats empty; some days earlier in Jerusalem they deserted the One they promised to follow forever. Their spirits are empty.

From the shore Jesus tells them to cast their nets into the sea again and an abundant catch of fish pours into their boats. Calling them ashore, Jesus feeds them some loaves and fish. As he did in the supper room the night before he died, Jesus offers them his life-giving love.

Taking Peter aside, he asks the disciple who denied him three times “Do you love me?” “Yes, Lord, you know I love you,” Peter answers three times. “Feed my sheep,” Jesus tells him.

Then, renewing the invitation he made at this same shore at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus says to his disciple, “Follow me.”

The Feast of Pentecost is a feast for a church that has failed, for disciples facing their weakness and broken promises, for those who work and have nothing to show for it. The Holy Spirit, whom Jesus breathed upon the disciples after his resurrection, comes to our world as he promised, to renew the face of the earth. “Come follow me,” the life-giving Spirit says.

Matthias, whom tradition says brought the gospel to Ethiopia, was chosen by lot to take the place of Judas. He joins the eleven apostles so that the twelve tribes of Israel will be represented when the Holy Spirit comes. The Pentecost narrative actually follows Matthias’ selection in Luke’s account.

The qualifications for a new apostle seem simple enough. Peter says it should be someone “who accompanied us the whole time the Lord Jesus came and went among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day on which he was taken up from us. He joins us as a witness to his resurrection.”

They propose two with those qualifications. Joseph called Barsabbas and Matthias.

Then, it seems easy. They pray:
“You, Lord, who know the hearts of all,
show which one of these two you have chosen.”
Then they gave lots to them, and the lot fell upon Matthias,
and he was counted with the Eleven Apostles.(Acts 1,15-17, 20-25)

Yet, it wasn’t as casual a process as it sounds, for sure. For Matthias to be a witness to Jesus it wasn’t enough to get all the details right about what Jesus did or said, as a reporter or a witness at a trial might do it.

In John’s gospel read for Matthias’ feast, Jesus describes a disciple as one who abides in him, who remains in him– a friend committed to him. So, a disciple cannot be not simply an on-looker, but one who enters the mystery of Jesus’ death and resurrection. He’s one who weathers doubts and uncertainties as the disciples listening to Jesus’ Farewell Discourse did. He’s like Thomas who sees the wounds in the Lord’s hands and side and learns trust and belief through them.

Rembrandt’s wonderful portrayal of Jesus showing his wounds to Thomas (above) presents Thomas, not as a lonely skeptic, but representing all the disciples. All the disciples join him before Jesus’ wounds.

Pope Francis, in a homily the other day, spoke of the importance of the wounds of Christ for a disciple of Jesus. We’re on an exodus beyond ourselves, he said, and there are two ways open for us. “one to the wounds of Jesus, the other to the wounds of our brothers and sisters.”

“If we are not able to move out of ourselves and toward our brothers and sisters in need, to the sick, the ignorant, the poor, the exploited – if we are not able to accomplish this exodus from ourselves, and towards those wounds, we shall never learn that freedom, which carries us through that other exodus from ourselves, and toward the wounds of Jesus.”

The wounds of Christ and the wounds of our brothers and sisters teach of our victory over death and trust in the passion of Jesus.

Like Matthias, we have been blessed with a lot.

“I have a lot to say to you, but you cannot bear it now,” Jesus says to them. The Lord recognizes the paralysis that’s come upon them.

In our readings from the Acts of the Apostles, the disciples led by Paul, seem quite different. They don’t have a clear picture or plan before them; they’re entering a brand new world, but they’re brave and bold about it. Even though the scriptures say the Spirit is directing them, they’re also deciding themselves what they’re going to do, and they don’t seem overly constrained by caution or doubt.

The list of places they go to may not make much of an impression on us, but if we listen carefully it’s an impressive list. Psidian Antioch, Philippi, Athens, Corinth. Three of those places were important Roman colonies, strategic cities on the Roman grid, steps on the road to Rome itself. Athens, of course, was a key intellectual center of the empire, though maybe a little down-trodden when Paul got there.

You can see in his choice of places to go that Paul knows where he’s going. He’s using his talents and all his abilities. He taking advantage of every opportunity he can.

And so he meets Lydia by the river, the trader in purple dyes, and she and her house were baptized. Was her house, like the house of the Cornelius, among the first of the gentile house churches? You wonder where did she bring the gospel? Priscilla and Acquila, the two Jews that Claudius expelled from Rome during the Jewish riots of AD 42, what part did they play in bringing the gospel with Paul to the heart of the empire? Paul knew that people were important in the spread of the gospel and he included them in his mission.

The Acts of the Apostles may seem like a well-staged campaign, but it is filled with one surprise after another. So in today’s reading, an earthquake brings a jailor and his family to the gospel and sends Paul off to Athens. Even prisons and beatings and clamoring mobs serve the spread of the gospel. (Acts 16,22-34)

Maybe it’s good that we read these two scriptures together. The Acts of the Apostles tell us of a church that is on its way to the ends of the earth, and so it is. We have to use our own minds and talents and utilize every opportunity to help it achieve its mission.

The Farewell Discourse tells us that sometimes we can’t see beyond death and so become paralyzed in our thinking and acting. But it also tells us that what we think is an end may only be a beginning.

“Master, show us the Father, and that will be enough for us.” Philip says to Jesus, which brings this exasperated response from the Lord:

“Have I been with you for so long a time and you still do not know me, Philip? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I speak to you I do not speak on my own.”

On the night before he died, most of Jesus’ apostles appear in a bad light. They’re slow, uncertain, fearful–even ready to betray him. Philip isn’t the only one who can’t fathom the message or person of Jesus.

Called by Jesus, the apostles remain humanly limited. In one way, though, their humanness and slowness makes us realize where the power of our church comes from. “Not to us, O Lord, not to us be the glory!” The church’s one foundation is Jesus Christ.

At his announcement, uncertainty and questions disturb his disciples. They’ve known and loved him intimately; now he tells them he’s leaving, for awhile, and they will no longer see him, for awhile. They seem to hear only the word “death.” During the farewell discourse, the disciples, like Mary Magdalene in the garden, try to cling to him. “Do not cling to me. I have not ascended to my father and your father, to my God and your God.”

They’ll be living in the “in-between-time.” They wont see him again as they’ve known him physically; nor will they see him in glory, unless it’s the glory reflected from his cross. Jesus promises not to leave them orphans, but he won’t be with them as he was with them before in the flesh. He will be with them as God is with them.

The “in-between-time” is the time of the Paraclete, the Spirit of truth, who will teach them all things. Jesus too will be present, but in sacramental signs and words and deeds they remember.

The “in-between-time” is our time too. Like the disciples, we want to see, to touch, to know more, to have what’s promised us fulfilled. But this is the “in-between-time.”

In today’s gospel, Jesus promises his disciples the gift of peace. He calls it his peace, a particular kind of peace, a believer’s peace, peace for the “in-between-time” when we don’t see yet and the mystery of the cross only hints at glory.

Jesus’ words appear in the prayer we hear before Communion at Mass. “Lord Jesus Christ, you said to your apostles, ‘Peace I leave you, my peace I give you.’ Look not on our sins, but on the faith of your church, and grant her peace and unity in accordance with your will. “

We sin against this peace by cynicism, lack of patience, weak faith– sins of the “in-between-time.” We wish this peace to each other; we pray that God grant us this peace as we receive the Eucharist.

Later, we will call them to stand around the altar at the Eucharistic prayer and they will be the first to receive Communion. Afterwards, they’ll be joining their families to celebrate this important step in their life of faith.

We call them by name. In baptism, that’s the first thing we ask parents who bring their children to the baptized: “What’s his/her name?” and later we baptize them “in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

God calls us by name. It’s my name and it stands for me. In baptism we are called by God, who takes us into his hands forever. We are baptized with water, with life, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and the Holy Spirit. We know God’s name: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Baptized as infants, we didn’t speak for ourselves; our parents spoke for us, and they were entrusted to bring us up in this belief: that we are God’s children, God who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

At first Holy Communion we speak for ourselves; no one holds us in their arms or speaks for us as they did in baptism. When we receive Jesus in the bread we say “Amen.” I believe he comes to me; I know who he is; He is my Lord and my God who loves me. He gave his life for me and he calls me to eternal life.

Our First Communion should be the beginning of many communions. Jesus wants us to know his name and to know us. That’s what the word “communion” means.