Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; Psalm 8; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-25
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
Spoiler alert: I’m not going to explain the Trinity to you today. Mostly because—I’ll be honest—I don’t really know what it is. Maybe that’s more of a confession than a spoiler, but I’d argue that anyone who claims to fully understand the mystery of the Trinity is fooling themselves—and maybe a few others, too.
Sure, there are plenty of books on the subject. I’ve got at least a dozen lining the shelves of my office. And in my opinion, most of them make the Trinity more confusing rather than less. I wonder if that’s because we’ve spent so much time thinking about the Trinity as doctrine instead of as revelation. I’m not going to dive deep into the difference between the two—but here’s the shorthand: doctrine tells us what something is. Revelation shows us what could be. The Trinity, I think, is far more powerful as a revelation than a definition. It’s not a puzzle to solve. It’s a vision meant to inspire awe and relationship.
So no—this isn’t the sermon where we talk about three-leaf clovers, or sing Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” I’m not here to justify the doctrine of the Trinity. What I am here to do is invite us to glimpse the why of the Trinity.
I believe the Trinity has something crucial to offer us—especially in a world as divided and difficult to comprehend as ours. The Trinity reveals two essential truths about God: the power of unity through relationship, and the sacred capacity to hold mystery.
It’s worth noting that there’s no explicit Trinitarian language in Scripture. Sure, we see plenty of references to God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—but nowhere do we find all
three named as one. Still, the three appear together in many passages. Take this morning’s Gospel, for instance. Jesus—the Son—speaks of the Spirit of truth who will come, and refers to the Father who has given him all things. Our reading from Romans does something similar, referencing God, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. Paul’s description reflects a God whose work flows through different expressions—yet remains one.
If we’re paying attention, we can find this Trinitarian rhythm running through the New Testament—and even the Old. And while those biblical references may be more helpful than the theological tomes I mentioned earlier, I’m not sure they bring us closer to knowing the Trinity. Identifying it? Maybe. But knowing? That’s something else.
I believe the way we know the Trinity isn’t through explanation, but through experience—through those moments when God’s presence becomes unmistakably visible. So instead of trying to convince you that the Trinity exists—or explain exactly what it is—I thought I’d share a story of when I caught a glimpse of it. And maybe it will call to mind a time when God became visible to you, too.
Several years ago, I was on a mission trip to Honduras with St. John’s. Every year, they send a medical team to rural clinics, and that year we were also scheduled to serve at a clinic in the city of El Progreso, hosted at the local Episcopal church. I was riding in the van with the doctors, the pharmacist, and our team leader, Kat Dailey. Partway through the drive, it became clear that the driver didn’t know where the church was—and we were lost in the middle of the city.
Kat spoke some Spanish, but not enough to have a meaningful conversation with our driver, who spoke no English at all. And of course, we didn’t have a cell phone that worked. At some point, I did what I’ve done since I was a kid: I prayed—specifically to St. Anthony.
St. Anthony has been my patron saint ever since I learned from my dad that he’s the patron of lost things—and I lose a lot of things. And though, technically, we hadn’t lost a thing, we were lost. So, I said a simple prayer in my head: “St. Anthony, I know we haven’t lost anything, but we are lost. And it would be really great if someone could find us.”
As soon as the prayer was formed and took flight into the heavens, a man jogged up to our van and began talking to the driver. Next thing I knew, he was running in front of the van, weaving through busy city streets while we followed behind. He led us directly to the church.
It was incredible—borderline miraculous.
Once we were inside and the pharmacy was set up, I grabbed a translator and went looking for the man who had helped us. I felt a deep need to thank him—and to tell him about my prayer. What I didn’t realize was that I was about to witness a revelation of the Trinity.
We found him pretty quickly, and I asked the translator to introduce us. The first thing I learned was his name: Anthony.
As he listened to my story, he became visibly moved. I assumed it was because he shared a name with the saint. But then he told his story.
He’d heard about the clinic and was heading there that morning—running late. Normally he would have taken a completely different route to the church. But for some reason, he felt like he should go a different way, even though it was longer and out of the way. When he turned onto the street where we were, something told him to approach our van. That’s when he found out we were lost.
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. We stood there grinning at each other, shaking hands in gratitude—and then he told me one last thing: His son’s name is Anthony, too—because he was born on the feast day of St. Anthony.
I can’t explain the mystery of the Trinity. But I know when I’ve seen it. And that day in Honduras, I have never been more sure of God’s presence being made visible—alive, active, and real. I never saw Anthony again. But I didn’t need to. His willingness to listen and respond to a nudge from God was enough to pull back the veil and reveal the divine relationship at work—even if just for a moment.
That’s the beauty of the Trinity. It’s not a formula to be figured out, but a relationship, a mystery, a presence to be experienced. A God who meets us as Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. A God who moves toward us in love, calls us by name, and shows up—sometimes jogging down a city street—right when we need to be found.
So no, I can’t define the Trinity. But I can invite you to look for it. Not in abstract ideas or theological treatises, but in everyday life—in that quiet nudge, that unexpected encounter, in those moments when fear grips your heart and you feel lost. That is when loves shows up in threes and refuses to let you stay lost.
Pay attention. Because the God who is Three-in-One and One-in-Three is still at work—still creating, still redeeming, still sustaining. God hasn’t given up on us and never will. He will always show up to make sure we find our way.