Wiseacre
In the dark days just before the Council of Nicaea, there was something called Layreaders’ Sermons. These were written by various and sundry clergy around the church who were selected by some mysterious Vatican Rolodex at “815,” the affectionate name for the midtown address of the New York headquarters of the Episcopal Church. There was no reimbursement, just the “honor” of having your name attached to one.
When I was some five or so years out of seminary, a request came for me to write one for Trinity Sunday. The instructions were that it would be nice if the sermon not be too long and kept more or less to the theme and the propers for the Sunday, but not necessarily so, and please cool it with the erudition.
I had a mentor who was a sage and learned Armenian cleric, so I asked him how to handle a sermon on the Trinity — or did I really have to. He said, “Of course not. No self-respecting Anglican cleric ever preaches on Trinity Sunday, he just schedules Sunday School Commencement.”
I was a carefree college chaplain at the time, and Trinity Sunday was on the calendar the week after the university had shut down for the summer and our chapel had shut down with it. Fortunately for me and sundry congregations, I didn’t have to preach anywhere on that Sunday, just write a sermon for some poor sucker to preach somewhere out in the boonies.
I didn’t remember Jesus ever preaching on the Trinity or whether he was even all that conscious of the notion in the first place, but it’s possible somebody will point out to me that he was and give me chapter and verse. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if the idea might not have occurred to him once or twice. I could not imagine any theological orthodoxy whatever that may have impeded his sense of vocation at the time.
That should have been intuitive warning enough, but of course, it wasn’t. After all, I was just out of seminary for a few years and still pretty much in possession of the notion that there was very little that was known that I didn’t already know including making a homily on the riddle of all riddles. It was the last time I tried.
It’s different now. How different, I’m not so sure. But different enough that I’ll spare you (and me) that preachment I sent in to 815 for its nihil obstat. Tomorrow’s weekly homily time for Sunday next when I once more confront such questions yet awaits.
Note: As some may not be aware of such terms or care less, the “Nihil Obstat” and “Imprimatur” are official Roman Catholic declarations that a book or pamphlet is free of doctrinal or moral error. No implication is contained therein that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat and the Imprimatur agree with the content, opinions or statements expressed. As OoN is neither book nor pamphlet, I shall forge on, anyhow.