If you’ve visited London and traveled on the Underground, you will have heard the recurring caution, “mind the gap.” Step carefully into the train over the space—sometimes small, sometimes large—between the train and the platform. The gap could mean life or death if you daydream while boarding a crowded train at rush hour.
Mind the gap. We are always minding gaps. Having lived through a pandemic for the past year, we are minding the gaps between ourselves and the persons in front of us in the grocery store line. There are movements afoot to close the gaps between the implicit caste systems in our society. Gaps are everywhere, some of which we even quietly welcome in order to protect ourselves. Other gaps are disturbing in their seeming intractable nature and in the pain they cause.
We also mind the gap between God and ourselves, as we engage in self-examination. We ponder whether the gap has widened due to some negligence or willfulness on our part. We mind the gap in worship as our souls are drawn up to heaven for a fleeting period of time. The gap, of course, reminds us that God is God and we are not. There is a wide gulf between the immortality of God and our mortality.
In the year that King Uzziah died, this is where the prophet Isaiah begins. He is dutifully minding the gap. There is nothing like a theophany to highlight the vast chasm between God and humankind. Seraphim are flitting about in the presence of the Almighty. And even they are covering themselves to shield their presence from the glory of God, before whom no one can stand unaffected.
If the singing of the seraphim, the shaking of the Temple thresholds, and the smoke filling the space are not enough, Isaiah understands that there is yet another gap between him and God. Isaiah is a man of unclean lips, and he resides among a people of unclean lips. He and they are human, and God is God. So, Isaiah minds the gap.
Which of us has not been mindful of that gap when we’ve been in the presence of the Almighty? Who has not felt the weight of this gap on their knees in repentance and prayer? Who has not been overwhelmed by this gap when confronting the teaching of Jesus against the reality of our own lives? Think of how many people have been taught that the gap between God and humanity cannot be bridged without beating the gates of heaven with pleas for mercy because mere mortals are damaged beyond repair.
It’s a strange and mysterious thing, this gap, because it has two sides. It both instills a sense of awe and reverence for God, and at the same time, it makes us feel utterly unworthy of any benevolence from God. What can bridge this seemingly unsurpassable gap? Can anything bridge this gap?
Trinity Sunday hardly seems like the place to find any answers. This feast comes each year with the perpetual disclaimer that no matter how hard we try, we’ll fail to explain the mystery of the Holy Trinity. And yet we try. And we must try. We stretch the limits of poetry and metaphor, because it’s the only language we know and can use to speak about the unspeakable. And usually it means that we get stuck on the heavenly plane until we get out of our heads and come back down to earth. The result is that the gap between heaven and earth only seems to widen. And turning back to Isaiah doesn’t seem like the place to go for something more concrete, especially on Trinity Sunday.
Isaiah commences his spiritual journey at the precipice of an enormous canyon, separating him from God. In his vision, God does not speak to him directly. Isaiah is absolutely terrified that, because he has now seen a vision of God, he will not fare well. Perhaps he will even die as a result.
Isaiah has two conceivable options: flee the scene and run for safety, or resign himself to his fate, which will be catastrophic. But Isaiah chooses a third. He boldly speaks before the face of God.
When he speaks, he begins by minding the gap. He is a man of unclean lips. He is helplessly part of the sinful human condition. He gives voice to the uncrossable gap between God and humankind.
And it’s at this point that something changes. There is no lightning bolt to strike him dead. There is no vocalized response. There is only the striking gesture of one of the seraphim who moves towards him with a burning coal held between some tongs, which has come from the sacred altar in the midst of the Temple. And suddenly, just like that, the gap closes for a moment, and Isaiah is cleansed.
But it does not stop here. Just when we think that the gap could not close any more, it does, for God himself speaks, as if drawing nearer to Isaiah. Although he does not address Isaiah directly, the question seems to be posed pointedly to Isaiah. “Whom shall I send?” To which Isaiah volunteers himself. “Here am I. Send me.”
What Isaiah probably does not realize is what he has signed up for. There is yet another gap, a gap nearly as daunting as that between God and humankind. It is the gap between Isaiah, this custodian of God’s burning word, and a world with stopped ears and a hard heart. Will he be able to cross this gap? Does he even want to?
Is this, too, where we find ourselves? Do we feel as if we’re stranded on an island, with a chasm between ourselves and God on one side, and a vast space between us and the world on the other? We hold the precious Word of God as our lifeblood. We are charged with proclaiming the Gospel of Christ to clogged ears and hard hearts. And it is a lonely place indeed, for what can bridge this gap? Who can bridge this gap?
This is the stubborn problem before our eyes until we remember who this God is on the other side of the gap behind us. God does not repose in static comfort on the other side of a vast chasm, waiting for us to soldier our way across a Red Sea that will only swallow us up. This God takes us by the hand forward, across the watery abyss. Our God is One who cannot tolerate any gaps among us, whether between us and him, between humans, or within any aspect of his creation.
And this gives us a glimpse into the mystery of the Trinity. The processions among Father, Son, and Holy Spirit moving within the very life of God countenance no gaps, because God himself has already closed the gaps. The Father has sent his Son into the world for its life and salvation in order to close the gap between heaven and earth. And even when the Son has returned to the right hand of the Father to reign in glory, the gap cannot remain. The Holy Spirit has been sent as our Advocate, Guide, and Companion. Because of the life of the Trinity, no gaps can remain.
This is indeed good news for us. But what about that other gap? What about the gaping hole between us and a world that seems to fight against the bold charge we’ve been given? What about a world that instinctively rejects God’s mission for us?
Here we are, back with Isaiah, standing with our missional charge on the edge of a gaping hole, trembling because we know not how to navigate it. There are more gaps on the other side of the gap ahead, between rich and poor, the loved and the unloved, the powerful and the weak, evil and good. The task is so daunting it is paralyzing. And like Isaiah, we acknowledge our incompetence for the task ahead, and then we fall silent.
But it is not up to us to close the gap. Remember that Isaiah merely speaks. He does not close the gap. It is God who reaches across the gap when the seraphim heals all of Isaiah’s sense of unworthiness with a burning coal. And then Isaiah is freed from his fear in order to go forth in mission.
So, too, with us. God has sent his Son across the gap to heal us and the world. And he continues to send the Holy Spirit to nudge us forward as God uses us to heal the gaps among us, although we may never see them fully closed in this life.
On Trinity Sunday, it is not so much our task to leave with answers or to close the gap between certitude and mystery. But standing in awe before the perceived gap between us and God is what gives us the courage to be grateful that our Triune God is constantly crossing gaps. And because we don’t really know what to do to cross the gaps, God does it for us. God in his infinite mercy moves across the chasm towards us, touches our lips to cleanse us, and then we are sent forth to mind the gaps. And this we know, no matter how much we can’t understand it: God himself will close the gaps.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday
May 30, 2021