one morning

One morning I woke up to discover the Trinity had a pillow fight the night before. Giant feathery flakes were floating from the heavens, the overflow of some secret joy. I wonder who won. Did the Father strong arm Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Did Jesus fake an injury only to jump up and whack the other two in the face? Did the Spirit distract his opponents by blowing down into their eyes? Did they declare a truce after realizing they were equally matched? It is a quiet morning, so they must be resting now, but close your eyes and you can hear the echoes of midnight laughter.

Are you surprised by this undignified display? Perhaps a game of chess seems a more appropriate activity for such important persons, if such a thing were possible with three players. Or perhaps a stirring rendition of the Hallelujah chorus, accompanied by winged harps, of course. Maybe they are debating the merits of one creed’s wording over another. Or perhaps all their time is consumed by gravely counting out souls into one pile or another.

But this descending beauty erases all notions of a gloomy gathering of Greek terms. This beauty did not appear out of thin air. Everything wonderful about this morning was laughed into existence by the God of all joy, joy that is meant to be shared, joy that bursts out of the seams and explodes over creation. It is not a secret after all. This delight is over you and over me, and we are invited to the next pillow fight.


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