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Holy Trinity - Isaiah 6:1-8; Romans 8:12-17; John 3:1-17

If you can understand it, don't worship it.

If it doesn't amaze you, it's not God—or you're not paying attention.

Look up from your phone into the eyes of another human being.

Stare into the sky.

Creation is a full blast fire hose of wonder; drink in what you can and begin to notice how much more of it you are missing.

That's why the temple in Jerusalem, and so many cathedrals since, were so massive: in the

presence of God, you are supposed to be overwhelmed.

As Isaiah stood puny in the cavernous architecture, he saw a vision:

the hem of [God's] robe filled the temple.

Humanity's greatest grandeur is dwarfed by a stitch of God's clothing.

Woe is me, Isaiah stuttered.

He was in way over his skis, just like the rest of us.

A teenager stands in Arlington National Cemetery and begins to compute the cost.

A man changes his first diaper at 3am and remembers his mother.

A brilliant theologian tries to comprehend the Trinity and throws up her hands.

An addict gets clean and tastes a first morsel of real trust.

Nicodemus feels his mind spin and his heart race as the rabbi confuses him with truth too deep to fathom.

A veteran walks off the street into a transitional tiny home and hears the rain on the roof; only her cheeks get wet.

The executive who opened the tiny home village opens a check from the little church in West

Hills, that tried to raise $3000 and then worried they wouldn't raise that much, and they were right: they raised almost $22,000 instead.

Overwhelming, mind-blowing, breathtaking is how God rolls.

Our big, bold hopes and dreams are half a thread in God's loungewear. We are in way over our skis, so we worship and quiver and say Woe is me, which is Hebrew for I'm screwed with a capital F.

In case you aren't tracking, the F stands for ... Fear.

The fear of the Lord—the Bible says, referring to the real one—is the beginning of the wisdom.