Yesterday I had the joy and privilege of taking communion to a homebound parishioner. This old saint has been a member of St. Alban's since dinosaurs were running the Altar Guild. She wore her 80+ years of joy, prayer, sorrow, and wisdom on her face.
By happenstance, she had not received the body and blood of our Lord for over a year. Yet after she ate and drank the holy meal, her entire disposition was drastically changed. It was as if I had waved a magic hand over her. She brow was no longer furrowed, she didn't slouch as much. Her smile was "Mona Lisa-esque." I asked her what she was thinking about, partly because I'm a minister, but mostly because of my own nagging curiosity.
"Trinity," she said. Then, "you know what? It's the mystery that we have to understand. We can't understand it, but that's the way it's supposed to be."
Right then and there I told her that she is one helluva theologian. And, what's more, she's right. We can't ever hope to understand the mystery; instead, we are to learn that it's a mystery.