The Apocryphal story is told of a man who came to church
only once a year. Nothing unusual in that, except that the
chosen occasion, which never varied, was not one of the
usual suspects, not he Christmas Eve midnight mass or the
Easter morning eucharist. It was Trinity Sunday. And shen
taxed with this strange behaviour he smiled and replied
‘It’s just that I love to hear the preacher sounding
confused.’
Perhaps you’ll be thinking much the same by the time this is
finished. Because we should start by posing the question:
how is it that the doctrine of the Trinity, a doctrine for
which there is no substantial body of teaching in either the
Old or New Testaments, came too be at the core of Christian
belief – so much so that Christianity is divided between
East and West over how it should be described. Even today it
is the touchstone for most ecumenical bodies; the first and
foremost requirement for membership is ‘Trinitarian faith’ –
the worship of one God in three persons.
Nor is it a question that appears out of nowhere. If we
don’t pose it ourselves, it’s posed by other faith
communities. Jews, faithfully waiting for the coming of the
Messiah, find the inclusion of the carpenter from Nazareth
in the godhead puzzling, to say the least. And although they
may politely refrain from pressing the point, followers of
Islam are taught that Christianity has watered down
the teaching of the one true God, perhaps even to the
incomprehensive extent of worshipping three gods.
The greatest minds in the long story of the Christian faith
have struggled with the question of the Trinity. Metaphors,
similes, analogies have been piled high. Three persons and
yet one: their relationship, their love, their cosmic dance
and countless more qualities of the Trinity have been held
to be at the very heart of the nature of God.
It’s bewildering beyond words. And when the words have
almost run out, I want to suggest that most of us are left
with what Jesus said to Nicodemus: ‘We speak of what we
know.’
To begin at the beginning. In ancient times the common
forebears of the great monotheistic faiths pondered the
wonder of the heavens and the earth and seemed to see in
them the hand of a mighty creator. Our
uncountably-great-grandfather in the faith, Abraham, chance
everything on following the One who claimed to b that
creator. Abraham’s offspring, however imperfectly, followed
in the footsteps of his faith and knew themselves to be
God’s chosen people. Their creator God was the God of the
harsh desert places and the harsh decisions it forced upon
communities; a God who was intimately involved in the sweep
of history and the outcome of a single battle; a jealous
God, intolerant of false beliefs and religious infidelity
and yet ultimately forgiving. A God who loved his people,
yet whose greatness and whose holiness were forbidding and
even dangerous.
It was faith in that stern God that the first disciples
shared. We are not privy to what they thought they were
doing when each one made the fateful decision to follow
Jesus, but we can be sure it was a decision to follow a
‘man’, however exceptional he may have been.
But something happened as they tramped the dusty roads of
Palestine with him. At times they questioned, at times they
grumbled, often they misunderstood. But reading their story,
you can’t escape the sense that he became a puzzle to them.
They walked and talked and ate with him for months on end.
They touched him, they smelled him at the end of a lonh hot
day. He was a man, yet the things he did, the words he
spoke, his very presence, seemed to strain at the limits of
the definition. There was always a ‘something more’,
something even the crowds sensed as they hear the author ity
in his teaching. That the disciples didn’t understand it
clearly, the Gospels all attest.
And why should we be surprised that these men, brought up in
the strict monotheism of the Jewish faith struggled with the
sense, the growing realisation, that he didn’t simply point
to God, but that in him they somehow experienced the
presence of God?
And then he was gone: torn from them. They were lost and
bereft. They huddled together in fear which the Resurrection
appearances had clearly not dispelled. Death may not have
defeated him but he was no longer with them. Then, on that
first astounding day of Pentecost, something burst into
their lives which was beyond any experience. They spoke of w
ind and flame on that day. In the days to come they spoke of
a great force which carried them out into the world to heal
and to teach as Jesus had. And it came to them with
unshakable conviction that this too was God – not some act
of the awesome Creator, not even the experience of the face
of God seen in Jesus, but God ‘within’ them, fused with
their own being, enabling and energising them to be the
outreach of God into the world.
It would be generations bfore the Church felt able to speak
with any real authority and clarity of what it all meant –
the God who proclaimed Jesus as a beloved Son, the Son
who pointed others to the Father, the promised Spirit who
seemed to make no personal claim except to point tp Father
and to Son.
It was, and is, a bit of a mess and its only justification
is that they spoke of what they knew. Beware the expert who
claims to know the domestic arrangements of the thre eperson
household of the Trinity. If the statement that God is three
persons and yet one has logic, it’s the logic of the
madhouse. If the preacher is confused, it’s because at the
heart of the nature of God there is a mystery.
There will never be a neat and tidy doctrine of the Trinity
with the theological I’s dotted and the T’s crossed. Or at
least, there will never be a neat and tidy doctrine worth
listening to. The doctrine of the Trinity is anything but
tidy, it is the child of that wild and wayward force,
experience. They spoke of what they knew. We speak of
what we know.
We speak of the awesome Father into whose hands we commit
that which is beyond our power and comprehension. We speak
of the Son who shared our trials and our temptations, who
understands our weaknesses, and whose sacrifice stands as an
example of the heights to which humanity can attain. And we
speak of the Spirit who, if we will only loose our footing a
little, will sweep us onwards towards the fullness of life
that God means us to have.
We speak of what we know. And if sometimes what we know goes
beyond what we can speak, that is as it should be when it
comes to the mystery of God. This at least we can say:
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world
without end.