It’s Trinity Sunday–the one day of the year when it’s possible to preach heresy without worrying about getting in trouble with the Bishop.

Because the fact is that today the Church is celebrating a teaching that cannot be defined, described, or depicted satisfactorily. The harder we try to put this foundational doctrine of our Christian identity into words or concrete images, the more it evades us. We might come close, but words will always fail. What does it even mean that we worship One God in Three Persons, each comprised of the same uncreated and eternal substance, all in one entity, yet still retaining separate identities, most often spoken of as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?

The Creeds have been established on this teaching and have been recited for centuries, but to be honest, do we really know exactly what it is we are celebrating today? 

I hope not.

My seminary class in Patristic Theology was the hardest part of the first year. We studied the early Christian writers from roughly the second through fifth centuries. While the Church Fathers covered a variety of topics of interest to the young Church, the issues that arguably occupied the most ink and energy were those of the nature of God and the natures, divine and human, of Jesus Christ. (Hence my nickname for the course, “It’s the Trinity, Stupid, 101”.) We waded through voluminous arguments by theologians and bishops who had delved deep into Scripture for the purpose of describing God as accurately and consistently as they could; and in doing so they also had plenty to say about who was a heretic and who wasn’t. The word “heresy” comes from the Greek, “to choose”, but it quickly took on a pejorative meaning. The issue of who conformed to orthodoxy and who didn’t was the stuff of drama, political exiles, and fistfights at Church councils from Nicaea in 325 to Chalcedon in 451. Keeping track of all those bishops and theologians, and heretics from Arius to Valentinus–was like eating alphabet soup with chopsticks. 

So, I was ultimately comforted to learn that, after years of Patristic wrangling and arguing, at least one of the words finally agreed upon to describe the Trinity was “incomprehensible.” (It’s there, three times, on page 864 of the Book of Common Prayer–the Creed of St. Athanasius.)

Incomprehensible. At least we could all agree on that. In other words, if you think you understand it, you’re wrong.

But as I had felt myself drowning in the sorting of heresy and orthodoxy, one thing always floated to the surface:

How does this feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and tend the sick and dying? 

How does the Trinity help us lead a Christian life?

It is all too easy to see Trinity Sunday as an academic exercise rather than a celebration–spending our time ruminating about the what, rather than the why, of the Trinity. When a person is suffering, or lonely, or grieving, or discouraged, I’d wager the avoidance of heresy is not topmost in their mind. But at the same time, this wasn’t an academic exercise for the early Church either. This was about survival in a time of empire and persecution. As Thomas G. Long writes, the Church Fathers were “…actual serving and worshiping Christians who, under stress and in the face of questions and challenges, were sweating it out to say with clarity just why they were willing to live a life that looked foolish to others…” Willing to live a life centered on following a suffering, crucified and resurrected Messiah; a life that believed in the guidance and comfort of a fiery wind-driven Spirit, and that had faith in the God whose creative power rendered empire powerless.

This is a God whose nature is incomprehensible and beyond articulation despite humanity’s best efforts; and ultimately that was the point for the Fathers–finding a way to describe and protect the incomprehensible mystery of God; the God who is, in the end, better experienced than put into words–words that will always fail.

Experience. This was where Matthew was coming from in his account of Jesus’ final instructions to his disciples. Matthew didn’t have a fully formed systematic theology in mind, but he did have, in addition to his knowledge of Scripture, an experience of God through his knowledge of the One who created him; of the resurrected Messiah who redeemed him, and of the Spirit who sustained the faith of his community. He was less worried about how those three related than that they did, and that this threefold relationship of God was the empowering foundation of their identity as followers of the Way of Jesus. 

Relationship. If there was ever a word to describe the Trinity, that would be it. Not a concrete analogy like a shamrock or the three forms of water. Rather a word that articulates something dynamic, flowing, giving and receiving; more like a dance than a statue. Often, here at St. Martin’s, we say, “Lover, Beloved, and Love-Sharer” to describe the Trinity, partially because it is ungendered, but also and primarily because it shows a relationship centered on Love–Love as the original substance, given by its Source to the One who is the subject of that love, and spread prodigiously by the Sharer–the breath and fire of the Divine Presence throughout the Creation that was named Good from the very beginning; a dance of three, a cycle of Love.

That was probably heresy. I will own it.

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…”

What is it like to live a Trinitarian life? We should know; we were baptized into it–all Christians have been splashed or dunked using the same formula we see in today’s Gospel passage, which is known commonly as The Great Commission. Christians may not agree on everything, but we agree on this; that our life in the Body of Christ begins the same way: We are welcomed through the water of Baptism into the dance of Lover, Beloved, and Love-Sharer and empowered to reflect God’s image into the world.

“Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness…”

In the first creation narrative of Genesis God is depicted in plural form, so the tradition of God as a communal relationship far predates the Gospels. The storyteller speaks of humankind in God’s image and likeness, a phrase commonly used but perhaps not fully understood. To be in God’s image does not refer to outward appearance but to inner essence; that spark within us that cannot help but seek the Source of our being as well as seeking that same spark within others. We were made for relationship, in the image of the Triune God who is best described as relationship. 

To be in God’s likeness is not exactly the same as to be in God’s image. Likeness is how we embody and reflect God’s image into the world through our lives. The first, image, is built in–something we all possess by virtue of our creation. The second, likeness, is our choice. Being created in the image of God, who chose to love Creation into being, we are thus free to choose how to respond to God’s invitation into God’s Dream of healing for the world.

I’ve said before that, in Jewish tradition, to speak God’s name is to name God’s divine attributes of justice and mercy. Perhaps a corollary to that would be to say that to speak of the Trinity, and to be baptized into the Trinitarian life, is by extension to be baptized into a life that is invited and challenged into acts of mercy and justice on behalf of our fellow children of God and for the healing of the world.

Like the eleven disciples upon hearing the words of the Great Commission, we may be daunted by such a tall order. But we are not–we are never–alone in our call. We are made in the image and likeness of a God who by definition is never alone. We are empowered and equipped by a God who calls us at our Baptism to seek the spark of the Divine in our neighbor, to let our hearts be broken open to the needs of the world, and to trust the Spirit to guide us in the Dance of love and healing.

That’s worth celebrating.