Trinity Sunday is something of a bane for preachers, probably because we’ve all been subjected to so many bad analogies for the theological majesty of one God in three persons. In my [sometimes not so] humble opinion, the Holy Trinity just doesn’t lend itself to comparison to an apple, an egg, or even to a shamrock. May blessed St. Patrick forgive me.
In deference to my father and my son, both physicists, it might be better to compare the Trinity to quarks, the elementary particle that is a fundamental constituent of matter. Quarks combine to form composite particles called hadrons, the most stable of which are protons and neutrons, the components of atomic nuclei. So we could say that all commonly observable matter is composed of the trinity of up quarks, down quarks and electrons in one atomic nucleus.
I won’t pursue that particular comparison right now, though, because the physics gene skipped my generation, and I’d very quickly get lost trying to explain it. But I will say that there are worse things than getting lost in the Trinity. The Episcopal Bishop of Minnesota, Craig Loya, has written that the doctrine of the Trinity “is intellectual nonsense on purpose. It is literally, by design, unintelligible. It stops us from being able to comprehend God and box God in with our rational categories. To confess God as Trinity reminds us that God is a mystery we encounter, not a concept we understand.”
But isn’t that true of most of our reality? We may not understand the chemistry of air, but we breathe it every minute. Water is essential for life, but most of us would be hard pressed to explain hydrology. We are here at Christ Church because we find our being in a Trinitarian God, but none of us will never be able to fully explain them. Note the use of the pronoun. I’ll throw in a few more before this sermon is over. God is many, and some of God’s persons will leave us feeling uncomfortable. God is one, and all of God is about inexhaustible love.
But the fact that we find our being in an ultimately incomprehensible God does not mean that we’re off the hook for reflecting her reality. So let me re-tell you a story you already know—
Holy God, your mighty works reveal your wisdom and love. You formed us in your own image, giving the whole world into our care, so that we might rule and serve all your creatures. When our disobedience took us far from you, you did not abandon us to the power of death. In your mercy you came to our help, so that in seeking you we might find you. Again and again you called us into covenant with you, and through the prophets you taught us to hope for salvation.
Father, you loved the world so much that in the fullness of time you sent your only Son to be our Savior. Incarnate by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, he lived as one of us, yet without sin. To the poor he proclaimed the good news of salvation; to prisoners, freedom; to the sorrowful, joy. To fulfill your purpose he gave himself up to death; and, rising from the grave, destroyed death, and made the whole creation new.
And, that we might live no longer for ourselves, but for him who died and rose for us, he sent the Holy Spirit, his own first gift for those who believe, to complete his work in the world, and to bring to fulfillment the sanctification of all.
That is to say: God does mighty works, humans disobey, God plants hope for salvation in the prophets, a hope which is fulfilled though the incarnation of Jesus. His unjust death and resurrection destroyed the power of death itself, and he sent the Holy Spirit to continue his work through us. That’s the whole Trinitarian story, summarized in Eucharistic Prayer D of the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer.
When we join in that prayer and its corollaries, week after week, it shapes our worldview. No matter what else may be going on, we insist that God is always creating, redeeming, sustaining and sending. No matter that humans continue our disobedience, God always offers us a way back to the goodness of creation, and energy to join in Jesus’ eternal work of redemption.
So yes, we certainly see plenty of disobedience to God in our time. Right now I’m thinking of the deployment of federal troops in Los Angeles because I am a Californian. But I know you can identify your own local corollaries, both personal and systemic. And at the same time we see Christlike faithfulness in the work of peaceful protests and acts of charity and mercy like your own commitment to Vallarta Cares and the Escuela de Inmigrantes. These are not random acts of kindness. They are the ceaseless work of a God who—through you—patiently transforms evil into good.
So let me offer a theological pro-tip for those of us who continue to wonder about the peculiar doctrine of the Trinity. While it’s pretty hard—possibly a fool’s errand—to find an analogy for what the Trinity is, it’s easier and perhaps more wonder-full to find an analogy for what she does. The former analogy—for the nature of the Truine God—we call the ontological Trinity. The latter—the work of the Triune God—we called the economic Trinity. And for that, I am going to bravely return to the world of physics. Astrophysics, actually, which was my father’s life work.
When it seems like the world—or even our individual lives—are going off the rails, remember that we are the creation of a good God, who is sovereign over time and who scaffolded the universe with galaxies. Spinning in space, they are ever in the business of drawing matter into their spiral arms. Their gravitational pull overcomes isolated objects and makes them into community. Galactic relationship shapes matter into planets and stars, and eventually creates the conditions for life. You might think of galaxies as the wildly diverse unity that pulls everything into its generative purpose. The Triune God is like that too.
Like every other Trinitarian analogy, this one has its limitations. But it also has a built-in mystery that defies even scientists like my father. Virtually every observable galaxy has an invisible supermassive black hole at its center, also functioning to pull galactic material into itself. Its gravitational pull is so very strong that it prevents anything, even the light of God’s creation, from escaping. And then, at the center of the black hole is a point of infinite density called the singularity, which is doing something we know not. It exists beyond the known rules of physics. Make of that what you will, monotheists.
Here’s what I know to be true. We come from the one loving God, and we will return to the their Triune singularity. Along the way, we dwell in an infinitely diverse and creative universe that transforms us through the relationship, as does our very definition of God. How then shall we live? Maybe we could start by just looking around in wonder. Regard the heavenly human bodies that surround you, inside and outside of this church. Invite them into relationship and trust that it will transform all of us for good. And even when human disobedience rears its head—as it always will—fear not. For God’s Holy Wisdom—who was there from the establishment of the heavens and even before the beginning of the earth—will surely lead us home.
