A Sermon for the First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday (Year B)
May 30, 2021
Test: Isaiah 6:1-8
I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Several years ago, when I was in my first year of seminary, there was a video that started circulating around on Facebook right around St. Patrick’s Day entitled, “St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies.” Has anyone ever seen it?
The video—which became quite popular among those of us studying to be priests—features two, cartoon Irishmen having a serious, theological conversation with a talking icon of St. Patrick. That’s right. You heard me correctly. They were having a conversation with an icon—you know, those images of saints we often hang on our walls and use in our prayers. If that’s hard to imagine, you’ll just have to trust me and then go and watch the video later. It’s still available on YouTube, by the way.
I would describe the video as “serious” because the two Irishmen throw out a lot of technical, theological language that no one really understands, but “serious” may be too generous of a word to describe it. It’s actually a really funny video. It’s also a little “off-color” at times, but it’s used to illustrate an important point about the Trinity—our fundamental belief, as Christians, that God co-exists in three persons—traditionally expressed as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Legend has it that, many years ago, St. Patrick used a shamrock, or three-leaf clover, to illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity when he was first introducing Christianity to the people of Ireland. So, it makes perfect sense that the creators of this video would use a conversation between two cartoon Irishmen and a talking icon of St. Patrick, holding a three-leaf clover, to convey the deep, theological mystery that is the Holy Trinity.
If you’ll indulge me for a moment, I want to share with you the short conversation that these three characters have in the video. Don’t worry, though. I’ll leave out the “off-color” parts.
At the beginning, the two Irishmen—in their thickest Irish brogues, which I won’t attempt to recreate for you today—say to Patrick, “Okay, Patrick. Tell us a little more about this Trinity thing. But remember that we’re simple people without your fancy education and books and learnin’, and we’re hearing about all of this for the first time. So, try to keep it simple. Okay, Patrick?”
“Sure,” Patrick says, “there are three persons of the Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Yet, there is only one God.”
The two Irishmen give Patrick a blank stare.
Then, one of the says, “Don’t get what you’re saying, Patrick.” The other says, “Not picking up what you’re laying down here, Patrick.” “Could you use an analogy, Patrick?”
“Sure,” Patrick says. “The Trinity is like, uh, water and how you can find water in three different forms: liquid, ice, and vapor.”
Another blank stare.
Then, one of the Irishmen yells, “That’s Modalism, Patrick!”
“What?” Patrick asks.
“Modalism. An ancient heresy confessed by teachers such as Noetus and Sabellius, which espouses that God is not three distinct persons but that he merely reveals himself in three distinct forms. This heresy was clearly condemned in Canon 1 of the First Council of Constantinople in 381 AD and those who confess it cannot rightly be considered part of the Church catholic. Come on, Patrick!” “Yeah, get it together, Patrick!”
“Okay,” Patrick says, “then the Trinity is like the sun in the sky where you have the star, and the light, and the heat.”
“Oh, Patrick,” one of the men says. “Come on, Patrick,” the other one says. “That’s Arianism, Patrick!”
“Arianism?” Patrick asks.
“Yes, Arianism, Patrick. A theology which states that Christ and the Holy Spirit are creations of the Father and not one in nature with him—exactly like how light and heat are not the star itself but are merely creations of the star. That’s a bad analogy, Patrick!” “You’re the worst, Patrick!”
“Alright! Sorry,” Patrick says. “The Trinity is like, uh, this three-leaf clover here.”
“I’m gonna stop you right there, Patrick,” one of the Irishmen says. “You’re about to confess Partialism.”
“Partialism?” Patrick asks.
“Yes, Partialism. A heresy which asserts that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not distinct persons of the Godhead but are different parts of God, each composing one-third of the divine.”
“And who confesses the heresy of Partialism?” Patrick asks.
“The first season of the cartoon program, Voltron, where five robot lion cars merge together to form one giant, robot samurai. Obviously!”
“I’ve never heard of Voltron,” Patrick says.
“Of course you haven’t. It’s not going to exist for another fifteen hundred years, now Patrick.” “Yeah, get with the program, Patrick!” “I mean, really, Patrick!”
“Alright, I’ll try again,” Patrick says. “The Trinity is like how the same man can be a husband, and a father, and an employer.”
“Modalism again!” one of the men yells.
“Alright! Then, it’s like the three layers of an apple.”
“Partialism revisited!”
“Fine!” Patrick yells. “The Trinity is a mystery which cannot be comprehended by human reason but is understood only through faith and is best confessed in the words of the Athanasian Creed, which states that we worship one God in Trinity and Trinity in Unity, neither confusing the persons nor dividing the substance, that we are compelled by the Christian truth to confess that each distinct person is God and Lord and that the deity of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit is one, equal in glory, co-equal in majesty.”
Another blank stare.
“Well, why didn’t you just say that, Patrick?” “Yeah, quit beatin’ around the bush, Patrick!”
I never get tired of watching that video. As funny as it is, it really does a great job at illustrating an important truth. And here it is: God is God, and we aren’t.
As much as we may try, there are limits to our human ability to understand the divine nature of God. All you have to do is look back and read centuries worth of Church history to know that theologians and leaders of the church have spent lifetimes trying to explain the unexplainable through fancy doctrines and theological debates. These debates have caused bloodshed over the years and huge rifts in the Church, probably the greatest and most significant being the Great Schism of the eleventh century, which led to the split of the Western and Eastern churches. One of the chief, theological disputes that led to the split had to do with the doctrine of the Trinity and whether or not the Holy Spirit was sent by the Father alone or by the Father and the Son. In theological terms, this is known as the Filioque clause, the part of the Nicene Creed where we say, “We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son.” In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, the words, “and the Son” are omitted because they believe that the Spirit was sent only by God the Father.
You may not realize it, but every time you come to church and say that part of the Nicene Creed, you’re actually participating in a theological debate that’s been going on for centuries. It may not matter to you all that much, but I think it’s a good example of how our differences of opinion and understanding can lead us to build up walls that separate us from each other.
Now, I’m not suggesting that the work of theology is unimportant. Theology literally means, “faith seeking understanding.” It’s the way we go about trying to put into words what we believe to be true about God.
But, what I am suggesting is that our theology—our particular set of beliefs about God—always needs to be met, first and foremost, with the knowledge that God is God, and we aren’t. There are simply some things that we’ll never understand, at least not on this side of heaven. There are simply some things that will always be a holy mystery—like the mystery of the Trinity, which we celebrate on this day, the First Sunday after Pentecost.
One of the most beautiful gifts of our Anglican heritage is a willingness to embrace and hold on to the mysteries of God and God’s relationship with us. It’s one of the first things I fell in love with when I discovered the Episcopal Church—knowing that it was okay for some things to remain a mystery, knowing that it was okay to have questions and even doubts about God and knowing that not every question could easily be answered with a simple, “black and white” response. Coming to those realizations and knowing that I didn’t have to check my brain at the door when I walked into the church was a game-changer for me, as it is for so many people who find their way here.
I like to tell people who aren’t very familiar with the Episcopal Church that Episcopalians are much more comfortable with asking questions than providing answers. I think there’s a lot of truth in that, and personally, I find it very comforting.
Over the years, it’s allowed me to experience the divine with a sense of wonder and awe, a freedom and peace of being able to simply sit in the presence of God and experience God’s love and tender care without needing to have the answer to every question figured out. It’s what I imagine when I think of our passage today from the Book of Isaiah when the prophet describes his vision of the Lord, sitting on a throne in heaven, with angels surrounding him on every side, singing “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” If we can gather anything from this passage about the true nature of God, we know that God isn’t primarily concerned about our particular set of beliefs or our feeble attempts at being able to explain the mysteries of God. God is concerned about us and our willingness to respond to God’s call. Later in the passage, after Isaiah is forgiven of his sins, the Lord says to him, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Isaiah responds, “Here am I; send me!”
No matter how hard we try, God will not be contained in a box of our own creation. God will not be conformed to what we happen to personally believe about God. God will not be limited to what we can and can’t express with our fancy words and doctrines. God is God, and we aren’t. And, thankfully, God is in the habit of surprising us in the most beautiful ways imaginable, if we’re willing to be open to the mystery and willing to respond to God’s call. Amen.
A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:37 mark.
The Rev. Eric Mancil 