A Sermon for the First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday (Year B)
May 26, 2024
Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak through them. Take our minds, and think through them. Take our hearts, and set them on fire. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Several years ago, when I was in my first year of seminary, there was a short video that started floating around on Facebook right around St. Patrick’s Day entitled, “St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies.”
The video—which became quite popular, especially among those of us studying to be priests—features two, cartoon Irishmen having a serious, theological conversation with a talking icon of St. Patrick.
Yes, 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 for yourself. 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 quite funny and 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—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 the 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.
So…if you’ll indulge me for a moment, I want to share with you a portion of the conversation that these three characters have in the video.
***
At the beginning, the two Irishmen—in their thickest Irish accents—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 say to Patrick, “Don’t get what you’re saying, Patrick. 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.”
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. 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.”
The two Irishmen pause for a moment and then say, “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 about God.
And, here it is: there are some things that are—and always will be—a holy mystery. There are some things that simply go beyond our ability to understand.
Now, that doesn’t mean we haven’t tried. All you have to do is watch “St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies” to be reminded of the fact that, for centuries, theologians and leaders of the Church have tried to explain the unexplainable through fancy doctrines and theological debates.
Now, I’m not suggesting that the work of theology isn’t important. Quite the opposite, in fact. 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 some things that will always be a mystery—like the doctrine of the Trinity, which we celebrate on this day, the First Sunday after Pentecost.
One of the great gifts of our Anglican heritage is a willingness to embrace the mysteries of God. 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 hugely impactful 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 God with a sense of wonder and awe, a freedom and peace of being able to simply sit in the presence of God without needing to have the answer to every question figured out. What a gift that is.
In our Old Testament lesson for today, the prophet Isaiah describes a vision of God, sitting on a throne in the temple, surrounded by heavenly beings who are praising God and singing, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.”
The part of this short lesson that really caught my attention as I read it this past week was the part where Isaiah describes the hem of God’s robe filling the temple, as if he’s only granted the ability to see one, small detail of God’s glory. It’s almost too great and wonderful to imagine.
In Isaiah’s vision, God is so big that only the hem of his robe can fit inside the temple. God is so big that not even the temple in Jerusalem—the holiest of holy places—can contain him.
I think this is an important lesson to remember in our own time because, no matter how hard we try, God will not be contained. God will not be contained inside a building. 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 God is in the habit of surprising us in the most beautiful ways imaginable, if we’re willing to embrace the mystery. Amen.
The Rev. Eric Mancil 