Trinity Sunday 2019

Lectionary readings: Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31 and Romans 5:1-5 and John 16:12-15

“Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Romans 5:1-5

What is God like?

For some, that is an unanswerable question, because there are so many ideas out there that it is impossible to know which is right, or because their experience of the world leads them to conclude that no such being exists. Others tell me that they do believe in God, which interests me: which god, I am curious to find out, do they believe in? What is your god like?

For some, we come face-to-face with our god in the awesome wonder of the physical cosmos—whether our god is the creative King of the Universe, or sheer chance within big-enough probability.

For some, we come face-to-face with our god in the place of suffering. If God is omnipotent and loving, why does he stand by? Is God indifferent, and therefore not loving? Or impotent, and therefore a liability? Or, what?

It strikes me that many of us want, or think we want, an interventionalist God. But what would that look like? I’ve been struck, in this week when the world has remembered the D-Day landings, of the gulf between the rhetoric of the First World War and the testimony of those now-few remaining veterans of the Second World War. The rhetoric of the First World War is all king and country: ‘Your Country Needs You!’ But the veterans of D-Day don’t speak of fighting for king and country: they speak of acting for Europe and our shared freedom, our inextricably linked future. D-Day was an invasion, but it wasn’t an intervention. In contrast, the US invasion of Vietnam or of Iraq were interventions. British colonialism was intervention.

The God I see revealed in the Bible is a god who chooses not to pursue intervention, but who instead chooses to be with us and for us. A god who invades our world to be counted as one of us. To suffer with us, to endure with us, to demonstrate character in the midst of life, to hope alongside us. A god who shares peace and access and glory and love with us.

And this, in contrast with ‘the god of this world,’ whom the Scriptures call the Satan or Accuser, the head of legions that do intervene, promising to bring about an end to suffering by destroying all those who threaten our way of life. Once we are rid of the poor, or the immigrants, the Muslims, the gays—the parasites—we shall be free. Except, of course, we won’t be. For the Nazis in the 1930s and ’40s, the Jews, gypsies, communists and homosexuals were only the soft starting-point for the intended total ‘cleansing’ of the entire population of eastern Europe. Intervention is never satisfied until all are destroyed. No, God does not intervene in the world; God has invaded the world: first becoming one-with-us in the person of Jesus, the divine Word-made-flesh; and then, as we celebrated at Pentecost, by pouring out the Holy Spirit on all flesh.

The doctrine of the Trinity is not a big idea to be more fully understood, or a data set to be more fully interpreted, but a mystery to be more fully entered-into. The mystery of a relational being who goes to extravagant and self-sacrificial lengths to delight in the flourishing of others, to whom they have chosen to be inextricably linked.

This is what we are called into, to experience, to discover what God is like.