The Suffering of the Triune God
Psalm 8;
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15
Thereís a whole
bunch of stuff in the life of the church that I donít know much about, and, on
this Trinity Sunday, itís best to just begin with confession: Iíve never really
felt like I understood the whole Trinity thing.
Now, I do know enough
to know what the Trinity is not. Itís not an image of God as heavenly board of
directors: one part in charge of product development, one part in charge of
customer satisfaction and a third in charge of sales. No, thatís not it at all.
Nor does
Trinitarian theology suggest that God is like a tag-team wrestling match where
one or the other person of a threesome acts one at a time. Nor is the Triune
God like the supermom who changes roles to meet each
situation: bringing home the bacon, frying it up in the pan and tucking in the
children at night. Neither does the Trinity suggest a leadership team with a
head coach and assistants. In terms suggested by one child, when we talk about
the Trinity, we donít mean that God is the old man, the young man and the other
thing. And, no, God is not a three-ring circus.
So, what is up
with this whole Trinity business, anyway?
The readings
before us today present a rich variety of images: the sovereign Lord of the
heavens whose glory is set above the heavens, as the psalmist puts it; the
feminine Sophia, or wisdom, who was ìset up, at the first, before the beginning
of the earthî; the ìSpirit of truth who will declare to you the things that are
to come,î and the Christ, ìthrough whom we have obtained access to this grace
in which we stand.î
If you caught
it, there are at least four images of God presented in the scripture readings
for this Trinity Sunday. Itís no wonder I find this stuff confusing.
So, what does
it mean, and why does it matter?
Well, first, it
would be good to underscore that this particular Sunday falls immediately
following Pentecost, and the focus of the lectionary readings this morning is
quite clearly on the Spirit of God as an ever-present reality ñ there from the
foundations of the earth in the distant past, and the ground for out present
hope for a future in which Godís love is not only poured out in all hearts but
lived out in each life and in our common life.
But faith in
God ñ no matter how we configure the idea of faith ñ will not be the ground of
much hope if the images of God that we claim are not compelling. As Shug, in Alice Walkerís The
Color Purple, put it, ìWhen I found out I thought God was white and a man,
I lost interest.î[1]
Indeed, if God
is an old white man with a long white beard, then Iíve lost interest, too. Iíve
also lost interest if God is reduced to a blue-eyed, blond-haired, buff Jesus.
Likewise, if God is merely an inchoate spirit that does not connect personally
to our lives and relationships, informing our understandings of who we are and
to whom we belong, then I donít much care.
Surely these
are exaggerated caricatures, but they do reflect distortions of classical
Trinitarian theology that have found common expression at various points in the
Christian era. If we think them through just a little bit, we can recognize
them in our own time. The contemporary revitalized interest in spirituality has
much to recommend it, but too much of it is focused exclusively on ecstatic
hyper-individualized personal experience with no ethical connection to
community life.
The distortions
are not limited to the third person of the trinity, and they are easy to find
in much of the current infatuation with Jesus ñ evidenced in Mel Gibsonís film,
in a lot of bumper-sticker theology, and in a President who names Jesus as his
most important political influence. This focus on Jesus, either as a bloodied,
yet somehow resilient movie hero, on the one hand, or a ìcozy and sentimentalî
abstraction, on the other, misses entirely the ìpassionate concern for the
coming of justice for all peopleî[2] so
clear in the Jesus of the gospels.
Meanwhile, God
the Father has been reduced in the popular culture to Santa Claus, an old white
man who grants wishes, or not, based on whims far beyond our fathoming except
that as adults we know heís not real and the outcomes of our wishes are
determined by economic circumstances that come to define not only our God but
the value of our lives.
The connection
between our images of God and our lives should come as no surprise. Indeed,
Calvin opens the Institutes by
remarking that ìNearly all the wisdom we possess Ö consists of two parts: the
knowledge of God and of ourselves. But Ö which one precedes and brings forth
the other is not easy to discern.î[3]
Many of the
distortions of the image of God rest on and arise out of a triumphalist
theology that may have seemed to make sense in the midst of the rise of
established Christendom in the
A triumphalist theology posits a God known exclusively
through mighty acts of power, through glory and triumph, through omnipotence.
Here in the shadows of the bloodiest century in human history, the light of
such a God has been extinguished. We can no longer find such a God credible in
our time.
For even if we believe that such a God wills shalom for creation,
the suffering of a groaning creation mocks an emasculated God.
So, what
possible basis can we find for the hope that Paul speaks of in Romans?
Recall what he
says there: ìwe boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only
that, be 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 Godís love has been poured into our hearts
through the Holy Spirit that has been given to usî (Rom. 5:2-5).
This incredibly
rich passage has sometimes been used to urge passivity in the face of cruelty
and oppression, but I think Paul is on to something quite different. Indeed,
while he clearly has in mind the reality of the suffering of flesh and blood
human beings enduring the oppression of the early church, I think this passage
also suggests something quite profound about the reality of God.
You see, I
believe the suffering that Paul speaks of here is also ñ and perhaps
preeminently ñ the suffering of God. Paul says, ìwe
boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God.î When he follows that up with
boasting about suffering, he tells us that his suffering lets him share in the
very suffering of God.
As Dr. King
wrote in the midst of the struggles of the Civil Rights Movement, ìI have lived
these last few years with the conviction that unearned suffering is
redemptive.î
I donít believe
that he was advising folks to seek out suffering, nor do I believe he was
suggesting that human suffering is an end to be sought out.
But I do
believe that both Paul and Dr. King were suggesting something about the very
heart of God. Indeed, Kingís next paragraph reads:
There are some who still find the cross a
stumbling block, and others consider it foolishness, but I am more convinced
than ever before that it is the power of God unto social and individual
salvation. So like the Apostle Paul I can now humbly yet proudly say, ìI bear in
my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.î The suffering and agonizing moments
through which I have passed over the last few years have also drawn me closer
to God. More than ever before I am convinced of the reality
of a personal God.[4]
At first
reading, that final line caught me off guard. Why do these words about
suffering, about cross, about stumbling block lead to a renewed conviction
about the reality of a personal God? And what has any of that to do with a
Triune God? And why, again, should any of this matter to us today?
The words of
the Apostle Paul, the words of Dr. King, the arc of scripture itself point
toward a singular and astonishing claim: that suffering is at the heart of God,
and that the power of God rests in this experience of suffering.
Absent that
understanding, Trinitarian theology lapses into all of the distortions Iíve
named this morning and many more that are unnamed here. The Passion, and not
Mel Gibsonís Passion, but the
suffering and death of Jesus reveal to us Christians the heart of God.
And that
revelation is crucial for our time. Standing here, this morning, in the shadows
of the Pentagon and its ever-present reminders of September 11, and here but a
few miles from the White House and its reminder to us of the present war,
standing on this June 6th Ýanniversary of D-day and the horrors of
that war, we know deep in the very marrow of our bones that, in our distress we
cry out for the power of the triumphant God.
But, as those
who follow the crucified Christ, we should also know deep in the tissues of our
hearts that our faith directs us to ìGodís powerlessness and suffering.î For, as Bonhoeffer said from his Nazi
prison, ìOnly the suffering God can help.î [5]
Suffering is
not merely an aspect of the Godhead known in Christ, but as C.S. Dinsmore put it at the dawn of the 20th century,
ìThere was a cross in the heart of God before there was one planted on the
green hill outside
God comes to us
in suffering and seeks us out in a community that is called forth not to
triumph but rather to care, not to conquer but rather to bear one anotherís
burdens, not to defeat and convert it opponents but rather to love it enemies
and pray for its persecutors.
And we see the
advent of this God in the images of the Trinity. God is fundamentally
relational. In the essence of God is community. God exists as an active,
vibrant, living community of love, and God calls us into just such a
relationship.
Moreover, if
suffering is at the heart of God ñ if there is, indeed, a cross planted in the
midst of this community of love that is the Godhead ñ then the call to
Christian community can never be a call to some pie-in-the-sky, sentimental
vision of 1950s family values, but rather it must always, already be a call to
create such community in the midst of a war-torn, strive-ridden world of broken
and suffering humanity.
For that is
where God is found ñ among the poor, the outcast, the suffering. That is where
the Spirit blows ñ through the AIDS wards more powerfully than through the
boardrooms; through the streets more powerfully than through the cathedrals;
through the barrios more powerful than through the seats of power.
The spirit is
not denied to those in boardrooms, cathedrals and capitals. Itís just that, as
Lord Acton observed, power corrupts. And among the corrupting effects of
accumulated power is an overwhelming tendency to listen to the voices of the
culture of power rather than to that of the powerless Christ; to listen to the
voices of a spirit of consumerism and militarism rather than to the voice of
the Spirit of wisdom and love; to listen to the voices of conquest and triumph
rather than to the voice of a crucified God.
Now, I will
confess again, that the doctrine of the Trinity still leaves me confused. But I
understand that this image describes less the reality of God than the reality
of how we experience God in the midst of lives that bear many scars and much
brokenness. God continues to be something beyond us, beckoning us into deeper
relationship. God continues to be something among us, calling us closer to each
other. God continues to be something within us, whispering a quiet assurance
that, even in the midst of our own brokenness and that of our world, we belong
to God, we are beloved children, and we are made for loving even here, even
now, just as we are.
This is the God who calls us all to table this morning. Taste and see, that this God, however we understand and imagine her, creates, redeems and sustains us. Now and forever. Amen.
Rev. Dr. David E.
Ensign
[1] Alice
Walker, The Color Purple (New York:
Washington Square Press, 1982) 127; quoted in Daniel L. Migliore,
Faith Seeking Understanding (
[2] The phrases are Miglioreís, 65.
[3] John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960) I.I. 1.
[4] Martin Luther King, Jr., A Testament of Hope (San Francisco: Harper, 1986) 41-2.
[5] Dietrich
Bonhoeffer, Letters
and Papers from Prison, quoted in Douglas John Hall, The Cross in our Context (
[6] C.S. Dinsmore, Atonement in Literature and Life, quoted in Hall, 84.