I recently heard someone say, as if it were a given, that, had we not had the letter to Philemon (in which Paul pleads the case of Onesimus, Philemon’s slave and Paul’s convert) we would never have known that he had a softer, more human – more Christlike – side. This rather shook me.
Paul is unpopular – I wanted to say “nowadays”, but I get the impression that he has been unpopular ever since I remember, and no doubt earlier than that. The reasons that are generally given are (a) that Paul was a legalistic reactionary misogynistic, cantankerous old so-and-so and (b) that he introduced alien Greek philosophical ideas into the simple teachings of an itinerant Rabbi and turned a branch of Jewish thought and practice into a new religion, an offshoot of Stoicism Neo-Platonism Gnosticism and – well, you think up your own insult.
So poor Paul was at once a hidebound Hebrew traditionalist and a dangerous syncretistic progressive. In other words, in twenty-first century Scottish words, he was at once a hardline Calvinist-leaning pillar of the Kirk and a liberal with New-Age and probably Buddhist leanings. A bit Festival of Spirituality and Peace, ken.
Hmm. Well done, Paul. For wasn’t this the man who said “I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some”?
Well, I like Paul. I can imagine having a stormy but fruitful friendship with him, punctuated by long discussions as to how he saw and understood that Jesus Christ whom he had persecuted, whom he had met on the road to Damascus and with whom he was now deeply in love, so deeply that he could hardly think of anything else. Do you know the folk song “O Waly Waly”? It contains these lines which, especially in the context of today’s reading from Acts, immediately make me think of Paul:
“There is a ship, and she sails the sea;
She’s loaded deep as deep can be;
But not as deep as the love I’m in:
I know not if I sink or swim”.
I think that’s why Paul could be so casual about physical danger, why he could be cheerful in the midst of a shipwreck. The ship might sink, he might be in deep water, but no water could be as deep as his love.
Jesus told us that the two great commandments, love of God and love of neighbour, are one and the same. To see this demonstrated in action, you can look at Jesus himself, or you can look at Paul. And I sometimes think that it is easier for us to look at Paul. He’s just a little less perfect! Do people forget those many passages where he proclaims – no, sings – his love for God, his breathless wonder and worship, or those passages where he pours out his love for his converts: “Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I thank my God every time I remember you, and in all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy”.
If he sometimes spends page upon page discussing and teaching detailed, intellectual doctrine, that is simply what we all do when we are getting to know someone who bowls us over with love. Paul had thought he knew God – and then he met God. As some of you might have thought you knew the person who was to become your spouse or partner during your initial time of acquaintance, until that moment when you suddenly discovered who they really were, and getting to know them as soon, as quickly and as thoroughly as possible became imperative. You get the same thing with Thomas Aquinas and also with Jeremiah: “But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.”
When you are passionate, you are sometimes excessive. We do need passion. Passion for God and passion for God’s people.
Paul was a brave man, that’s evident. But the most striking thing about this passage for me is the way he is permanently turned towards God. God is the constant in his life, his point of reference for everything. When you have been adrift in a storm for 14 days, what do you do? You try to escape surreptitiously, you panic, you despair. Paul? He celebrates a dawn eucharist (well – yes – listen to the phrase: “and when he had said this, he took bread, and giving thanks to God he broke it..” – the word for giving thanks is, of course, eucharistein), having been in such close communication with God that he had total assurance that they would all get safely to land.
If I had never read a single word of this man’s letters, I would know there was something extraordinary about him, not just extraordinarily God-centred, but also something extraordinarily powerful and attractive. He couldn’t still the wind and the waves like Jesus, but he could still 276 terrified people in a half-wrecked boat.
And so we come to the other objection people have to Paul. He wasn’t Jesus, Paul added stuff to the simple teaching of Jesus, turned it into a new religion. full of doctrine and rules. First – are you sure Jesus’ teaching was so simple? I haven’t got time now to detail just how complicated, ground-breaking and often explosive it was, but may I just direct you to the sixth or seventeenth chapter of St John’s gospel?
But you know – I am glad that we have Paul as well as Jesus. Jesus was – is – God; there are things that he simply did not experience. There are things that he simply wouldn’t think of. He did not, for example, experience his own sin; and he did not experience conversion. He did not battle with doctrine; he told it as he had seen it with his Father. We should imitate Jesus; but in many ways we cannot be like him. We are not God made man; we are not the source of Truth, who can neither deceive or be deceived. But we can be like Paul. Inspired he may have been, apostle he may have been, but he could not see as Jesus saw, and neither can we. He had to be precise, to define, to be on the safe side, just as we have to. On a beautiful bright day you may walk right up to a precipice; you will keep a mile away from it in a fog; and the vision and understanding of the greatest saint and doctor of the church is as fog compared with that of God made man.
It would be idle to deny that the godly life taught by Jesus by word and example differs in emphasis and maybe content from the religion preached by Paul. There are many things I wish Paul had not said, which I am sure Jesus would not have said, and which I sometimes suspect he would not have approved of had he heard it said by one of his disciples “while the Bridegroom was with them”. However, Paul was the man hand-picked – warts and all – by the Holy Spirit for the job, and we ignore or deny his teaching at our peril. We may disagree with him sometimes as we may not disagree with Jesus – but only if we are very clear of the risk we are taking and are sure we know what we are doing. I cannot resist quoting a passage from the instructions for my chainsaw at this point; I think it answers that second objection better than a more pious expression ever could:
“We strongly recommend you do not attempt to operate your chainsaw while in a tree, on a ladder, or any other unstable surface. If you decide to do so, be advised that these positions are extremely dangerous”.
Paul, lover of Christ and seeker after his truth, pray for us that, like you, we may walk in the safe way of his commandments, and come at last to the unspeakable joy and glory of his Kingdom. Amen.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Unconditional Positive Regard, or "On Love....again!"
Sermon, Evensong, 21 June 2009 – Jeremiah 10:1-16; Romans 11:25-36
There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea;
There’s a kindness in God’s justice which is more than liberty.
At first glance you might think that the two readings we have just heard are saying contradictory things. In the first reading everyone except the chosen people is wrong and, basically, there’s not a lot of hope for them; in the second, not only is it now the chosen people who are wrong, but there is plenty of hope all the same.
Well, I don’t think they contradict each other at all. I think they are both saying what God has said over and over again, in both Old Testament and New, and that we continue to fail to hear: Fear not. Do not be afraid. Not of those non-gods who scare the gentiles so much, and not of God himself. And certainly not of anything less.
There was once a theologian called Jacob the Carthusian who wrote a cheery little work called “De paucitate salvandorum” – “Of the fewness of those who will be saved”. I often wonder what he thought about his own chances. From some of his writings it would certainly appear that he took a pretty dim view of most of his colleagues. Father Faber, the Oratorian who wrote the hymn that I quoted at the start of this sermon, have quoted before and will no doubt quote again, concluded that, on the contrary, most Catholics will be saved. We would no doubt go further and say at least that most Christians will be saved. I’m fairly sure that God would go further still; and I think it was a realisation along those lines that made Paul burst out in that famous cry of adoration, which bears hearing again: Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counsellor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen.
We echo that in our communion service when we say “for everything in heaven and on earth is yours. All things come from you, and of your own do we give you.” But I wonder whether we really grasp the literal truth of this.
We have most of us heard the teaching that we can do nothing by ourselves, that we cannot save ourselves; that none of our virtues are our own, that we are saved quite simply by the blood of Christ, or, rather, by the love that led him to shed that blood. That can seem quite an unattractive teaching. So we are useless, are we? Even our virtues are as filthy rags, are they? Well, no. And yet it is true. The point, however, is not that God looks on our good deeds, on our efforts, on our observances, and sneers. The point is that God looks on them with love, but would look on us with love just as much without them.
When one is learning the basics of person-centred counselling, as I am, the first thing one is taught is that it is not a technique, but a way of being with a person. And that the so-called “core conditions” (that is, the characteristics of that “way of being”) are, by themselves, enough to lead the person you are listening to to find their own solutions. These core conditions are empathy, congruence (or honesty), and that thing which for us is impossible, though we strive to get as close to it as we can: unconditional positive regard. Yes, it’s jargon; but it does what it says on the tin. It means to look at a person positively (as opposed to negatively) without imposing any conditions on that positiveness. Perhaps it’s loving the sinner and hating the sin; or, as I believe Carl Rogers himself once suggested, simply…love.
Love is something we have difficulty with. We are apt either to put conditions on our love, or if we try not to, we end up becoming doormats, which is not what it is about. And that’s where another of the “core conditions” can come to rescue us: congruence. Congruence is the thing that makes you speak the truth in love; because if you are withholding an important part of yourself you are not truly loving. It doesn’t mean that you have to tell someone you love that their new hat is ghastly – but it does mean that you have to be straight with someone you love about the drinking habit that is wrecking their life. If it is important to the person who loves, then it needs to be brought into the love.
I am not claiming this is easy, and indeed my purpose in mentioning it is not primarily to tell you – or to tell myself – to do it. Indeed, only God can perfectly do it, and that is why I’m talking about it. Because that is what these readings are about. God’s love, which is unconditional; and God’s congruence, which means that God will never pretend something is OK when it isn’t. Emmanuel, God-with-us, as well as being called “Almighty God and Everlasting Father” is also called “Wonderful Counsellor”, and while it is a different sort of counsellor that is meant, I like to think that God is the model for those of us who would be counsellors, as well as for those of us who would be Christians…or Jews…or Moslems…or...
Congruence means that God, through Jeremiah, says clearly that the customs of the gentiles are worthless, that their fears are unfounded; it means that through Paul God says that the chosen people “has experienced hardening in part”. But, Jeremiah hints, all the gentiles would have to do is to stop fearing those worthless bits of wood and stone, and discover the God whose love casts out fear. And Paul states very firmly that, hardened or not, the children of Israel, once loved, are loved forever. Unconditional positive regard or what!
And so I come back to fear. There are things that we should indeed be afraid of, some for this world (such as hungry tigers or speeding cars), and some for the next (such as final impenitence, which means continuing to turn away from God until we die, still turned away). Part of congruence, part of empathy, indeed, is refusing to take away a person’s free will, their autonomy, their right to decide to destroy themselves. That loved one who is killing themselves with drink – we have no right to stop them, even if we could. And in that we are struggling to imitate God, who will never force anyone to love him…even if he could. God will not, and, yes, cannot. Because free will cannot be forced. God will remind, will threaten, will cajole, will die for you, will love to the end. But God will never force. Perhaps, indeed, that is the only thing that should frighten us: our own free will. But we have been given it to use, not to deny or to throw away. It is the sign of God’s love in us, and his love, we are told, is without repentance. With God we can dare what we can hardly dare with human beings: we can dare to risk getting it wrong. As Father Faber says: The love of God is broader than the measure of our mind.
And so, as Paul prayed for his Ephesians, let us pray: that we, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that we may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea;
There’s a kindness in God’s justice which is more than liberty.
At first glance you might think that the two readings we have just heard are saying contradictory things. In the first reading everyone except the chosen people is wrong and, basically, there’s not a lot of hope for them; in the second, not only is it now the chosen people who are wrong, but there is plenty of hope all the same.
Well, I don’t think they contradict each other at all. I think they are both saying what God has said over and over again, in both Old Testament and New, and that we continue to fail to hear: Fear not. Do not be afraid. Not of those non-gods who scare the gentiles so much, and not of God himself. And certainly not of anything less.
There was once a theologian called Jacob the Carthusian who wrote a cheery little work called “De paucitate salvandorum” – “Of the fewness of those who will be saved”. I often wonder what he thought about his own chances. From some of his writings it would certainly appear that he took a pretty dim view of most of his colleagues. Father Faber, the Oratorian who wrote the hymn that I quoted at the start of this sermon, have quoted before and will no doubt quote again, concluded that, on the contrary, most Catholics will be saved. We would no doubt go further and say at least that most Christians will be saved. I’m fairly sure that God would go further still; and I think it was a realisation along those lines that made Paul burst out in that famous cry of adoration, which bears hearing again: Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counsellor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen.
We echo that in our communion service when we say “for everything in heaven and on earth is yours. All things come from you, and of your own do we give you.” But I wonder whether we really grasp the literal truth of this.
We have most of us heard the teaching that we can do nothing by ourselves, that we cannot save ourselves; that none of our virtues are our own, that we are saved quite simply by the blood of Christ, or, rather, by the love that led him to shed that blood. That can seem quite an unattractive teaching. So we are useless, are we? Even our virtues are as filthy rags, are they? Well, no. And yet it is true. The point, however, is not that God looks on our good deeds, on our efforts, on our observances, and sneers. The point is that God looks on them with love, but would look on us with love just as much without them.
When one is learning the basics of person-centred counselling, as I am, the first thing one is taught is that it is not a technique, but a way of being with a person. And that the so-called “core conditions” (that is, the characteristics of that “way of being”) are, by themselves, enough to lead the person you are listening to to find their own solutions. These core conditions are empathy, congruence (or honesty), and that thing which for us is impossible, though we strive to get as close to it as we can: unconditional positive regard. Yes, it’s jargon; but it does what it says on the tin. It means to look at a person positively (as opposed to negatively) without imposing any conditions on that positiveness. Perhaps it’s loving the sinner and hating the sin; or, as I believe Carl Rogers himself once suggested, simply…love.
Love is something we have difficulty with. We are apt either to put conditions on our love, or if we try not to, we end up becoming doormats, which is not what it is about. And that’s where another of the “core conditions” can come to rescue us: congruence. Congruence is the thing that makes you speak the truth in love; because if you are withholding an important part of yourself you are not truly loving. It doesn’t mean that you have to tell someone you love that their new hat is ghastly – but it does mean that you have to be straight with someone you love about the drinking habit that is wrecking their life. If it is important to the person who loves, then it needs to be brought into the love.
I am not claiming this is easy, and indeed my purpose in mentioning it is not primarily to tell you – or to tell myself – to do it. Indeed, only God can perfectly do it, and that is why I’m talking about it. Because that is what these readings are about. God’s love, which is unconditional; and God’s congruence, which means that God will never pretend something is OK when it isn’t. Emmanuel, God-with-us, as well as being called “Almighty God and Everlasting Father” is also called “Wonderful Counsellor”, and while it is a different sort of counsellor that is meant, I like to think that God is the model for those of us who would be counsellors, as well as for those of us who would be Christians…or Jews…or Moslems…or...
Congruence means that God, through Jeremiah, says clearly that the customs of the gentiles are worthless, that their fears are unfounded; it means that through Paul God says that the chosen people “has experienced hardening in part”. But, Jeremiah hints, all the gentiles would have to do is to stop fearing those worthless bits of wood and stone, and discover the God whose love casts out fear. And Paul states very firmly that, hardened or not, the children of Israel, once loved, are loved forever. Unconditional positive regard or what!
And so I come back to fear. There are things that we should indeed be afraid of, some for this world (such as hungry tigers or speeding cars), and some for the next (such as final impenitence, which means continuing to turn away from God until we die, still turned away). Part of congruence, part of empathy, indeed, is refusing to take away a person’s free will, their autonomy, their right to decide to destroy themselves. That loved one who is killing themselves with drink – we have no right to stop them, even if we could. And in that we are struggling to imitate God, who will never force anyone to love him…even if he could. God will not, and, yes, cannot. Because free will cannot be forced. God will remind, will threaten, will cajole, will die for you, will love to the end. But God will never force. Perhaps, indeed, that is the only thing that should frighten us: our own free will. But we have been given it to use, not to deny or to throw away. It is the sign of God’s love in us, and his love, we are told, is without repentance. With God we can dare what we can hardly dare with human beings: we can dare to risk getting it wrong. As Father Faber says: The love of God is broader than the measure of our mind.
And so, as Paul prayed for his Ephesians, let us pray: that we, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that we may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell
Normal service will (I hope) be resumed next week...
(not unwell, just overworked)
(not unwell, just overworked)
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Sanctus sanctus sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth
7 June 2009: Ez 1:4-10, 22-28, Rev 4
The readings we have just heard strike me as quite surprising, and perhaps unhelpful ones for the Feast of the Trinity. When I hear about the four living creatures it is the four evangelists I think of: Matthew the man, Mark the lion, Luke the bull and John the eagle. Not the Trinity. What I think the church is trying to convey by choosing these passages is the awesomeness, awe-inspiringness of God. God, the Trinity, is altogether too much, too high for us, a mystery before which we must bow down and hide our faces.
OK. You can approach the Trinity like that: “Fear God” – you get that right down into the New Testament. And it’s true that the moment we lose that, the moment we forget that we are creatures and have a Creator – is the moment that we cease to be believers, cease to be followers of Jesus Christ. But – should we leave it at that?
Who, after all, is God to us? Who is God to you? Who is the Trinity to you? It’s God the Father, who created us: not some terrifying emperor figure but our father; God the Son, who dwelt among us as one of us; and God the Holy Spirit, who dwells within us. I’ve said many times that if you want to see what God is like, look at Jesus – well, he said so, didn’t he? “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father”. But I’d go further than that, especially for us who do not see Jesus in his day-to-day life. Do you believe that we are made in God’s image and likeness? Do you believe that YOU are? In which case, if you want to see what God is like, look at yourself.
Yes, the angels hid their faces and said “Holy holy holy”; but I venture to say that our relationship with God is different. The angels say holy holy holy, but Isaiah confesses his sinfulness and is cleansed, chosen and given a mission by God. As Paul said, “unto which of the angels said he at any time “Thou art my son, this day I have begotten thee”?
God the Son did not become an angel. He became incarnate as one of us. Like us. Like you. Like me. It is extraordinary and incredible, but after all not so extraordinary and incredible; who, according to Genesis, is “made in the image and likeness of God”? That already suggests something. the Trinity includes Jesus Christ who has been and eternally is one of us. We, the human race, are part of, intimately part of the Trinity.
The Son is not less than the Father because he has been incarnate. The Son is not intrinsically more visible than the Father. Don’t imagine that the OT God is the Father, the NT God the Son, and the God of the era of the Church is the Holy Spirit No. All three are the Trinity. God is the Trinity. YHWH is the Trinity.
All God’s actions external to himself are actions of the Trinity – there is no distinction. It is only in the relations within the Trinity that there is a distinction. Undoubtedly, when it comes to incarnate life on earth, to crucifixion, that blows your mind. but – of course God blows your mind. And that is the sort of awe, the sort of “too much for us” that we should feel about the Trinity: not that God is so far removed but that God is so intimate, so close to us, so much part of us and we of God. Jesus prayed “that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me.” So – hang on to your pews here – God is not just close to us because the Son was incarnate. God, the Trinity, is close to us because we are made in the image and likeness of the Trinity.
I think that was what St Augustine was getting at when he devoted a large part of his book on the Trinity to a discussion of our own internal being and to searching for the trinity within. He found it in many places, but settled for the mind’s self-memory, self-understanding and self-willing or self-loving, and the way in which these mental acts proceed from one another or are generated or conceived one by another. The Trinity, far from being something utterly remote from us, is in fact the blueprint of our being, just as the design of the Temple was supposed to be a copy of a heavenly original. The Feast of the Trinity is our feast. If you feel inclined to argue that we cannot understand the Trinity, that it is a great mystery, indeed it is. But – are we much less of a mystery? I understand myself better than I did twenty or thirty years ago, but there are still deep recesses of mystery within myself, and I think there always will be; and I am just a finite created being. The infinite uncreated God whose finite created image I am will be infinitely, uncreatedly more mysterious than I am, but not in an entirely different way. I don’t think it is a coincidence that Augustine, utterly fascinated by his own being and psychology, made the Trinity the subject of his major work, a work he spent his life writing and rewriting until his friends, impatient with the endless revisions, pinched the manuscript and published a pirated edition.
All this is babbling. Of course we cannot understand the Trinity. But all the people over all the centuries who have tried, suggest to me two things. One: that it is worth trying; and two: that the Trinity is indeed closer to us than we are to ourselves. We try to grasp the Trinity with the same hunger with which we try to understand ourselves. And since we cannot look into the Trinity and we have been told that we are made in its image, all we can do to “feel after him and find him” as Paul says, is to look into ourselves.
Augustine is saying that if you are interested in looking for God and finding him, as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, you must look within yourself, through a glass darkly. You must in fact also be engaged in a quest for your true self. And conversely, your only hope of finding your true self is in finding, or at the very least in continually seeking, the true God, who is eternally Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
This trinity in us is not static; as the Blessed Trinity is anything but static, being constituted by relationship and the ceaseless ebb and flow of the love which is God, which generates God and which is the God who is generated. Augustine sees the action of the Trinity in our souls, turning our self-understanding, self-memory and self-loving towards God, when it becomes God-understanding, God-memory and God-love. Our mind or soul reflects the Trinity not just in its structure but in its proper sphere of activity, which is union with God.
So might I suggest, as a hymn to accompany our thinking about the Trinity, our praying to the Trinity, not “Holy Holy Holy” but this one:
Lord, your summons echoes true when you but call my name
Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.
In your company I’ll go where your love and footsteps show.
Thus I’ll move and live and grow in you and you in me.
The readings we have just heard strike me as quite surprising, and perhaps unhelpful ones for the Feast of the Trinity. When I hear about the four living creatures it is the four evangelists I think of: Matthew the man, Mark the lion, Luke the bull and John the eagle. Not the Trinity. What I think the church is trying to convey by choosing these passages is the awesomeness, awe-inspiringness of God. God, the Trinity, is altogether too much, too high for us, a mystery before which we must bow down and hide our faces.
OK. You can approach the Trinity like that: “Fear God” – you get that right down into the New Testament. And it’s true that the moment we lose that, the moment we forget that we are creatures and have a Creator – is the moment that we cease to be believers, cease to be followers of Jesus Christ. But – should we leave it at that?
Who, after all, is God to us? Who is God to you? Who is the Trinity to you? It’s God the Father, who created us: not some terrifying emperor figure but our father; God the Son, who dwelt among us as one of us; and God the Holy Spirit, who dwells within us. I’ve said many times that if you want to see what God is like, look at Jesus – well, he said so, didn’t he? “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father”. But I’d go further than that, especially for us who do not see Jesus in his day-to-day life. Do you believe that we are made in God’s image and likeness? Do you believe that YOU are? In which case, if you want to see what God is like, look at yourself.
Yes, the angels hid their faces and said “Holy holy holy”; but I venture to say that our relationship with God is different. The angels say holy holy holy, but Isaiah confesses his sinfulness and is cleansed, chosen and given a mission by God. As Paul said, “unto which of the angels said he at any time “Thou art my son, this day I have begotten thee”?
God the Son did not become an angel. He became incarnate as one of us. Like us. Like you. Like me. It is extraordinary and incredible, but after all not so extraordinary and incredible; who, according to Genesis, is “made in the image and likeness of God”? That already suggests something. the Trinity includes Jesus Christ who has been and eternally is one of us. We, the human race, are part of, intimately part of the Trinity.
The Son is not less than the Father because he has been incarnate. The Son is not intrinsically more visible than the Father. Don’t imagine that the OT God is the Father, the NT God the Son, and the God of the era of the Church is the Holy Spirit No. All three are the Trinity. God is the Trinity. YHWH is the Trinity.
All God’s actions external to himself are actions of the Trinity – there is no distinction. It is only in the relations within the Trinity that there is a distinction. Undoubtedly, when it comes to incarnate life on earth, to crucifixion, that blows your mind. but – of course God blows your mind. And that is the sort of awe, the sort of “too much for us” that we should feel about the Trinity: not that God is so far removed but that God is so intimate, so close to us, so much part of us and we of God. Jesus prayed “that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me.” So – hang on to your pews here – God is not just close to us because the Son was incarnate. God, the Trinity, is close to us because we are made in the image and likeness of the Trinity.
I think that was what St Augustine was getting at when he devoted a large part of his book on the Trinity to a discussion of our own internal being and to searching for the trinity within. He found it in many places, but settled for the mind’s self-memory, self-understanding and self-willing or self-loving, and the way in which these mental acts proceed from one another or are generated or conceived one by another. The Trinity, far from being something utterly remote from us, is in fact the blueprint of our being, just as the design of the Temple was supposed to be a copy of a heavenly original. The Feast of the Trinity is our feast. If you feel inclined to argue that we cannot understand the Trinity, that it is a great mystery, indeed it is. But – are we much less of a mystery? I understand myself better than I did twenty or thirty years ago, but there are still deep recesses of mystery within myself, and I think there always will be; and I am just a finite created being. The infinite uncreated God whose finite created image I am will be infinitely, uncreatedly more mysterious than I am, but not in an entirely different way. I don’t think it is a coincidence that Augustine, utterly fascinated by his own being and psychology, made the Trinity the subject of his major work, a work he spent his life writing and rewriting until his friends, impatient with the endless revisions, pinched the manuscript and published a pirated edition.
All this is babbling. Of course we cannot understand the Trinity. But all the people over all the centuries who have tried, suggest to me two things. One: that it is worth trying; and two: that the Trinity is indeed closer to us than we are to ourselves. We try to grasp the Trinity with the same hunger with which we try to understand ourselves. And since we cannot look into the Trinity and we have been told that we are made in its image, all we can do to “feel after him and find him” as Paul says, is to look into ourselves.
Augustine is saying that if you are interested in looking for God and finding him, as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, you must look within yourself, through a glass darkly. You must in fact also be engaged in a quest for your true self. And conversely, your only hope of finding your true self is in finding, or at the very least in continually seeking, the true God, who is eternally Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
This trinity in us is not static; as the Blessed Trinity is anything but static, being constituted by relationship and the ceaseless ebb and flow of the love which is God, which generates God and which is the God who is generated. Augustine sees the action of the Trinity in our souls, turning our self-understanding, self-memory and self-loving towards God, when it becomes God-understanding, God-memory and God-love. Our mind or soul reflects the Trinity not just in its structure but in its proper sphere of activity, which is union with God.
So might I suggest, as a hymn to accompany our thinking about the Trinity, our praying to the Trinity, not “Holy Holy Holy” but this one:
Lord, your summons echoes true when you but call my name
Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.
In your company I’ll go where your love and footsteps show.
Thus I’ll move and live and grow in you and you in me.
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