Scripture can be found here…
Part 1: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
This is one of my favorite moments, not just from the Book of Isaiah, but from the entire Old Testament. The drama, the visuals, the filmability—I want some brilliant animator or director to show this to us.
Isaiah has a vision, and he begins his story with a death—it was the year King Uzziah died, a painful, traumatic period for God’s people, one that included what one scholar calls the huge Assyrian Empire’s “reign of terror.”[1] Isaiah’s reveals his state of mind: suffering, death, endless dread.
The vision begins with God, Godself. Isaiah has a vision of God sitting on a throne in the Temple… except, if I’m reading it right, both throne and God are so enormous that he can’t really see God at all. Just the hem of God’s robe, filling the Temple, flowing, the rest of the Almighty rising into the stratosphere.
There are seraphs, too, whom we tend to think of as angels, but definitely not the top-of-your-Christmas-tree kind of angel. The word seraph means “fiery serpent,” so I believe we are to understand they look like fiery serpents. They have six wings, each wing covered with eyes, but in the presence of the Lord, they dare not look, so two of their wings are covering their faces; and two of their wings are used for flying, and two of their wings are used to maintain their modesty. They are swooping around, these seraphs, and they are calling to one another, Holy, holy, holy. The whole Temple is shaking, and it is filled with smoke on top of the flames, and Isaiah is utterly overwhelmed, even, despairing. “Woe is me, he cries, “I am a man of unclean lips, from a people of unclean lips.” Is Isaiah saying he is a liar? Or that he has somehow blasphemed? Or maybe that he’s engaged in theological (and possibly liturgical adultery). Isaiah is probably saying, “We’ve been messing around with other gods.” I mean… desperate times, desperate measures.
A seraph flies to Isaiah with a burning coal, touches it to his lips, purifying them. And when God calls out, “Whom shall I send?” Isaiah sings back, “Here I am, Lord.”
It is Trinity Sunday and we are starting with one of the most iconic moments in the First Testament—this vivid image of God, in all God’s glory, and at the same time, obscured, behind fire and smoke and terrifying angels, not to mention the very real fear of the prophet to whom God is giving this vision. Fear clouds our vision. But this is one and the same God whom the apostle Paul references in his letter to the Romans, the God whom we might call, “Abba! Father!” This is the same God whom Christians call, Triune, the God we believe to be most accurately described as “Trinity.”
Part 2. Creator, Christ, and Comforter
But scripture is not entirely clear on the subject of the Trinity. The Trinity seems to be referenced here and there—look at that statement in the Romans passage: ‘When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ’ (Romans 8:15-16). There they are, the Three-in-One: Creator, Christ, and Comforter, Spirit, the one who reminds us that we belong, the one who makes belonging possible. But their relationship is still obscure, kind of like God on that throne—hidden by smoke, and swooping seraphs, and a vague anxiety that we might get it wrong.
At some point in the eighth century, an Irish poet wrote a lorica—that’s a Latin word that means body armor, but in the vernacular of the mists of the middle ages, it’s the name for a prayer of protection. Body armor. Therefore, the poem is called “St. Patrick’s Breastplate.” It’s a long and lovely appeal to God which asserts the truth of the Trinity without worrying too much about what that truth might mean. To the poet, it means protection. It means safety. It means life. She writes:
I bind unto myself today
the strong name of the Trinity,
by invocation of the same,
the Three in One, and One in Three.
The poet goes on to talk about Christ, from birth to death to rising “from the spiced tomb,” to the very day of judgement. Then she talks about the world, in gorgeous detail:
I bind unto myself today
the virtues of the starlit heaven,
the glorious sun’s life-giving ray,
the whiteness of the moon at even,
the flashing of the lightning free,
the whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
the stable earth, the deep salt sea,
around the old eternal rocks.
At a certain point it dawns on me, as I read this prayer, that the poet is talking about the Trinity without ever defining the Trinity, because she is talking about connection. She describes her connection to God, to the Trinity, to Christ, to Creation. The Trinity is a description of a God who is connected—connected within, Creator, Christ, and Comforter, in an ongoing dance of mutual love and devotion—and connected to us, too.
Part 3. Lover, Beloved, and Love.
This is the stunning revelation of God as revealed throughout the Bible: God is not distant from us, far away in a royal palace or beyond the stars or safely ensconced in heaven. God is here, now, always was, always will be. The small-g-gods of the ancient Near East were aloof, uncaring, self-involved, always power-playing one another and the mortals who looked to them for help. The God of Abraham and Isaac, Jacob and Jesus, was another matter altogether. This God fell passionately in love with God’s own Creation, and has never let us go.
A pastor-poet writes:
[The Holy Trinity] isn't a doctrine, it's a mystery:
not a puzzle to be solved
but a wonder to behold… [2]
By that wonder, the Spirit of God calls us, and we know in our hearts that we are children of God, and Jesus is our brother. It’s like the most complicated family arrangement, but it doesn’t matter because its foundation is connection—a God who will not let us go, who has cleaved us to Godself from before the beginning. No wonder the poet keeps binding, and binding, and binding reminders to herself. No wonder it is this that allows her to understand her own belovedness, her own sense of being held and protected, her own status as child of God.
I bind unto myself today
the power of God to hold and lead,
God’s eye to watch, God’s might to stay,
God’s ear to hearken to my need,
the wisdom of my God to teach,
God’s hand to guide, God’s shield to ward,
the word of God to give me speech,
God’s heavenly host to be my guard. [3]
The Trinity is revealed to us, not only as the truth of God’s inner life—a life in which a primal, eternal love breaks forth for us, God’s creations—but also as the truth of our calling. We are called to be love, just as truly as God is love.
Not a doctrine, but a mystery. Not easily seen—misty, smoky, somewhat hidden. Not a puzzle, but a wonder—like swooping angels calling to one another, letting God’s precious name fall from their fiery tongues. Not a test, but a testament. We are God’s, and God is love. Thanks be. Amen.
[1] Juliana Claasens, “Commentary on Isaiah 6:1-8,” Working Preacher May 30, 2021, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/the-holy-trinity-2/commentary-on-isaiah-61-8-7
[2] Steve Garnaas-Holmes, “Holy Trinity,” Unfolding Light May 26, 2021, https://www.unfoldinglight.net/reflections/6fb44ewlhgbdcjh4jjcb5f5alm7hkm.
[3] Anonymous, “Faeth Fiada” (“Deer’s Cry,” or “Spirit of Concealment”), Liber Hymnorum, 11th Century.