The Triune God by Fred Sanders

Triune God.jpgFred Sanders has written a book about the Trinity called The Triune God. Yes, he has already written one previously, The Deep Things of God (which you should have already read by now), and dissertation on it (which is too expensive for anyone to read), but this one is different. Coming as the second volume in Zondervan’s promising New Studies in Dogmatics series, Sanders isn’t interested in giving a serviceable, “here’s the Trinity in OT, the NT, then the Fathers, now the Medievals, and here’s how to not be a heretic today” structure. Instead, Sanders says,

The goal of this book is to secure our knowledge of the triune God by rightly ordering the theological language with which we praise the triune God. Its central contention is that the manner of the Trinity’s revelation dictates the shape of the doctrine: it draws its dogmatic conclusions about how the doctrine should be handled on the basis of the way the Trinity was revealed (19).

Yes, it’s a work of trinitarian doctrine, but it’s also a master class in how to construct trinitarian doctrine. Sanders doesn’t just set about telling you how to think about the Trinity, but also how to think about thinking about the Trinity. In that sense, Sanders is concerned with trinitarian doctrine as a species of Theological Interpretation of Scripture; he wants to show us how to read the Bible to arrive at the doctrine of the Trinity without misconstruing either the Bible, or even worse, the Trinity. And all of this for the sake of rightly praising our glorious God.

I will just come out and say that if you are anything approaching a theology nerd, serious student, or professor, I would highly recommend this work. Treat yourself for Christmas or something. Sanders is already known for his acumen in all matters trinitarian, but this book ought to solidify that reputation. And rightly so. This is a serious, top-shelf entry within the academic and churchly conversation around the doctrine of the Trinity. Sanders’ writing is clear, lucid, with an astonishing command of the height, depth, and breadth of the Christian tradition (Patristic, Medieval, Roman, Orthodox, and Protestant) of reflection on the Triune God.

That said, if you’re looking for an intro book on the Trinity, I’ll go ahead and recommend you pick up The Deep Things of God instead (which is coming out in a second edition, I hear).

So what is his argument in this book? Well, it’s a rather complex one that I can’t fully cover here. But essentially its concerned that we go about doing trinitarian theology in a way that fits trinitarian revelation. How God has revealed himself as the One who is Three, ought to definitively govern the way we confess (in praise and print, and printed praise) God as the Three who are One. Theologians aren’t in the business of clarifying God’s muddle, but communicating God’s self-manifestation.

To do that, Sanders delves into issues like the nature of revelation. What does it mean for us to talk about the revelation of the Trinity, for instance? Well, it doesn’t just mean that God is incomprehensible and that he is beyond our understanding. That’s what the doctrine of incomprehensibility means. Instead, in keeping with the NT sense of “mystery”, the reality of the Trinity is of a truth temporarily “hidden, but now revealed” in history for us and our salvation.

But how is it revealed? Well, in the act of God sending God, in missions of the Son and Spirit, or the Incarnation and Pentecost. In these historical acts, God reveals himself as Triune. This means that strictly speaking, the New Testament isn’t the revelation of the Trinity. The New Testament is the inspired (and authoritative!) attestation of that revelation. The words of the apostles inspired by the Spirit are necessary to disambiguate the nature of the Word who comes in the power of the Spirit. There is a unity of word and act at that point.

Sanders touches on and attempts to untangle sundry other issues. For instance, the question of how to think about the relationship between God’s reality in himself and his revelation to us in history. In the 20th century it’s been popular to think of this in terms of the unity or identity of the economic Trinity (God seen in history-of-redemption) and immanent Trinity (God in himself apart from history). Sanders’ moves away from this formulation and, along with John Webster, champions the older formulation which speaks instead of God’s internal processions (the Father generating the Son, the Spirit being spirated by Father and Son), as the foundation of his historical missions (Incarnation and Pentecost). The latter reveals the former and the former is founded on the latter. (Incidentally, much of the hermeneutical muddle surrounding the Trinity debate this summer could be cleared up by working through this book).

When we think of the relationship between the Bible and the Trinity, Sanders helpfully covers a broad terrain. He forthrightly faces the problem of the fact that a good many classic proof-texts of the Trinity have been taken away by modern critical, or careful historical-grammatical exegesis. All the same, new reading strategies—which at times are the recovery of older reading strategies—has opened up new vistas for trinitarian exegesis.

For instance, looking at the Fathers and the New Testament authors, there has been a turn to recovering “retrospective prosoponic identification” or “prosopological exegesis”—the practice of rereading OT texts like the Psalms and identifying persons (prosopa) within them—as fruitful field within which we can toil. Think of Jesus appealing to Ps. 110 and asking the Pharisees who God is speaking to when David sings, “The LORD said to my Lord…” Texts like that are regularly appealed to in New Testament, and the Fathers deployed this mode of reading extensively. On that front the harvest is plentiful! But what about the workers?

Sanders covers all sorts of other ground, like what to make of so-called “Christophanies” (hint: something else), or how to go about spotting the trinitarian presupposition of Paul’s theology, and so forth. That said, you should know that Sanders doesn’t write a “definitive” work in this regard. He does plenty of Trinitarian theology and plenty of exegesis at key points, but often it is illustrative of a general point and not an exhaustive treatment of it.

This might seem like a drag at first. Part of you wants Sanders to work it all out across the Gospels, Paul, even Revelation. Or even though he touches on how to think of the Christophanies, it would be fun to see him work with a story like Abraham and the angel of YHWH at Mamre. But he doesn’t. Besides probably being limited by word-count, I suspect there’s something generous about Sanders’ reticence to give an exhaustive, run-down: it forms something of an invitation to others to discern the glory of the Triune God in Scripture alongside him.

So what are you waiting for?

Soli Deo Gloria

To Dance, or not to Dance with the Trinity?


Me: Read for your paper. Other Me: Write about that Dancing with the Trinity thing for an hour. Nothing bad can happen.

Fred Sanders critiqued a new book by Richard Rohr on the Trinity, The Divine Dance, yesterday at TGC. As with most of Sanders’ writing, it was playful, with puckish humor. It was also atypically forceful for the ever-genial Sanders, condemning the work as crossing the bounds of Nicene and general Orthodoxy at various points. (FWIW, the location surprised some, as well, because Sanders is a quite openly Wesleyan theologian, quite uninterested in defending Calvinism. Apparently, they asked him because he is a well-respected, expert on trinitarian theology in general.)

In any case, it provoked dismay and chagrin among Rohr’s fans and even some more neutral onlookers. I’ll touch on that below, but one interesting question it raised for me was the issue of whether or not we should use the very popular image of the Trinity as a “Divine Dance” in our preaching and teaching.

Dancing with Lewis and Keller

If you’ve heard a sermon on the Trinity in an Evangelical church in the last 50 years, I would not be surprised if you’ve seen the pastor appeal to a very famous passage in C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity where he appeals to the image to explain the dynamic, inner life of the Triune God. I mean, I know I’ve used it. In any case, here it is:

And that, by the way, is perhaps the most important difference between Christianity and all other religions: that in Christianity God is not a static thing—not even a person—but a dynamic, pulsating activity, a life, almost a kind of drama. Almost, if you will not think me irreverent, a kind of dance. The union between the Father and the Son is such a live concrete thing that this union itself is also a Person. I know this is almost inconceivable, but look at it thus. You know that among human beings, when they get together in a family, or a club, or a trade union, people talk about the ‘spirit’ of that family, or club, or trade union. They talk about its ‘spirit’ because the individual members, when they are together, do really develop particular ways of talking and behaving which they would not have if they were apart. It is as if a sort of communal personality came into existence. Of course, it is not a real person: it is only rather like a person. But that is just one of the differences between God and us. What grows out of the joint life of the Father and Son is a real Person, is in fact the Third of the three Persons who are God.

So we see that Lewis is in the middle of a discussion of what it means for God to be love. In the middle of it, he appeals to the image of a dance to begin to speak of the procession of the Holy Spirit from Father and Son as the loving union of Father and Son (per Augustine, ‘the bond of love’).

Beyond the fact that people suck down anything Lewis writes (yours truly included), I don’t know how many books on the Trinity in the last 50 years have simultaneously appealed to the Greek word perichoresis used by some of the Fathers (Gregory, Maximus, later John of Damascus). Originally, the term was used to describe the interpenetration of Christ’s two natures in the incarnation. Later, the term was expanded to speak of the mutual indwelling of the persons of the Trinity a la the Johannine discourses (“I am in the Father and the Father is in me”).

Now, the word’s etymology can be linked to the idea of movement and aroundness, and so somewhere along the line, the link between perichoresis and dance was born.  In the 20th Century, it’s been used by a number of Trinitarian theologians like Jurgen Moltmann, Miroslav Volf, and others as a key way of speaking about the unity of the persons of the Trinity, the God/world relationship, and sundry other uses that extend beyond the original purposes of the term. We’ve experienced something of a perichoretic overload. The dance has gotten out of hand.  (BTW, we had a Mere Fidelity episode on it here.)

In any case, Sanders’ critique may have left the impression that to use the image at all was heretical in itself. Mike Morell, Rohr’s co-author/transcriber, responded to Sanders’ criticism by pointing out that if the image is off-limits, that’s quite awkward since one of TGC’s co-founders, Tim Keller, has appealed to the image himself in places like The Reason for God. Here is the quote:

The life of the Trinity is characterized not by self-centeredness but by mutually self-giving love. When we delight and serve someone else, we enter into a dynamic orbit around him or her, we center on the interests and desires of the other. That creates a dance, particularly if there are three persons, each of whom moves around the other two. So it is, the Bible tells us. Each of the divine persons centers upon the others. None demands that the others revolve around him. Each voluntarily circles the other two, pouring love, delight, and adoration into them. Each person of the Trinity loves, adores, defers to, and rejoices in the others. That creates a dynamic pulsating dance of joy and love. The early leaders of the Greek church had a word for this—perichoresis. Notice the root of our word ‘choreography’ is within it. It means literally to “dance or flow around.”

Awkward, right? So do Keller and Lewis fall afoul of Sanders’ critique? How about the likely dozens and hundreds of other authors who have used it? Are they immediately to be considered heretics? Should we ditch the dance? What’s going on here?!

To Dance or Not To Dance

Well, given that I’ve gone back and forth about the image myself, I’ve got a few thoughts on the subject.

First, I think it’s important to distinguish between perichoresis and the dance image. The two are different things and you can appeal to perichoresis without invoking the dance. Perichoresis has gotten a bit buzzwordy and goofy, but that’s no reason to ditch the classic terminology. Just use it properly.

Second, there are at least two different uses of the dance image. It can be deployed in an illustrative and modest way, or an intensive and extensive way. In other words, it’s the difference between an image and a model.

I think Lewis is a good example of the illustrative image use. He spends a good deal of time in the book trying to explain things like the eternal generation of the Son, differences in between divine and human personality, and establishing a fairly standard, Nicene view of the eternal relations of Father, Son, and Spirit. And then he casually deploys the dance as an image of the livingness and movement of the divine life without trying to figure out if the dance is a mambo, or a waltz, or something else. It’s quick, it’s illustrative, and it’s done. (Given that he basically uses it briefly in a couple books, I tend to think that this is where Keller fits, too, even if he may fall afoul of the common etymological fallacy Sanders’ mentions in his footnote of the review.)

Others seem to take it as something more of a full-blown model, especially when linking it to a view called social trinitarianism, which takes the persons of the Trinity to be more like modern individuals, with three distinct, centers of consciousness, will, and so forth, who are united in being, but tend to look something more like a family. When the dance image gets invoked, at that point it starts to take on a whole different level of meaning, and we have all sorts of psychological and relational dynamics worked out and so forth. It can become far more intensive and extensive.

Finally, as an extreme version of this, you might do what Sanders says Rohr does: make the image central, set it within a relational metaphysic that has shades of pantheism and panentheism, gesture at a fuzziness in the Creator/creature distinction, downplay Scriptural language for the Trinity, openly disdain hundreds of years of reflection on the issue, talk about femininity within the interstitial spaces between the persons of the Trinity, start suggesting humans belong within it, and, on top of that, suggest we should “ignore the dancers” we were talking about in the first place. (Now, I admit I haven’t read the book, but Sanders has provided direct quotes, and since he has sneezed more Trinitarian theology than I have read, I tend to take his word for it.) If that’s what’s going on, then at that point the problem isn’t the dance image, but this whole, relational, “flow” metaphysic that has started to do all sorts of heterodox things with the rest of our theology.

With these differences in view, I think it’s possible to say that the dance image itself, if used modestly, quickly, and as just that—an image, not a model—is still kosher. I do think it’s good to be careful with these things, though. If you’re preaching, we need to connect to our people, and speak to them about the dynamic, living God. But we also need to remember that the God who is Father, Son, and Spirit has given us the best image of himself in his works in history as the Son comes from the Father in the power of the Spirit to live, die, rise again, and bring us new life in the gospel.

What God has shown and said about himself needs to be our touchstone for everything we eventually say about him. Use the image as and only if you can reinforce something revealed, but be careful you don’t build an entire world around it.

Theology and Idolatry

And this brings me to a final point I want to make. It came up over the summer when this whole Trinity debate happened as well. Some people were shocked yesterday that someone would come out so forcefully to debate about the Trinity (also, there was probably a difference in interpretation of Sanders’ tone).

Still, I think there’s this thought in broader Evangelicalism, both conservative and progressive, that beyond the mere affirmation of it, it’s super esoteric, difficult, and not the sort of thing to get crazy about, because if you do, you’re probably just an academic protecting your turf, or someone who just likes being right for the sake of being right.The order and nature of the persons, the single being of God, and so forth–that’s no reason to write off a person’s work is it?

I have to admit that, in the abstract, there’s part of me that sympathizes.

But this has not been the attitude of the church for most of its history. What’s more, the Bible contains very strong language about idolatry. In Exodus 20, the first commandment is to not worship other gods, while the second is to avoid making up images of God out of your own head. Don’t picture God as he hasn’t pictured himself. Because when we do, we inevitably get it wrong, and start to shrink God down to our size, distort him, and remold him in our image. All throughout the Scriptures the warnings against falsely worshipping him resound, especially in the prophets. It’s not a minor theme.

That matters because, (a) God is holy and majestic and glorious and we shouldn’t distort that, but also because (b) God wants us to know him, relate to him, love him, and receive love from him in truth. And wrong, distorted, heretical thoughts about him hurts that. Eugene Peterson says “a lie about God is a lie about life.” This is not about logic-chopping but about worshiping God in Spirit and in truth (John 4). God gives himself to be known and loved by us, but not in whichever way we want or find congenial, or fires our creativity. He wants to be loved as he is. If anybody is going to accommodate God to our knowledge, it is God himself.

Listen, I get that the Trinity is hard to think and write about. I have struggled to get my own trinitarian theology straight for so long. And if you’re struggling with it, that’s fine. Especially if you’re someone in the pew who is not ordained, or going around teaching people about it.  Or maybe writing entire books on it.

But if people do go writing entire books on it, teaching on it with authority, and then if they get it severely wrong in a way that threatens to mislead many, many people, this seems like the kind of thing it seems worth having a go around about.

Soli Deo Gloria

On Trinitarian Controversy: Why It’s Not Always Terrible and How to Go About It


I think I see Carl Trueman over there in the yellow.

If you’ve been following the theology blogosphere in Reformed circles over the last week or so, you’ll know there’s been a bit of a dust-up over the doctrine of the Holy Trinity. Multiple posts from a number of parties, both insiders as well as interested outsiders, have weighed in and things don’t seem to be slowing down.

Things are getting downright 4th Century out there.

Briefly, the controversy is over a piece of teaching that’s been labeled “Eternal Functional Subordinationism.” Essentially, its advocates hold that much as we see the Son submitting to the Father in his historical, incarnate work as the Godman, it is appropriate to speak of the Son submitting, subordinating himself to, or obeying his Father in the eternal being of God. For this, they usually appeal to any number of texts in the Gospels and especially 1 Cor 11:3.

Now, some who advocate this position have done so while simultaneously rejecting the historic doctrine of the Eternal Generation of the Son. Others (more modestly) see it as a constructive, admissible development of that same doctrine. (As a side-note, I think that distinction is important).

Its critics have charged multiple things: first, it’s not Biblical; second, it’s not consistent with historic, Nicene Orthodoxy; third, it threatens the honor the Son, introducing hierarchy in the Trinity; fourth, it does goofy things to the doctrine of God’s will, the persons, and must slide into a form of social trinitarianism. Obviously, these charges apply more or less to more or less radical versions of the doctrine.

My point here is not to weigh in substantially on the various, complex issues involved. Actual theologians on both sides are doing that forcefully and clearly enough. (Though, for the record, I’m not an EFS guy and I’m very adamant about Eternal Generation. While some advocates are better than others, about the furthest I think I’m comfortable going down these lines currently is to speak of the filiality [sonliness] of the eternally-generated Son involving a proper secondariness, which works itself out in history in his faithful obedience.)

No, what I really want to do is put in a quick, good word for this sort of argument happening publicly around this issue.

On the Good of Trinitiarian Controversy

As this thing has started to kick off, there has been an understandable amount of hand-wringing. For one thing, some of the initial volleys seem to have been made with less than moderate care for language. Second, the doctrine has been taught by well-respected Evangelical theologians for some time, and academic arguments around it have been around for a while, so the outburst online seems to have taken some off-guard.

More generally, though, I’ve seen some confusion as to why all this sort of thing even matters. Isn’t the Trinity an incomprehensible mystery anyways? And isn’t all this so much logic-chopping, trying to fit God in a tight little box, instead of simply worshiping him? What does this sort of thing do for our communion with God, anyways? All it seems to do is stir up and bolster fleshly passion under the guise of questing for spiritual truth.

It’s true that sometimes these theological arguments can turn into so much fleshly posturing. There is such a thing known as “theological odium” that can be stirred up. But I don’t think that needs to be the whole of it.

Instead, I would suggest that these kinds of questions often assume an anti-intellectualist pragmatism that is all-too-common in popular, American Evangelicalism. Second, they also assume a kind of skepticism about God’s self-revelation that initially sounds like a healthy humility before the mysteries of God, but which I would suggest can be hiding a theological laziness that wants to excuse itself from listening carefully and attentively to the divine address of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in Scripture. Such intellectual lethargy is directly contrary to the Father’s desire for worshipers who will worship him in Spirit and in Truth (John 4:24).

Roman Catholic theologian Matthew Levering nicely suggests for us why this requires that we delve into the technicalities of Trinitarian theology:

Most Christians contemplate God liturgically and through personal prayer and study, rather than also by developing the intellectual habits proper to speculative theology. Nonetheless, attempts to speak about God (not merely to fellow theologians, but also and perhaps especially to persons in the pews) require some understanding of “technical” issues. Anyone who has ever heard a sermon on the Trinity – Catholics will attest to the painfully awkward experience that is “Trinity Sunday” – will admit that talk about the three Persons quickly becomes horribly thin unless the preacher has some metaphysical understanding (without denying the unfathomable mystery) of how the Persons are perfectly one and yet distinct. Simply put, no one in the pews wishes to hear about three gods. There is an expectation, rooted in Christian faith and the practices of faith, that the mystery must possess some intelligibility, that scriptural and metaphysical modes of reflection cannot ultimately be opposed. There must be some way of distinguishing the three Persons from the multiple gods of polytheism, beyond simply asserting that this is “not polytheism” and that the three are “one God,” whatever that might mean.

Scripture and Metaphysics: Aquinas and the Renewal of Trinitarian Theology, pg. 6

In this light, I want to suggest three hoped-for outcomes for this theological dust-up about the Trinity.

1. Theological Study. First, my hope (and one that I think I have already begun to witness), is that—however it began—this sort of controversy would provoke a greater interest in studying reality of our Triune God among the teachers and preachers of the Evangelical Church. I think that’s already been increasing—there are any number of top-flight Trinitarian theologians in the Evangelical academy. Heck, the Trinity is the thematic topic for ETS 2016.

All the same, what is still needed is a sense among the pastorate that Trinitarian theology is not just something you learn in seminary in your Systematics 101 course and then dust off from time to time. It’s the bread and butter of what you do. Pastors, you are not primarily organizers, CEOs, psychologists, or event-coordinators—you are the public theologians of the respective congregations you’ve been called to.

2. Theological Preaching. Second, it’s fine to have pastors who can parse the processions of Son and Spirit with the pros, but it doesn’t do much good if none of this is making it past the pulpit into the pews. What I mean is that theological study becomes intellectual esoterica if doesn’t bleed into our regular proclamation of the Gospel as the good news of the Father sending the Son in the power of the Spirit to reclaim his creation, or, of the sanctifying Spirit who we receive by faith in Christ, who then conforms us to the image of the Son to the glory of God the Father. And so on and so forth.

Basically, when you scan over Romans 8, or Ephesians 1, or the Gospel of John, or pretty much any text in the New Testament (and the Old…), you should regularly be tripping over implications and applications. And our sermons should be reflecting that. In that sense, every Sunday is Trinity Sunday.

3. Focus on the Great Things of the Gospel. Third—and this is something of a corollary of the other two—I hope it turns our attention, at least for a short time, from the regular sorts of trivialities, gimmicks, and ten-second controversies about this or that tweet, towards our God and the great things of the Gospel.

In other words, I hope all this online warfare points us toward deeper reflection that leads to offline worship and wonder at the God who exists marvelously, ineffably, transcendently, and resplendently as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. There is something centering, something reorienting and sanctifying about having our meditations, our energies and passions, direction towards the ultimate reality at the center of all things.

On the Good Conduct of Trinitarian Controversy

I had intended to wrap things up here, but instead, I thought I’d also offer a few words, not only the good of Trinitarian controversy, but also on the “good conduct” of such controversies. Since I am not always great this myself, I picked up John Webster’s little essay, “Theology and the Peace of the Church” in The Domain of the Word.

Towards the end of the essay, Webster asks:

What, finally, of the conduct of theological controversy in the peaceful kingdom of Christ? Just as the church does not know after the fashion of the world, so the church does not dispute after the fashion of the world from whose eyes are hidden the things that make for peace (Lk. 19.42). Why the difference? Because the church does know what makes for peace.

And so he offers five principles for theological controversy within the church:

1. “First, and most generally, theological controversy must be an exercise within the communio sanctorum .” Essentially, in Christ, we are sanctified and so our speech and motives reflect that reality, especially as we recall that “the end of controversy is the furtherance of communion, not its erosion.” It is not simply to win, to prove wrong, or score points—the goal is the health of Christ’s church.

2. “Second, theological controversy must be undertaken in a way which displays and magnifies the truth of the gospel whose author and content is peace.” More simply, remember that you’re arguing about and towards a reality outside yourselves—the Triune God of peace. This should not become a mere contest of personalities, but should be aimed at right worship.

3. “Third, theological controversy must not allow divergence of opinion to become divergence of will otherwise it will fail as an exercise of charity.” Of course, there are differences so large that sometimes the controversy is no longer within but about the church, but nonetheless, we must keep in mind that we are likely striving over a common object of love and that this love does unite us.

4. “Fourth, theological controversy must have an eye to the catholicity of the object of Christian faith and confession, an object which exceeds any specification of it which we may make.” Essentially, God is infinite. And so while this doesn’t mean that we can’t get specific, and that he doesn’t have a determinate nature, we should still be careful to resist the notion that we can’t continue to learn and grow in our knowledge of him even from our opponents.

5. “Fifth, most of all, theological controversy must be undertaken with tranquil confidence that, with the illuminating power of the Spirit, Jesus Christ will instruct and unify the church through Holy Scripture.” Webster’s not advocating a bare Biblicism here, but warning against the kind of skeptical, naturalistic, pragmatism that leads us to throw our hands up in controversies of this sort. Jesus has taught his church through Scripture by the Spirit and he will continue to do so.

With principles like these in mind, then, I don’t think we should be dismayed if such controversies continue. Instead, let us pray that we grow deeper in our knowledge and love of our God who is blessedly Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Soli Deo Gloria

Three Mistakes to Avoid in Good Friday Preaching

Preaching “Christ and him crucified” is core to the job description of any minister of the Christian gospel (1 Corinthians 2:2).  Good Friday drives this home more than any other day in the church calendar. On that day, the preacher’s task is to proclaim and explain why the bloody spectacle of the Son of God murdered upon Golgotha is “good news.” How is this moral rupture the center of God’s great act of atonement–of God reconciling the world to himself (2 Corinthians 5:19)?
Christ’s cross itself has always provoked hostility and scorn whether among pagan Greeks or Jews and is, in many ways, no easier to stomach now than it was then; it still confronts us with our sins and bids the old Adam to come, submit to death, so that the New Adam may rise to new life. But that’s not the only difficulty involved.
The fact of the matter is that many have rightly recoiled at some of the defective ways pastors have preached the cross–especially its penal and substitutionary dimensions–in the past. When we make mistakes in this area, it’s easy to give people a distorted and destructive view of both God and the gospel. This is tragic. Both because we deprive people of the beauty of the cross, but also because, as C.S. Lewis points out, the more powerful and good something is, the more destructive it can be if it goes wrong. Much as a doctor cannot be careless in wielding a life-saving scalpel, so preachers cannot treat the preaching of the cross lightly or carelessly lest we bring death instead of life.
While there are a number of ways preaching the cross can go wrong, here are three key mistakes to avoid in your preaching of the cross this Good Friday.
You can read the rest of the article over at Reformation21.
Soli Deo Gloria


The Peace of the Triune God

peaceI’ve written about this before, or rather I’ve quoted others writing about it, but time and again we must be reminded that all of God’s good gifts, especially those we receive in redemption, have a trinitarian shape to them. They come to us from the Father, through the Son, in the Spirit. Whether it be justification, adoption, or sanctification, the whole Trinity is displayed to be at work in the New Testament witness. Thomas Watson makes this point again with respect to the believer’s gift of peace, by asking,”Whence comes this Peace?”

His answer?:

It has the whole Trinity for its author. God the Father is ‘the God of peace.’ (I Thess 5:53.) God the Son is the ‘Prince of peace.’ (Isa 9:9.) Peace is said to be the ‘fruit of the Spirit.’ (Gal 5:52.)

(1.) God the Father is the God of peace. As he is the God of order, so he is the God of peace. (I Cor 14:43), and (Phil 4:4.) This was the form of the priest’s blessing upon the people. ‘The Lord give thee peace.’ (Numb 6:66.)

(2.) God the Son is the purchaser of peace. He made peace by his blood. ‘Having made peace by the blood of his cross.’ (Col 1:10.) The atonement Aaron made for the people, when he entered into the holy of holies, with blood, was a type of Christ our high priest, who by his sacrifice pacified his angry Father, and made atonement for us. Christ purchased our peace upon hard terms; for his soul was in an agony, while he was travailing to bring forth peace to the world.

(3.) Peace is a fruit of the Spirit. He seals up peace to the conscience. The Spirit clears up the work of grace in the heart, from whence arises peace. There was a well of water near Hagar, but she did not see it, therefore she wept. A Christian has grace, but does not see it, therefore he weeps. Now the Spirit discovers this well of water, it enables conscience to witness to a man that has the real work of grace, and so peace flows into the soul. Thus you see whence this peace comes – the Father decrees it, the Son purchases it, the Holy Ghost applies it.

I don’t care how many times I see that same basic structure, it still thrills me to see the workings of our Triune God traced out in the revelation of Scripture. It is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit who is the source, sum, and goal of our peace.

To understand how God can be ou peace, though, we must push further and recognize that God himself is peace. I’ve shared this Webster quote before, but I can’t pass up sharing it again:

The peace of God — the peace which God himself is— passes all understanding; ‘neither we nor the angels can understand as God, the peace which God himself enjoys’ (Augustine, City of God, XXII.29). This peace of God’s own self may be considered under the aspects of harmony and repose. First, with respect to harmony; the outer acts of the Holy Trinity are indivisible, the work of the undivided divine essence in its threefold personal modification. By appropriation, specific works may be particularly or eminently assigned to one divine person (as redemption to the Son or sanctification to the Spirit). But each person participates in all, for each shares in the undivided dvine essence, and each work is to be attributed absolutely to that one divine essence. The outer works of the Trinity are, then, harmonious — not mere conjoint or cooperative or composite action, but action which is inseparable and coinherent, and so, in a deep sense, peaceful. This harmony in the missions of the three-in-one is grounded in and gives expression to to the infinite peace which God is. There is no disorder, disruption or contradiction in the works of the Father, Son, and Spirit in the making and perfecting of the world. And so, there is in God’s inner life nothing of divergence or discord, but infinite unity and therefore peace beyond measure.

Second, to this harmony is to be added the element of repose. The outer works of God are effortlessly accomplished, without strain or agitation, without interval between willing and effecting. God rests in his work. This rest corresponds to the inner repose of God in filiation and spiriation, there is no malign diversity, no coming together out of a condition of separation, no overcoming of division or conflict, but always an already-achieved perfection of peaceful life. God’s inner peace is the peace of his triune simplicity.

This inner divine peace is the principle of creaturely peace, that upon which all other peace is founded and by which it is preserved. This is so, however, only because divine peace is in itself complete and fully satisfied. In the repleteness of his life as Father, Son, and Spirit, God is beyond need or desire. His peace is neither enhanced by created peace nor diminished by its absence…it is the harmony and repose which, because it needs nothing, is capable of pure charity, giving life and righteous order in the works of creation and providence.

The Domain of the Word: Scripture and Theological Reason, pp. 133-135

Well, that’s enough to praise him for today. May God’s peace be with you.

Soli Deo Gloria

Mere Fidelity: “On Creeping Perichoresis”

Mere FidelityIf you follow any discussions about the Trinity nowadays, you’re likely to hear the idea of “perichoresis”, or the mutual indwelling of the Father, Son, and Spirit. It’s long been a piece of trinitarian theology. But does it and should it have applications elsewhere in our theology? Like our doctrine of humanity, or our view of creation? That’s the issue we take up this week on Mere Fidelity as we interact with this article by Peter Leithart.

Hope you enjoy the show.

Also, you may find this article by Karen Kilby helpful, as well.

Soli Deo Gloria

You Can’t Sideline the Trinity (Or, Realize that Every Sunday is Trinity Sunday)

trinityIn closing his tremendous section in the Reformed Dogmatics Volume 2: God and Creation on the dogma of the Trinity–God’s being one being, yet three persons–Bavinck gives a number of arguments for importance of the Trinity. That God is Father, Son, and Spirit gives us the truth of the fact that God is a living God without pulling us into the various errors of pantheism, monism, and deism (p. 331). He is the one who is Three whose internal life is truly lively with the generation of the Son of the Father and the procession of the Spirit from them both. What’s more, out of this fullness  of eternal life consisting in mutual glorification, blessedness, is the ground for a doctrine of creation that, again, doesn’t fall into those various errors. Instead, because God is triune, out of the movement and perfection of his own inner life he can make a world that is not himself, upon which he is not dependent or in needy, yet can truly be an object of his love and self-communication (p. 332-333).

Beyond these meta-theological questions, though, Bavinck says that this doctrine is of “incalculable importance” for the Christian religion–the actual lived, practice of knowing and worshipping the True and Living God. Bavinck states:

The entire Christian belief system, all of special revelation, stands or falls with the confession of God’s Trinity. It is the core of the Christian faith, the root of all its dogmas, the basic content of the new covenant. It was this religious Christian interest, accordingly, that sparked the development of the church’s doctrine of the Trinity.

This isn’t just a matter of philosophic speculation, or having our doctrinal ducks in a row so that our early church bishops could have something to fight about and feel important. No, deep down, every Christian who properly owns the name knows that something more fundamental, more primary, valuable than a tidy metaphysical set-up is at stake; salvation, the history of redemption itself, hangs in the balance:

This is so strongly felt that all who value being called a Christian recognize and believe in a kind of Trinity. The profoundest question implicit in every Christian creed and system of theology is how God can be both one and yet three. Christian truth in all its parts comes into its own to a lesser or greater extent depending on how that question is answered. In the doctrine of the Trinity we feel the heartbeat of God’s entire revelation for the redemption of humanity. Though foreshadowed in the Old Testament, it only comes to light fully in Christ. Religion can be satisfied with nothing less than God himself. Now in Christ God himself comes out to us, and in the Holy Spirit he communicates himself to us. The work of re-creation is trinitarian through and through. From God, through God, and in God are all things. Re-creation is one divine work from beginning to end, yet it can be described in terms of three agents: it is fully accomplished by the love of the Father, the grace of the Son, and the communion of the Holy Spirit.

Not only does the question of the Trinity matter for the broader history of redemption, but God being Father, Son, and Holy Spirit matters at a personal level too. It is something that a Christian ought to feel in their own “flesh and bones”, so to speak. The Trinity is essential to the life of faith:

A Christian’s faith life, accordingly, points back to three generative principles. “We know all these things,” says article 9 of the Belgic Confession, “from the testimonies of holy Scripture, as well as from the operations of the persons, especially from those we feel within ourselves.” We know ourselves to be children of the Father, redeemed by the Son, and in communion with both through the Holy Spirit. Every blessing, both spiritual and material, comes to us from the triune God. In that name we are baptized; that name sums up our confession; that name is the source of all the blessings that come down to us; to that name we will forever bring thanksgiving and honor; in that name we find rest for our souls and peace for our conscience. Christians have a God above them, before them, and within them. Our salvation, both in this life and in the life to come, is bound up with the doctrine of the Trinity; yet we grant that we cannot determine the measure of knowledge—also of this mystery—needed for a true and sincere faith.

I’m writing this post today because, in the broader church calendar, this is “Trinity Sunday”, a Sunday traditionally set apart for preaching on, teaching about, and honoring God as Trinity. And there is wisdom setting aside a Sunday to explicitly do so. The one caution I would throw up is to say is this: take care that we don’t think the doctrine of the Trinity is one we can save for one Sunday a year, to reflect on. It’s not to be sidelined, or put in the corner again until next year, as we preach on the “main things” of the gospel or the Christian life.

Why? Because in all of Christianity, in the gospel, we have to do with God–restoring right relationship with him, living before him, being transformed into his Image. But what we must remember is that there is no other God than He who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In other words, today might be Trinity Sunday, but every Sunday we have to do with the things of the gospel, we have to do with the things of the Trinity.

Soli Deo Gloria