The Rev. Dayle Casey
The Chapel of Our Saviour
Colorado Springs, Colorado
June 3, 2007

Trinity Sunday – C
Isaiah 6:1-8
Revelation 4:1-11
John 16:5-15

In Jesus of Nazareth God became flesh and lived among us, and we come to know God by knowing Jesus, through the Scriptures and through the Spirit, the Advocate, whom Jesus promised to send to guide us. In some meaningful way, then, when we look at Jesus of Nazareth and receive the Holy Spirit we see as much of God as we ever hope to see in this life. “We believe,” in other words, ”in one God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

This is what the Church teaches. But does it make sense? Does it make any sense at all to say that God is Father, but that the Son as we know him in Jesus is also God, and the Spirit is God as well?

Well, it all depends. It all depends upon the kind of God we believe in.

What kind of God do we believe in? This is a theological question, and it calls for a serious theological response, so again this year I consulted both the Scriptures and Wes Seeliger’s old, reliable theology textbook entitled Western Theology.

The Bible clearly affirms that in the beginning, God. And in the beginning God brought the world and life into existence through his Word and his Spirit, his breath. “The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”

But from that time on there has been a disagreement about what God himself is like. Ever since Adam and Eve, says Seeliger, there have been two kinds of people with two different views of life and God. There are those who understand God as the “First Cause” of everything that exists, but who see this “First Cause” as an impersonal “Supreme Being” who remains aloof from his Creation. This “Supreme Being” creates the man and the woman, lays down the laws of the universe, and that’s that. “You’re on your own from now on,” this “Supreme Being” says. “Obey, or else!” it adds. And people who understand God this way tend to see life, and even God himself, as a possession to be carefully protected and guarded. These people, says Seeliger, are Settlers.

Others see life as a fantastic adventure, as a wild, explosive gift to be experienced and shared, not only with each other, but also with God. These people are Pioneers. And, of course, the two views of life and God have two different theologies, Settler Theology and Pioneer Theology, because their understanding of God himself is different.

Settler Theology, says Seeliger, is an attempt to answer all the questions, to get the rules right, and then to settle in and keep the settlement in order.

In Settler Theology, the Church is the COURTHOUSE. The old building stands in the middle of the town square. Its windows are small, which makes it easy to defend, but which also means that little light gets in. Its solid oak doors are heavy and are kept locked except during business hours. And the hands on the courthouse clock are frozen in place by years of neglect and rust, which gives the impression that time has stopped and that nothing ever changes. Inside the courthouse, records are kept, taxes are collected, and trials are held for the bad guys.

Settler City is run from the courthouse. Its oldest book, The Almanac, tells of the town’s origins, but it’s not consulted much because the folks believe it’s so valuable that they keep it locked in the vault most of the time. And the town fathers are a little afraid of the The Almanac anyway, because many of its pages are filled with stories that remind the Settlers of pioneer days before folks became sophisticated and cultured and settled down, stories filled with wild tales of adventure that might upset the harmony of the town.

In Settler Theology, God is the MAYOR. He is the Honorable Alpha O. Mega, who has been in office forever and is a real power unto himself as he sits in his overstuffed chair on the top floor of the courthouse, dressed like a successful dude from back East and eating picante sauce made in New York.

Mr. Mega is something of a mystery to folks, however, because no one ever sees him. He keeps his blinds drawn in his office. But since there is order in town, who can deny that he’s there? He’s predictable and always on time, and he smokes expensive cigars, though in some denominational towns chewing gum replaces cigars.

Order, peace and quiet, and stability are the Mayor’s main concern, along with the town’s payroll, and that’s why the Mayor has a Sheriff he sends out to check on those strange, wild pioneers who still ride into town from time to time.

In Settler Theology Jesus is the SHERIFF. The Sheriff is not at all like the Mayor. He has soft blue eyes and a neatly trimmed beard that makes the women’s hearts flutter. His white hat is accented by gold handcuffs and a gold badge.

The Sheriff is sent by the Mayor to keep things orderly and tranquil in Settler City. The Sheriff is the salvation of settlers, because he enforces the rules and offers assurance that the Mayor is in his office on the top floor of the courthouse. And this is important to the settler, who keeps his money in the Bank of Settler City where the Sheriff protects it from the wild-eyed Pioneers when they come to town.

On Sundays, though, life is allowed to pick up a bit in Settler City. Each Sunday morning the rule against walking on the grass is suspended and there is an ice cream social on the courthouse lawn. The settlers eat fried chicken and sing folk songs and read a little from The Almanac about the old pioneering days.

Pioneer Theology, on the other hand, offers a different view of life and God. Pioneer Theology sees life as a kind of wild adventure, complete with Indians and saloon girls and the Spirit’s haunting call to the trail, a call to places yet to be seen and things still to be done.

In Pioneer Theology, the Church is not the courthouse, but the WAGON TRAIN. The Wagon Train is always on the move. No place is its home, and every place is its home. And it’s a sight to behold! Every type of wagon imaginable can be found in its endless line.

The Wagon Train bears all the marks of movement and life on the trail. It creaks, it is scarred by arrows, and it’s patched and worn and held together with bailing wire, but it moves and breathes with life. The covered wagon is where the pioneers eat and sleep and fight and love and die with their boots on, because dying with your boots on, they say, is what life’s all about, which is why the pioneers are more than a little unsettling to the settlers.

The Wagon Train is always where the action is. There are rivers to ford and wagons to pull out of the mud and the boredom of the plains to be overcome and the dangers of the wilderness to be met. The pioneers cherish the places they’ve been and seen and the things they’ve done, but they live with the expectation that the next place they come to will be even better.

In Pioneer Theology, God is the TRAIL BOSS. His name is Mr. J. Hova, and he is a rough and rugged guy, a real tough hombre, full of life. He chews tobacco and drinks his whiskey straight no matter what denominational town he might come to. And he eats picante sauce made in San Antonio.

Mr. Hova runs the train, no doubt about it. But he isn’t the least bit standoffish, and he certainly doesn’t sit in an office. He eats, sleeps, fights, and lives with his men. Their well-being is his main concern. Without Mr. Hova the Wagon Train wouldn’t move, because the pioneers would probably sleep in late and become fat and lazy.

So Mr. Hova is not above getting downright mean when the pioneers need it. If they get soft or start complaining, as they did one time about not having enough to eat on the trail, or if they start longing for the old homestead – POW! – Mr. Hova’s fist is his way of showing his concern. And so is his shoulder, which he uses when he gets down in the mud to help push a wagon back onto the trail. Mr. Hova always rolls up his sleeve and pitches in.

So the Trail Boss isn’t all vinegar. He has his tender side as well. Most importantly, he never gives up on the pioneers. He likes and cares for all people, settlers and pioneers alike. And he’s gentle with the wounded and has a tremendous sense of humor.

In Pioneer Theology Jesus is the SCOUT. His name is Josh, and he rides ahead on his horse Advent to find out which way the pioneers should go. Some say it’s just a legend, but others claim that Josh once picked up the back end of a wagon all by himself.

By watching Josh the pioneers learn what pioneering is all about, because he’s very much like Mr. Hova, the way he rolls up his sleeves and pitches in and the way he cares about whether the Wagon Train gets through on the trail. In fact, he could easily be taken for Mr. Hova himself, except that his nose is bigger and he drinks beer instead of whiskey.

The pioneers love and admire Josh. He is not just a scout. He is THE Scout. In fact, the pioneers talk about Josh as if “Scout” were his last name. Sometimes they just holler “Scout!” when they need Josh.

But even to the pioneers there’s something a bit disturbing about Josh, because there’s a little bit of settler hidden inside even the bravest pioneer and because Josh always seems to have his eye fixed on the most distant horizon. A little voice seems to speak to every pioneer now and then, whispering, “Turn back. It ain’t worth it out on the trail. You’re tired and scared. Better fed than dead!” But about that time, it seems, Josh comes along with a word of concern or encouragement, which is another way he’s like Mr. Hova, and the pioneer is reminded of how Josh has always pulled them through in the past, so they set out again with renewed strength.

If you believe in God as Mayor, if you believe in an aloof god, in a god that keeps to itself, a god that exists on the top floor of the universe’s courthouse and that never shows its face, if you believe in a god that somehow brought the world into being and that is all-powerful and all-knowing but that’s as aloof as a sphinx, if your idea of god is of an impersonal higher power, an “it,” a kind of cosmic dynamite that can make volcanoes and tornadoes but that you can’t talk to or love or hate or desire or argue with or want to be like, then of course it doesn’t make any sense to say that you can come to know that god by knowing Jesus of Nazareth...

...because Jesus was a man. Jesus was not an “it.” Jesus was not a distant impersonal power. Jesus was born here on earth, not as a power, but as a person. And Jesus, when he lived, didn’t float high above mundane reality. Jesus wept at the death of friends; he showed an interest in what those around him were doing; he was, according to some, a real party-goer, an enjoyer of good times and fine wine, and maybe of cheap wine as well; and he struggled and suffered and argued and loved and died here on earth.

Jesus, in other words, was very much like the God we meet in the Hebrew Scriptures – a God who has emotions and concerns, a God who can change his mind, a God who cares enough to get angry when there is injustice and who steps into time and acts.

Friends, the Bible is Pioneer Theology from Genesis to Revelation. God is “Holy, Holy, Holy,” as the prophet Isaiah insists. But it is this same prophet who also says that “the Lord has bared his holy arm in the sight of the nations.” Which, as N. T. Wright says, is just a fancy Bible way of saying that God “got so concerned about us that he rolled up his sleeves and got to work for us.”

That’s the kind of God Israel worshiped, the kind of God Israel spent time on the trail with back in the wilderness, and the kind of God Israel expected by the time Jesus was born.

Back in the Book of Numbers (about 3,200 years ago), when Moses and the people of Israel were wondering whether they should push ahead to Canaan, spies were sent out to reconnoiter across the Jordan, and when they returned they brought conflicting reports about the Promised Land. One group, the majority of the spies, confirmed that Canaan did indeed flow with milk and honey, but said that the land was too much for the people to hope for, that it was inhabited by ferocious, man-eating giants. But two of the spies, Caleb and Joshua, insisted that with the Trail Boss’s help, they could enter and inherit it.

When the Israelites heard the negative report of the majority, however, they ignored the positive report of Caleb and Joshua and put up a mighty wail: “We should never have left Egypt! It ain’t worth it out here on the trail. We liked it better in slavery. Better fed than dead!” And at this the Lord said, “How much longer will this people set me at naught?” Which William Willimon says is just a fancy Bible way of saying that sometimes God gets really mad. And God said that he had had enough of that sorry people, that he was sorry he ever brought them out of slavery, and that he was going to kill all of them! “I will strike them down with a plague and destroy them,” said God.

“But Moses stepped in and said, ‘Lord, you don’t want to do that.’ ‘And why not?’ asked God. ‘I’m God, and I can do what I please with the people I created!’

“‘Well, for one thing,’ said Moses, ‘it would make you look like a fool to all the Egyptians. They will hear about it, and they will tip off all of these Canaanite pagans in the Promised Land, and you’ll look like a fool, having gone to all this trouble to free Israel only to kill Israel. Aren’t you the God who said your name was mercy and long suffering? Now’s your chance, Lord.’

So “God listened to Moses and said, ‘All right, all right, Moses, I won’t kill everybody. But I’m going to kill those men who brought back that feckless, timid report. They can rot here in the wilderness for all I care.’

“And Moses said, ‘You’re God.’”

And Willimon says that “you really have to love a God like that: immature, emotionally unbalanced, a person like us, large, prickly, loving an argument, hoping to be persuaded, able to change his mind.”

So here’s the theological question for Trinity Sunday: What if there were someone walking the earth as a man who resembled this God? If this God, the one like the Trail Boss arguing with Moses back there on the road to Canaan, became human, would we talk so much of the distance and uninvolvement of God? Would we believe in the dispassionate disengagement of a divine Mayor on the top floor of the universe’s courthouse? If this God became a human being, wouldn’t he look a lot like Jesus, a lot like the Scout who resembles the Trail Boss, both of them with their sleeves rolled up, pushing the wagons out of the mud? Wouldn’t he look like about as much of God as we ever hope to see in this life?

The Holy Trinity is not the answer to a question on some kind of test. The Holy Trinity is not a God you can explain, anymore that you can explain the family you live with and love. The Holy Trinity, like your family, is a truth you know because you experience and live with him, the way you experience and live with others you live with and love.

So here’s the theological response of the Church to this theological question (and remember, it’s a response, not an answer): We believe that the warm, moist, fecund breath of God who, in the beginning, breathed and loved the world into existence; and the Trail Boss who argued with Moses along the trail in the wilderness and who bared his holy arm to prod the people out of the mud toward freedom and life in the Promised Land; and the awesome “Holy, Holy, Holy” One who called both Moses and Isaiah to lead the people; and the Scout who rolled up his sleeves in Jerusalem to show us, on the Cross, the way to freedom and to the power of sacrificial love; and the warm breath of the presence of God who continues to walk beside our wagons prodding us toward freedom and love and life today – we believe that all these are parts of the same long story of the repeated, never-ending love and resourcefulness and determination of God to save his people.

The name of this divine love and resourcefulness and determination is God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.