I think that those difficult memories are why I am so fond of Rublev’s famous icon of the Trinity. Rublev doesn’t paint the Trinity in the usual way. His is no portrait of a stately, white-bearded Father, elegant bare-chested Son, and chubby white Spirit-dove.
His is neither an attempt to portray a three-in-one-god,
nor make the Spirit female,
nor include the Virgin Mary in the
mix!
Rublev’s icon simply shows us three angelic figures sitting at a table.[1]
Called The Visitation of Abraham, this icon is based on the story from Genesis of God’s appearance as three messengers to Abraham and Sarah by the Oaks of Mamre. Abraham and Sarah welcome the strangers with open arms, bathing their feet and preparing a feast for them. As the men leave, they promise the aging couple that Sarah will soon give birth to a son. Interpreting the Old Testament allegorically, medieval Christians saw these three divine messengers as a manifestation of the Trinity.
The Russian icon-writer Rublev paints them as three figures with gender-neutral robes and hair-styles, seated around a table that holds a golden chalice. The central figure, who represents Christ, is holding his hand over the chalice in blessing, as the other two look on. What is most interesting about this icon is that there is both an openness and a swirling movement to it. Christ is neither looking down nor out at the viewer. Instead, he cocks his head clearly toward the figure to his right. That figure nods his head across the table to the other figure on his right, who, in turn, inclines his head back toward Christ. Even the wings and background objects bend as if caught in a gently turning, circular breeze.
The figures aren’t huddled around the table like the people in my old church fellowship hall, though. They aren’t focused only on their satisfying and already-established relationship. There is a clear break in the circle, a clear empty seat at the table right at the front of the icon, right across from Christ. Anyone who looks at this icon, automatically becomes the fourth person at the Table and is caught up in the circular fellowship of the other Three. This Trinity excludes no one from its conversation; as our whole congregation looks at this icon at once, we are all included at God’s Table.
When it comes to grasping the Trinity, we human beings are a lot like poor Nicodemus in today’s Gospel lesson: Standing there in the dark, trying to understand concepts that make no sense, yet wanting with all of our heart, mind, and soul to lay claim to the new life of Love that Jesus is offering us. We look at Jesus on the Cross; we look at God pouring Godself out in Creation; we feel the Holy Spirit bringing joy and transformation; we watch Jesus embrace sinners; we see miraculous healing; we taste forgiveness. We want to join them in these things. But how do we put it all together in our minds?
Left to our own devices, we tend to scoot our chair up close to Jesus, turning our backs to the world and gazing only into our Savior’s understanding face, as we try to imitate his every gesture. Or we dive only into the mystery of the Father, seeking rest and security in the darkness of God’s “eternal changelessness.” Or we abandon ourselves to the movement of the Spirit within ourselves, totally shutting our eyes to the equally powerful dance of suffering that is going on in the world outside. Or we give up all together on a Being who seems to watch the world ineffectually “from a distance,” and we go sit at a table by ourselves, busying ourselves with our human lives and daring God to join us.
The Doctrine of the Trinity reminds us that God is neither a changeless, distant object that we can view from across the safe emptiness of space, nor is God three friends before whom we can pull up a chair and visit individually according to our needs. If God is Love, then God must be movement, constant reaching out for the Other, constant exchange, constant and active relationship. Take a look at a few other images of the Trinity that artists have created for us, and perhaps the images can help us more than words can:
Look at the divine desire expressed by the Father in William Blake’s image, brooded over by the longing love of the Spirit.
Look at the energy that pulses through Hildegard of Bingen’s Trinity. The Word made flesh at the center, hands outstretched in vulnerability. The silver outer circle of the Father and the inner gold circle of the Spirit’s Fire, dancing around the Word with lines that suggest eternal movement.
Look at Marlene Scholz’s more recent Trinity, full of balanced downward and upward movement, surrounded with the whirl of the unknown.
In the 65th chapter of Isaiah, God cries out, “I was ready to be sought out by those who did not ask, to be found by those who did not seek me. I said, ‘Here I am, here I am,’ to a people that did not call on my name.” Can you imagine yourself peeking through the doors of heaven to see the Trinity sitting at the Table in the Great Celestial Fellowship Hall, Christ with his hand raised in blessing over a cup of his own blood, whispering a loving “here I am,” to the Father? Can you imagine the Father whispering, “Here I am” to the Spirit, who whispers, “here I am” back to the Son, round and round? For eternity, they wait and wait for us each to join them at the Table; they wait for us to share their cup; they wait for us to cry out in response to their longing, like the prophet Isaiah: “Here I am, send me!” They wait in love for us to join them, all so that their Love can flow out through us into the lonely spaces of our world.
[1] My description and analysis of this icon are based on Rowan Williams’ wonderful reflections in The Dwelling of the Light: Praying with Icons of Christ (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2003), 45-63. Other images of the Trinity are discussed in Sarah Coakley’s book, God, Sexuality, and the Self: An Essay ‘on the Trinity’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013.)
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