I have been considering the various roles within the Trinity as of late. A class I was taking in school, which sadly I have come to realize I will be unable to complete successfully at this moment, presented to me an encouragement to look at each part separately.  I am someone who can be okay with accepting something without fully understanding all of the parts that make up the whole. I do not need to know what makes my Jeep go, I just want to know that the magic will happen when I turn the key and it will take me from place to place (not that I expect the Trinity to serve me the same way!!). When it comes to faith, I have always been a believer. I have not always had the head knowledge that has come from discipline since accepting the title ‘Christian’ but I was always aware that there was something bigger than myself that was watching over me, loving me. The idea of God having three parts was fine with me and I accepted it as I do the various characteristics within myself. I know I can have a silly side that can give way to a serious, down-to-business side; a girly, classy, dressed-up and polite side that can also swing a hammer, play in the dirt and ride a motorcycle. I can be tough and walk through hell with someone yet turn to tears during a Hallmark commercial. These might appear to have opposite characteristics, but all are present within me. Why can’t God have three components?

            Lately though, I have been seeking to look at the various aspects of God. I am aware that we all teach from the bias of our own views and understandings and I want to seek understanding as free as I can get from other’s biases. This is a difficult thing because I have found that the more I learn about different theologians and how much of the Christian religion has been decided upon during various meetings of church leaders the more I ponder how watered down our idea of God has gotten. I recognize that God still speaks into his children, especially those who are seeking the truth of who God is but I know we humans are a screwed up bunch of beings who commonly misunderstand what is being said. When I consider different roles of each part of the Trinity that I have learned over the years so many questions exist that I doubt will ever really be answered until I sit with the Almighty when I go Home in the end.  Today I thought I would consider what the Trinity looks like to me.  What follows is not ‘Biblical’. I do not suppose it to be ‘truth’. It is what I feel inside my being that I lean on from my own intuition and I am well aware that I cannot create truth!

            Although it is often taught that Jesus takes our prayers and commissions them to the Father on our behalf, I, personally, feel that I can just pray to my Papa. Although I see Papa as the encompassing of all three persons of the Trinity, I also see it as being the Father, which the Spirit and Son stem from.

When I feel the need to personify the Father I see him as an old man and I imagine meeting with him in the kitchen of an old house. It is not a house I have known here on earth, but if is old and familiar and carries a sense of home that I don’t currently know. The walls hold memories of generations of families sharing life together and remind me that I was loved before I was born. For although they came long before me and may have never met me, the ones did who built the house did so for me.

So often our image of wisdom connects with people who have lived a long time and have plenty of life behind them. Papa, the old man in my ‘kitchen’, does not take on any of the characteristics I can think of to connect him with any of my family. You see I never knew my father’s father; he died before my parents were married. My mother’s father passed away when I was nine and I was not very close to him while he was alive. I have few memories of him. My own father has never played a very big role in my life. He did not seem to have much interest in being a father and it has only been recently that he has appeared to have any interest in knowing who I am (something I am thankful for). I don’t know what it is to have a father in earthly terms. My personification of the Father stems, I am sure, from more of what I would desire to have in a father than what I have known.

            We sit in the sun-warmed kitchen of my imagined home and chat and laugh while eating toast with jam and fresh brewed coffee. The kitchen is old, but clean. The chairs have metal legs and plastic-covered seats and backs and match the table. Though they are fifty years old they are in incredible shape. The toaster is just as old but pops toast cooked to perfection, the dial not touched in decades. There is always a bowl of fruit on the counter and although I doubt I have ever seen anyone eat it there is an ever-present partially used jar of marmalade jam that has been recently purchased.

            Papa is always wearing a pair of slacks and a cardigan sweater. When he’s in the house he also wears a pair of slippers with grips on the bottom. His hair is, of course, grey and balding on top without any attempt at a comb-over and he wears a pair of unobtrusive wire-framed glasses. He is always fully-shaven. One could see that Papa was strong and worked with his hands. Although he appears to be thin there is still a strength to him and his health is never in question. He sits with one leg crossed over the other and is comfortable with the silence. Though he has much wisdom to offer he will listen as long as I need him to, allowing me to ramble on. I am one to let my words get away on me and can fill a room with chatter if someone were to offer the time. I know I have the freedom to in this kitchen but at the same time know I really don’t have to say a thing and he will already know everything there is to say.

            Sometimes we go for walks in my mind. We would head out, down the dirt road from the house. The light is always golden and the air always fresh and life giving. It is always the perfect temperature for walking. There is no sense of rush or direction, just a comfortable moseying of people happy to be in each other’s company. Every so often he will catch my hand when I need to be reminded that he will always have my back and offer me a place to return to no matter what. He often laughs with me, patting me on the back while he throws his head back in the joy of the moment. I know he will always be honest with me and offer me advice. He knows when I need to just walk together in silence but is also skilled at riding my stubbornness, catching the wake at the exact point I am willing to uncover my ears and hear his wisdom. Papa is a gentleman and will allow me to hide at times but loves me enough to be stern in his gentle, grandfatherly, not-to-be-missed way when needed. He will find me when I need to be held and stand close by and smile when I head back into the world to live my life for him. Although I can choose to head home to meet him in the kitchen, he does not live in the house or on the quiet dirt road and is instead with me always.

            Jesus lived in flesh and reminds me he know what it is to be human. Although he is build from the same cloth as Papa he is a younger version of him if you will. He is with me always and acts as a brother, a friend and a coach. He goes for runs with me, cheering me on. I take him for rides whenever I get in the Jeep or ride my bike. Jesus walks with me always and points out what I should pay attention to and not miss. He goes before me and seeks out the path I should follow, showing me what I need to look out for. He doesn’t lose his temper when I bypass his good advice nor does he belittle me when I condemn myself and suggest he can tell me, “I told you so.” He never does, though and instead forgives me and takes my hand, offering me the courage to forgive myself as well.

            When I can’t sleep I know he is sitting on the edge of my bed, holding my hand. He understands the broken places I still don’t inside of me and reminds me we are all broken and the pain will cease. For every tear I have cried he sat beside me crying a thousand more. In my seasons of darkness when I felt overcome by life he would quietly remain next to me as I begged him to leave me. So often we expect God to have human characteristics. He knows that when feeling unworthy of love we sometimes try to push others away to see if they are willing to fight for us; to see if they will give us the worth we can not find for ourselves at the moment. He does stay. Always. To him, I am always worthy even if I cannot understand why.

He reminds me of who I want to be and how I promised to live my life when I am acting out of my less-than ideal self. He nudges me when I lean on self-seeking temptations and sits with me in my misery when I am disappointed with myself. When I lack courage he becomes bigger to take on my fears. When I am weak he will take the reins offering the strength to continue. In my moments of selfishness when I deem to judge others as less than myself he reminds me that I have no right to attempt to usurp that role from the Father. He gently puts me back in my place alongside the rest of his children, reminding me he loves them, too.

Jesus was the embodiment of love and continues to play that role in my life. He shows me how to live my life in worship and guides me to the places he desires for me to live that out. I know he loves the Father and desires to share that love with me. We work together in serving the Father by loving and serving those around us. He teaches me how to love and walk alongside others, offering what strength I can for their journey.

The Spirit is a dancer. It is a mystical combination of emotion, beauty and color being carried on a breeze that binds me together with the Father and Son. It invites me to live within the combination of the Trinity. I breathe it in and allow it to move through me: healing my brokenness, revealing my truths and offering peace and calm when I am stressed and impatient. It whispers my name when I have lost focus and sends shivers through me when I connect with another in a moment of God’s truth.

The Spirit is a blanket when my heart breaks and reminds me it is Christ’s tears I am crying when the pain of the world breaks my heart. It stretches beyond myself to others, allowing us to connect on a deeper level than I can understand. It is the water that gentle encourages my soul to grow and become. It encourages me to create, to dance, to run, to laugh.

It leads me to return again and again to Papa’s kitchen, reconnecting with the core of my being. The Spirit sings songs to me that are familiar yet distant. It paints pictures of how life could be and how Papa wishes it were. It simultaneously binds me to the truth of where I come from while freeing me from the past that cannot control me. It is a familiar mystery that I cannot not know nor fully explain or understand. 

And I am okay with that.