I have often been one of the inquisitors at the doctrinal councils of younger colleagues. I've had a pounce plan. I lie in wait through the early questions till the doctrine of the Trinity is before us. Then, nonchalantly, I say, "We've talked about the unique roles of the Son and Spirit in the Trinity. How about the Father? What is his unique place?" Then I settle back and smile beneficently while they stub their theological toes in the dark room of the triune God.

But what goes around comes around. I preached through Romans 8 for Lent, a passage saturated with the Trinity. I was expounding on v. 3, "For what the law was powerless to do in that it was weakened by the sinful nature, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful man to be a sin offering." I said that God the Father watched God the Son die. It didn't feel quite right as I said it, but there was no time there on the platform to sort it out, and I forged ahead. Then, later, one of the theological students in my church said, "I'm not sure you can say that God the Son died." And there I was with my own Trinity-stubbed toe. Can you say that God the Son died?

I had never thought very deeply about the triune God. Then, this spring, I was caught up in a Trinitarian wave. It started when I read Stephen Seamands' eye-opening book, Ministry in the Image of God: The Trinitarian Shape of Christian Service (IVP, 2005). About that same time, I tackled seven weeks of preaching Romans 8, and I began talking to others, more thoughtful than I, about the subject of the Trinity. I was humbled to learn that this is a front-burner issue in theology these days. When I asked my seminary intern if we could talk about it over coffee, he was so eager, he got up from his sickbed and brought a stack of books for me to consider. The student became the teacher.

I cannot even yet speak the vocabulary of serious Trinitarian study (relationality, perichoresis, filioque) but I am learning at least about the fences that can keep me on the right track.

Think relationally, not independently

My friend Justin showed me how often we think and speak of the Trinity in three separate categories. On the one hand, we affirm that the three persons of the Trinity are coequal and coeternal, eternally existing as one. And on the other hand, we catalog the unique roles and assignments of each person—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Systematic theologies and ordination papers alike are often organized that way. But perhaps the most important truth about the Trinity is obscured in all that—their relationship.

These three love one another with such intensity, such intimacy, that they are one. Their unique roles are expressions of their serving love. They are so unified that to speak of one—to speak to one—is to speak of all. Studying the Trinity shows us holiness alive and in action, and opens to us the very soul of righteousness.

That's about the limit of my grasp right now, and that language is shaky, I know. But my new goal is always to think first about the Triune God in relationship, for that is how They/He think.

Think deeply, speak sparingly

We all know how hard it is to find analogies to describe the Trinity. Again, we figure that we have to find ways to show how one can be three. Maybe we shouldn't bother. Scripture doesn't seem to. This may be a case of fools rushing in where angels fear to tread. Perhaps nothing important is actually accomplished.

I'm less inclined than I used to be to try to find illustrations of the Trinity, but more determined to meditate more deeply about what the Bible does say, and the way it says it. I especially need to read John again, with fresh eyes for how Jesus speaks of his relationship with Father and Spirit.

When I read Romans 8:9–10, I realized that Paul didn't split hairs about how the Trinity works, at least here. He says of Christians that "the Spirit of God lives in you." Then, of having "the Spirit of Christ." Then, "if Christ is in you," and a moment later, "if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you," and "his Spirit, who lives in you." Whew! Which is it? All are true, of course, and all are the same. (That's why I don't worry so much any more about whether I pray to Jesus, the Father, or the Spirit.)

Have you noticed that, while the Trinity is taught in many ways and places in Scripture, it is hard to find any text where the point is to teach the Trinity? I saw that in Romans 8, for example. The three persons of the Trinity were mentioned several times, but never actually the point of Paul's sermon. In fact, when I preached on the verses 9–10 (above) I never actually mentioned the Trinity, even though I think it was a Trinitarian sermon.

Preach in the company of the Trinity

Preaching is a Trinitarian task. Consider Paul's great charge: "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching. … In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus … I give you this charge: Preach the Word!" (2 Timothy 3:16, 4:1).

Consider our preaching colleague, John the Baptist. There he is, preaching his heart out, and the Trinity appears before his eyes and ears. Jesus, the Lamb of God, insisting on being baptized. Then the Father's voice and the Spirit's dove ordaining him. There is preaching at its finest and most Christian. Jesus, announced as the Lamb and seen among us. God the Father speaking out his love and favor. And the Holy Spirit's blessing coming on a wing and a prayer.

Not only are we in the company of the Trinity when we preach, we are triple-teamed. When we study and when we preach, our wordless weaknesses are groaned by our holy intercessor into the 'trin-intimacy' of the Godhead (Romans 8:26). "And he [the Father] who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will." Peter, James and John were stunned to find themselves in the transfigured company of Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. But we believers (and we preachers) find ourselves—or at least our deepest needs—transfigured in the blinding company of the Holy Trinity.

Think worship, not mere inquiry

As I pondered the Trinity these months, something was missing. I visited with my young scholarly friends and found my mind spinning, pressed past old frontiers into a holy no-man's land of the ineffable God. But something wasn't right. I had fallen into the old trap of theological exploration without wonder; the snare of prayerless theological thinking. The triune God had become something like a theological Sudoku puzzle. I got caught up in the intriguing complexity, trying to hold all those sacred rows and columns in their proper places, till everything lined up and the puzzle was solved. What folly!

A friend wrote, "Saint Augustine said that to deny the doctrine of the Trinity is to be in danger of losing your salvation, but to try to understand the Trinity puts you in danger of losing your mind." Perhaps the greatest danger is to consider the Trinity with my mind, while leaving my heart disengaged.

That same friend and colleague, Pastor Steve Farish, reminded me that Trinity Sunday is the sixth Sunday after Easter (a day largely unobserved in my tradition). In a sermon he preached on that occasion, he made this simple application: "My heart's desire is … to set your mind on fire with the infinite greatness and glory and beauty of the God of the Bible." Ah, that is what I was missing!

That is what must happen in every preacher's heart if we are to be Trinitarian preachers. We must think about these great mysteries of the Trinity, not stopping at our early formulations and explanations, but pressing into this holy cycle of life and holiness. But if we think only, and do not worship—if it is mind without heart, inquiry without fire—we will surely be fools.

Lee Eclov recently retired after 40 years of local pastoral ministry and now focuses on ministry among pastors. He writes a weekly devotional for preachers on Preaching Today.