The Trinity and Liturgical Respiration | By Russell L. Almon, PhD
A reflection on (one reason) why I became an Anglican
As you read this, we find ourselves on the verge of Trinity Sunday, that perhaps most wonderfully enigmatic of all liturgical days. We can probably all remember at least one time when a rector has jokingly confessed consternation over the preparation of the sermon for this day. How to cover such an important subject adequately in twenty minutes? Many a Trinity Sunday sermon simply becomes an extended warning in the things not to believe when it comes to the doctrine of the Trinity. As one with an academic specialty in trinitarian theology, I can empathize with this approach. Akin to taking one’s spiritual vitamins, sooner or later, this needs to be covered. Nevertheless, a recalibration may be in order, for when trinitarian doctrine is cast mainly as an edifice of our belief, it can be difficult to see what it has to do with our actual living, moving, and being in the triune life of God. Have you ever wondered what our liturgical confession of the eternal communion of the Father, Son, and Spirit has to do with liturgy and life?
An image that helps me here is the very mundane activity of breathing. Unless one has a lung disease of some sort or otherwise requires support to breathe, this is something that most of us do without any thought at all. Questions aren’t typically proffered about the practicality of breathing. No one would usually ask: “Well, how does breathing relate to my life anyway?”
“The act of respiration is so intimately connected to our embodied life and continued existence, that the triune God made us continue our physical breathing without our conscious thought. ”
In fact, healthy respiration is quite boring and predictable.
It is precisely here the tremendous potential of our Anglican liturgy and worship can be found to shine forth. In the liturgy and prayerbook, we are not merely given a list of things to believe and confess, but, as well, a liturgical spirituality to be prayed, and if you will, ‘breathed.’ In other words, in the liturgy, we are presented with a spiritual theology in which the practices of believing and breathing are intertwined as one.
Most of us have experienced the death of loved ones and know the deep pain of the steady march of anniversary dates that come to mark our own liturgical time in our lives. As a father of three babies lost to miscarriage, I know how the liturgy of loss dates and due dates can feel relentless and the grief suffocating. I can testify that in my own grief, it is the trinitarian shape of this liturgical respiration that began to teach me how to breathe again according to the mystery of the triune life given to us in the communion of the Father, Son, and Spirit.
Herein lies the promise of the Anglican liturgical spirituality, which we enact each week as we begin by confessing the words together, “Blessed be God: The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” We as individuals and a community can learn to breathe again according to the liturgical respiration of the Father, Son, and Spirit. In this way, every Sunday can be revealed to be Trinity Sunday.