Trinity Sunday 2025

Text: Isaiah 6:1-8; John 8:58

Introduction

There are days in the Church Year that press us to the limits of language. Trinity Sunday is one of them.

Here, we stand before a mystery too vast for our minds to grasp, too holy for our lips to speak rightly. We do not explain the Trinity—we confess it. We do not reduce it to a diagram—we bow before it in worship. The words of Isaiah come to mind: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips—for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”

And yet… this God, this Lord of hosts, does not remain far off. He makes Himself known. He speaks. He sends. He saves.

He reveals Himself not first as a puzzle to solve, but as a Father who gives His Son, and a Spirit who brings life. In Jesus Christ, the eternal Son sent by the Father and full of the Holy Spirit, the mystery of the Trinity takes on flesh and comes among us—not to crush us, but to redeem us.

And so today, we do not preach a concept. We proclaim the Triune God who has come to make you His own.

I. The Majesty of the Triune God

Text: Isaiah 6:1–8

“In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up…”

The prophet Isaiah is granted a vision of the heavenly throne room—a vision that leaves no room for casual religion or lighthearted talk of “the man upstairs.” This is the Lord, enthroned in glory. The train of His robe fills the temple. Seraphim cover their faces and their feet before Him. And they cry out one to another: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory!”

Three times holy. Not merely holy—thrice holy. The Church has long heard in that threefold cry a veiled echo of the Triune Name: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—distinct, yet one. It is a mystery revealed only in part under the Old Covenant, yet already embedded in the praise of heaven.

Isaiah’s response is not curiosity. It is not theological speculation. It is terror. “Woe is me!” he cries. “For I am lost.” That is the only fitting response when sinful man stands in the presence of the holy God. No excuses. No bargaining. Just an honest reckoning: “I am a man of unclean lips… and my eyes have seen the King.”

You and I do not stand in the temple as Isaiah did. But that same fear still finds us.

We may not see the Lord seated upon the throne, but we come to fear Him when His ways do not match our expectations—when His works in this world unsettle our tidy understanding of justice, goodness, and reward.

There is someone else in Scripture who stood in that kind of fear. His name was Job.

Job was not a wicked man. He feared God and turned away from evil. But when suffering came—when prayers went unanswered, when God remained silent—Job trembled. “God has made my heart faint; the Almighty has terrified me.”(Job 23:16)

Why was Job terrified? Not because he doubted God's existence, but because he believed in God's nearness, in His justice, in His power—and yet could not make sense of what God was doing. He was terrified because he knew this was no distant or indifferent deity. This was the holy and sovereign Lord—present, active, and utterly beyond his comprehension.

That is what made Job afraid: not that God might be unjust, but that God might be perfectly good—and still allow him to lose everything. That God might be wise beyond measure—and still choose to remain silent. That such a God could exist—righteous, almighty, unanswerable—and still let this happen.

He could not put this God in a box. He could not summon Him with prayer, as if prayer were a lever to pull. He could not appease Him with piety, as if piety earned control. He could only stand before Him, trembling—because the Almighty was real, and He was not answerable to Job.

And neither is He answerable to you.

There is a saying that floats around in conversation, usually with a knowing smile: “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”

It sounds lighthearted—until you live it.

Until the plans you made are shattered. Until the prayers you prayed go unanswered. Until God does not do what you asked… and what He does do, you cannot understand.

It is in those moments that fear begins to stir.

Not because you doubt that God is real—but because you know that He is. And He is not acting the way you expected.

You may not have lost everything, as Job did. But you have stood at the edge of a hospital bed, watching someone you love suffer in ways that medical answers cannot quickly fix. You have sat with family tension that has gone on for so long, you no longer know how to put the pieces back together. You have seen a young person struggle with questions that go deeper than you know how to answer—emotional, physical, legal, or spiritual—and you have felt helpless. You have watched someone walk away—from a marriage, from the faith, from a relationship—and there has been no resolution. You have heard that line—“God has a plan”—and you have wondered whether you could bear to trust it.

And sometimes, beneath all your questions, there is one more honest than the rest: “Doesn’t God owe me something better than this?”

That is not just grief. That is pride laid bare.

Because in that moment, you begin to realize what Job discovered: You cannot put this God in a box. You cannot summon Him with prayer as if He exists to do your bidding. You cannot appease Him with your piety, as if good behavior earns immunity from pain. You cannot control Him—not with sincerity, not with doctrine, not with faithfulness.

All you can do is stand before Him, trembling—because He is God, and you are not.

Like Isaiah. Like Job. You are left with no more words. No more arguments. Just silence before the throne.

II. The Triune God Revealed in the Crucified Son

Text: John 8:48–59

So let us put away casual religion. Let us leave behind lighthearted talk of “the man upstairs.” Let us consider God in all His glory, His majesty, and His mystery.

And let us do so by looking to Christ.

For in Him the fullness of the Godhead dwells bodily. In Him, the glory and majesty were veiled for a time. The One Isaiah saw enthroned in the temple took on flesh. The One Job feared to question became obedient unto death—even death on a cross.

The mystery of the Triune God remains—but now, it is revealed. Not explained. Not simplified. But revealed—in Jesus Christ and Him crucified.

He does not answer every question. He does not unfold His plan in advance. But He assures you of His purpose. And His purpose has not changed.

That is who He is.

“Before Abraham was, I AM.”

Those words were not just spoken in majesty—they were spoken in defiance. The crowd heard them and picked up stones. Because they knew what He meant. He was not claiming to be a prophet or a rabbi or a reformer. He was claiming to be God.

And He was. And is. The same Lord who spoke from the bush, who filled the temple, who silenced Job—now stands in the flesh.

But instead of consuming the sinner, He is handed over to them. Instead of pronouncing judgment, He bears it. Instead of staying enthroned above, He is lifted up on the cross.

This is the glory of the Triune God. Not a puzzle to solve. Not a throne to cower before. But a cross. A death. A mercy.

The Father sends the Son. The Son glorifies the Father. And the Spirit opens your ears to hear what flesh alone cannot hear: That this Jesus is not blaspheming. He is not deceiving. He is I AM—and He has come to save.

This is the end goal of the strange wisdom of God. This is where all of His hidden purposes finally come into view.

No, He does not explain His actions in this world. But He does give you something greater: His cross. That is His plan. 

That is where you see His heart. That is where you see who He truly is.

Conclusion: “O Lord, Our Lord”

Text: Psalm 8

And today, as we ponder the mystery of the Triune God, we also mark a day set aside to honor earthly fathers. Father’s Day calls to mind those men who, in whatever way they could, reflected strength, provision, instruction, and love—however imperfectly.

But even the best father on earth is still a faint reflection of the Father who sent His Son to redeem the world. And even the most faithful father falls silent before the One who says, “Before Abraham was, I AM.”

So if you carry gratitude for a faithful father, give thanks today not just for him—but for the Father in heaven whom he imperfectly mirrors. And if your experience of fatherhood is marked more by absence, hurt, or regret—know this: the Triune God is not like that. The Father of Jesus Christ does not abandon, does not fail, and does not change. He has known you from before the foundation of the world. And in Christ, He calls you His child.

And He is not only your Father in name—He is your strength in the midst of all that He allows.

The Triune God does not promise that your path will be smooth, but He does sustain you to endure it.

And one day, He will take you from this valley of sorrow to Himself in heaven.

And on that day, when your Lord takes you from this valley of sorrow to Himself in heaven, you will see what Isaiah saw. But you will not cry out in terror. You will not be undone. For you have been cleansed by the blood of Christ. Your guilt has been taken away. Your sin has been atoned for. (Isaiah 6:7)

No longer a man of unclean lips among a people of unclean lips, you will stand in the midst of the redeemed— A multitude no one can number, from every nation, tribe, people, and language—whose lips have been purified to praise the Lamb.

And in that day, God Himself will wipe away every tear from your eyes. Not because you will finally understand everything, but because you will finally see Him face to face—and it will be enough.

And now, cleansed by the blood of Christ, you are sent. Not to explain the mystery, but to proclaim it.

The world struggles to make sense of God. It is no wonder. His ways are inscrutable. His judgments are unsearchable. The pain and injustice in this world often leave people not only questioning God—but recoiling from Him.

And yet, you have been given something to say. You bear the Name of the Triune God, and you carry the message of the cross.

You speak of a Father’s love to a world wounded by betrayal and abuse.

You speak forgiveness to those who have been taught that there is none.

You proclaim Resurrection to a world terrified by death.

You carry the message of the cross into a world that reels from death and betrayal, loss and injustice.

The world is rightly offended by the suffering of the innocent—and you dare to proclaim the love of the Father who gave His beloved Son to suffer in their place. You are sent into the world with a message that sounds impossible: That the cross—not the absence of pain—is the deepest revelation of love. That through suffering—real suffering, unjust suffering—God has brought salvation.

It is not for you to explain God to the world. But you proclaim Christ crucified—foolishness to some, a stumbling block to others, but to those who believe, the power of God and the wisdom of God. You do not carry answers for every sorrow. But you carry Christ. And the Spirit who sanctified your lips with fire now speaks through them. So let the mystery remain. Let your questions go unanswered. You have been given something better: You have been given Christ. You have been sent. And the Name you bear is majestic in all the earth.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.