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The holy trinity of public theology

What if there's also a rhythmic circle, giving a never-ending space for the dance of proclamation, advocacy and creativity? Jack Miller writes.

Huddle of happy friends. Image for The holy Trinity of public theology

I grew up learning about the Trinity as a pyramid, with God “the Father” sitting atop the pinnacle, overseeing the work of “the Son” and “the Spirit.”

Then someone showed me that I could envision the Trinity as a circle. Mind blown. Instead of a “boss” supervising “subordinates,” the Godhead was a community engaged in a beautifully choreographed dance that held creation’s attention in a state of sublime wonder.  This awed me, captivating me with a sense of possibility as I saw God stretching out a hand to invite me – and the entire cosmos – into the dance.

The discipline of public theology initially struck me as being as rigid and stern as my triangular God, like someone had staked a “No Dancing” placard at the edge of this field of study. My reading pointed to a narrow set of characteristics that split public theology’s turf, and a number of theologians and lay people agreed … Public theologians’ concept of God and God’s mission in the world compels them to operate within the spheres of social and political policymaking and political activism. Public theologians advocate for societal change that benefits the common good while engaging other people of faith with the goal of enlisting their participation. This might manifest in writing to or calling elected representatives, engaging in boycotts or targeted investing, or participating in protests. The expressions of this kind of public theology that I am most familiar with take very seriously the Bible’s emphasis on God’s commandments to care for the poor and Jesus’ directives to share his compassion for “the least of these.” Love and benevolence inspire these public theologians to come alongside the impoverished, vulnerable and disadvantaged.

Despite my sense that the guardians of public theology prohibited dancing, I could hear the music behind their passion and feel a mutual kinship.

Despite my sense that the guardians of public theology prohibited dancing, I could hear the music behind their passion and feel a mutual kinship. We treasure, and feel convicted by, the Bible’s concern for the people who live closest to the earth. I hear Jesus’ summons to discipleship as a directive to follow his teaching and example of feeding the hungry, healing hurts and divisions and driving out evil. Mary’s song celebrating God’s plan to reverse fortunes moves me, and even though it will never reach number one on the Billboard Top 10, it has a beat, and I can dance to it. Especially in my role as a pastor.

Advocates and activists, proclamations and poetry

In my role as pastor, I proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ. I carry into the pulpit those same convictions shared by the people who would identify as public theologians in the advocate or activist model. Those concerns color my very public proclamations as I highlight the indispensable role loving and serving neighbors plays in following Jesus. This proclamation comes alive as our congregation serves our neighbors — by cooking meals and distributing food, assisting with searches for affordable housing and steady employment, and marshaling benevolence funds to ensure uninterrupted access to water and electricity. We communicate with elected officials, utility regulators, and others who possess the power to create more equity and fairness, and share our property with outside groups who also believe in the power and possibility of transformation for the common good.

What if there is room within public theology for the ministry of proclamation?

What if there is room within public theology for the ministry of proclamation? Now I am starting to tap my toes and bop my head to the rhythm of this music.

Preaching and political activism are not my only passions, though. I also love creative writing. I wrote my first short story at the age of seven, and I was hooked. Some of my fondest memories involve people asking me to share my writing and having the privilege of watching them react with suspense, surprise, laughter or even tears.

I appreciate the power stories possess to enlighten and change people. People in my faith tradition have known this about their Scriptures for thousands of years. I have experienced this power — in the Bible, yes, and also in novels, short stories, memoirs, dramas and poetry. Words, crafted and shaped into artforms, can spark transformation. And people transformed can participate in a mission that might involve them sharing their own powerful words or undertaking action on behalf of those whose cause now moves them.

Words, crafted and shaped into artforms, can spark transformation.

As a medium, poetics offers a rich capacity for public theology. It allows public theologians the opportunity to reach people who may be resistant, averse, or unreachable by more traditional models of theological exposure and instruction. I sometimes liken it to hiding vegetables in a picky eater’s meatloaf. However, this approach offers room for something serious and effectual: the power of the Holy Spirit. Through literature’s subjectivity, which the theological poet offers with the humility of letting the reader connect the dots, the Holy Spirit can flow, illuminating nuances and connections creators might not envision or imagine.

I am dancing full tilt. What if public theology is not as rigid as some claim? Like a trinitarian’s understanding of God, public theology has more arcs, facets and dimensions than meet the eye.

Each form of public theology is lovely on its own; together, they form something beautiful and greater than the sum of its parts.

That is how I have come to see public theology. We can understand it in distinct ways, but we find its fullest expression when we honor the way the different strands connect. Political activism, proclamation and poetry can work together, reaching diverse groups of people and inviting them into the conversation. Each form of public theology is lovely on its own; together, they form something beautiful and greater than the sum of its parts. When we accept the invitation to join the dance, we can discover exciting possibilities for engaging people’s hearts for God and preparing them to continue God’s ongoing transformative work in the world.


Interested in more content on public theology? Check out our January 2025 issue.

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