Perichoresis All the Way Down

In John Green’s book Turtles All the Way Down, the main character wrestles with the idea of existence. A friend tells her about a lecture by philosopher Bertrand Russell. The lecture about astronomy was refuted by an audience member, saying, “The earth was not situated in space, but rather it was sitting on the back of a giant turtle.” Russell asked what the turtle was standing on. The audience member proclaimed, “On the back of another giant turtle. It’s turtles all the way down.”1 Perichoresis is a theological concept that describes how the three Persons of the Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) live in each other and share their lives with each other. The concept of perichoresis shows how the three distinct persons of the Godhead share a common divine nature and exist within each other without losing their own identities. This is often called a “divine dance” of love. I appreciate that this perichoretic shape of trinitarian theology carries through into so many other areas of theology. Perichoresis provokes powerful imagery. Father Richard Rohr describes perichoresis as a divine circle dance.2 Perichoresis defines the shape of every system of theology.

The unity and mutuality of the triune God invite us into a relationship with God and others. As a result, the mutuality of God, myself, and my Christian siblings mirrors God’s dance in our understanding of Ekklesia and Koinonia. Noted 20th and 21st century Theologian, Jürgen Moltmann, puts it this way: “The unity of the disciples for which Jesus prays corresponds to the mutual indwelling of the Father in the Son and the Son in the Father. Their unity is based neither on the monarchy of the Father nor in the example of the Son, but on the mutuality of their indwelling—the trinitarian perichoresis.”3 The life of the Trinity is an eternal and mutual kenosis.

This perichoretic divine dance further extends to express the work of salvation. In our salvation, we are being included in the life of God. According to Moltmann, “Because the salvation of the creatures exists in their being included in the eternal life of the triune God and in participating in it, we understand the unity of the triune God as an open, inviting, uniting, and integrating community (John 17:21 “[that] they also be in us”).”4 This being included in the life of God becomes a sort of mutual indwelling that leads to a perichoretic unity with God.

The Eucharist is a physical representation of this perichoretic unity. Copeland says it this way, “Eucharist is that inalienable gift that anchors believers in time, connects them one to another as well as to their origin, intimates their future, and concentrate the greatest imaginary power and, as a consequence, the greatest symbolic value.”5 Sin, then, is the separation from that perichoretic unity with God. It is the stopping of the flow of self-sacrificial love. This is why the othering of racism is so damaging. It stands in the way of the flow of the life of God. It short-circuits the mutual indwelling. According to Copland: “Racism opposes the order of Eucharist. Racism insinuates the reign of sin; it is intrinsic evil.”6 The remedy for these ills is to be brought back into unity. Moltmann says this: “If sin is the separation of the creatures from the eternal source of their life, then salvation lies in their inclusion into the community of eternal life.”7

Alongside perichoresis, kenosis and apokatastasis are among my favorite theological ideas because they name the outward movement of the triune life toward creation. If perichoresis describes the mutual indwelling of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, kenosis names the self-giving character of that divine life. The Father makes space for the Son and the Spirit. The Son makes space for the Father and the Spirit. The Spirit makes space for the Father and the Son. The life of God is, in this sense, endlessly self-giving. In Christ, that divine self-giving does not remain enclosed within God’s own life, but enters fully into human life and, as Dr. Lois Malcolm puts it, “enters the most radically opposite reality to God: death.”8 Yet death cannot finally master the life of God. In entering death, God defeats it from within, making space for abundant life.

This is why apokatastasis is not merely about individual salvation, but about the restoration of all things. The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus enact God’s reconciling purpose not only for humanity but for creation itself, which has been disfigured by sin. In that sense, apokatastasis is the overflow of divine life into all that has been alienated, fractured, and subjected to death. For Malcom, apokatastasis is the “performative enactment of hope.”9 That is a helpful phrase because it keeps restoration from being reduced either to abstract theory or to a closed system of inevitability. It is hope grounded in God’s action and promise. Malcom rightly insists that the outcome cannot be controlled, since human creatures must respond to God’s grace and may resist it.10 And yet I am not sure that the necessity for human participation finally stands at odds with promise. Rather, apokatastasis may be understood as the patient fulfillment of divine promise, the long and gracious work by which God draws creation toward its intended end. If salvation requires our participation, that participation may finally be understood, with Gregory of Nyssa, not as an alien imposition but as the creature’s most natural movement into the life of God.11

One challenge to this way of thinking, as presented by many reformed thinkers, is the idea of predestination. Scripture indeed speaks of predestination to salvation. This brings with it the problem of those who do not accept the free gift of grace. This has led to the logical conclusion that if there is a predestination to salvation and some do not accept the gift, then they are predestined to do so. This notion is called double predestination. In my view, double predestination only exists because we cannot see beyond the horizon of time and death. Double predestination then becomes a solution to the limitations of human logic. Scripture certainly speaks of predestination, but it also speaks of the endless patience of a God who is not bound by time.

All of this speaks to how we might view our responsibility in the world as followers of Jesus. The Great Commission, as seen in Matthew 28, is foundational to the Pentecostal identity: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age”(Matt 28:19-20). Every missions service held in the local churches I grew up in proclaimed this verse as the church’s mandate. The Pentecostal notion of spirit empowerment is that we are empowered for Kingdom mission. During my undergrad, I was taught that the Missio Dei was the very heartbeat of scripture. In addition, the work of mission was urgent. Generations were dying without an opportunity to respond to the message of the Gospel. I have struggled with this framework for the kingdom work we, as Christians, are called to for many years. This struggle has intensified as the political divide between evangelical churches and anyone who thinks differently has widened. The “other” has become an outright enemy. I believe there’s a fundamental misunderstanding about the role trinitarian-shaped hospitality plays in mission.

Sanchez frames mission in terms of justice, and for him, the most crucial consideration for our approach to justice is the “who.” We must consider the specific needs of the people for whom we do the work of justice. Sanchez calls this a “Neighbor-oriented approach.” He says this about this approach: “Seen from a neighbor-oriented angle, vocation paradoxically makes the command of love real or incarnate by narrowing its sphere of influence to concrete neighbors…”12 Loving our neighbor means understanding their specific needs as well as their way of being in the world. However, for mission to fit the perichoretic shape, it must be more than just other-oriented.

Hospitality is central to our work in the Kingdom for Yong. This notion of hospitality is first rooted in the hospitality of the mutual indwelling of trinitarian perichoresis. Second, it is rooted in a Pentecostal understanding of Spirit baptism. In baptism, we become hosts to the Holy Spirit. When we host, the Holy Spirit comes to us as we are, yet it is a mutual indwelling. We are invited into the life of the Spirit and are consequently transformed. Finally, hospitality is the foundation of our approach to the other. When we invite the other into our lives, they can know us only on our terms. However, when we are invited into the life of the other, we must come as guests. For Yong, the foundation of trinitarian hospitality is the willingness to be a guest in the life of the other. This entering into the other’s life requires coming on their terms, necessitating a kenotic approach. This Kenotic and perichoetic way is modeled on all layers of theology and must be integrated, especially, into our notion of mission.13

Perichoresis becomes the framework, or perhaps better, the paradigm, for all of Christian theology. It is not simply one doctrine among others, but the shape that gives coherence to the whole. The divine dance of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit becomes the choreography of the life of Christ followers. What is eternally true of God’s own life comes to shape salvation, sacrament, community, and mission. Theology is therefore more than description; it is participation in the life of the God it names.

This reality moves from abstraction to embodied practice in the sacraments, in fellowship, and in koinonia. We are enveloped into the life of triune love and taught to live that love with one another. In Christ, by the Spirit, the church is drawn into God’s own mutuality. That same pattern sends us outward in mission. If mission is to be trinitarian in shape, it must be marked by hospitality, humility, and the willingness to become guests in the lives of others. Such a posture is kenotic, making space for the other in a way that mirrors the life of God.

So when I say, “It’s all a dance,” I mean that the deepest logic of Christian theology is communion. The life of God is self-giving, mutually indwelling love, and that life becomes the pattern for the church, for the sacraments, and for the work of mission. Perichoresis is not only a way of speaking about God. It permeates every area of the Christian life. It’s Perichoresis All the Way Down.

This post was originally posted on Substack.