"Doctrine" Is Not A Dirty Word

What do you do when the emperor, for the fifth time in three decades, sends you into exile, and you’re 70 years old. A normal person would consider his options. Check out retirement villas; cruise the Aegean Sea; book a trip to the Holy Land. With a lifetime of accomplishments, Athanasius deserved better than a one-way ticket to nowhere.
In earlier years, the ‘black dwarf’ (as his enemies called the short man with dark skin) had been elected bishop of Alexandria, he’d written a landmark book about the fact that Jesus was God, and he had played a significant role at the council of Nicea—the first worldwide conference of the church.
He’d fought his whole life for what he thought was decided at Nicea: that Jesus was fully human and fully divine: begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father, by whom all things are made. When the council voted in favor of this creed, which we still speak today as the Nicene Creed, Athanasius thought that the Arian viewpoint (the viewpoint that Jesus was created and therefore not equal with God) would finally be put to rest.
But he was wrong. Arians not only hung around, but managed to gain positions of power. They whispered into the emperor’s ear that Athanasius, who kept publicly insisting that the emperor enforce the Nicene decisions, trafficked in murder, sorcery, and treason.
Emperor Constantine, who craved peace rather than truth, and didn’t have much patience with critics, held a hearing. Condemned on trumped-up charges, Athanasius was send packing to what today we would call Germany. When Constantine died two years later, Athanasius was allowed to return to his post. Two years after that, when Arians gained control of key leadership positions in the church, Athanasius had to flee to Rome for asylum. On and on it went for decades, where Athanasius would repeatedly lose and regain his office. When he was allowed to return to Alexandria at age 68, he no doubt was looking to end his service in peace. Not quite. Within two years, Valens, the western emperor and—you guessed it, an Arian—ordered Athanasius banished again.
To make a long story short, Valens reversed his decree four months later, and Athanasius was allowed to come back, and for seven more years he served in Alexandria until his death in 373 AD. The Arian point of view still held firm sway in the church. It seemed that Athanasius’ bold stand for the truth—and all the heartache it had caused him—had been to no avail.
However, eight years later, when Emperor Theodosius took the throne, Arianism was banned, and the decision of the Council of Nicea was reaffirmed. The church never considered Arianism an option again, and the Nicene Creed is still used as a basic statement of the universal, Biblical, true Christian faith. For this we have—at least in part—the black dwarf Athanasius to thank.
I share his story with you today for a couple of reasons. First of all, if you would take the blue hymnal, Lutheran Worship, and open it up to page 134 in the front—before you get to the hymns—you’ll find a little something called the Athanasian Creed. From time to time this creed is spoken on Trinity Sunday, because it carefully—some might say to the point of exhaustion—says what can be said about our triune God. And as you scan this document, which Athanasius at least had a hand in writing, you can see his concerns rising to the surface, especially page two, the first column, ‘For the right faith is that we believe and confess that our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is God and man; God of the substance of the Father, begotten before the worlds; and man of the substance of his mother, born in the world; Perfect God and perfect man…’ In other words, Jesus is no second class citizen, he wasn’t just a nice guy that God chose, Jesus is God. Period. Whether of not we’re conscious of it, this was a battle the church had to fight. People like Athanasius had to endure all kinds of difficulties just to say that Jesus is true God and true man, and those who say that Jesus is only God or only man have got it wrong.
It’s interesting to note that Trinity Sunday is the only festival or observance in our Church Year that is not based on a historical event, like Pentecost, for example, or Jesus’ birth. Instead it is based on the nature of God himself. Some might therefore say that it is based on a teaching or a doctrine. That seems a little impersonal to me, but whatever you say about Trinity Sunday, the bottom line is this: it is of utmost importance—in fact it is of eternal importance—to know who God is, and the way God has described himself to us is as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
There are an awful lot of people out there who will tell you they believe in God. But what God are they talking about? The grandfatherly god of a child’s drawing? The inventor god who created the world and then stepped back to watch things unfold? The faceless Force that runs through the universe? Or Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—the God of Holy Scripture? Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—who has acted in time and history to produce forgiveness of sins and endless life through the cross and empty tomb of the Son, Jesus Christ? If you want to call this personal knowledge of God “doctrine,” that’s fine. And I hope that you will see, for this very reason, that having the right doctrine really matters. It’s the difference between a God who is watching us from a distance and a God who came down here and got his hands dirty, who got his heart and his body broken just to tell us that he loves us and wants us back. That’s what is at stake when we talk about doctrine. Doctrine is not a dirty word. Doctrine is knowing God the right way—the way he wants to be known. And when you get right down to it—what is more important than that?
Athanasius felt that knowing God the right way was so important that he was willing to roll with the punches. To him, it wasn’t even a choice. He would not stay silent. How about you? When you know that standing for the truth might hurt someone’s feelings or make somebody mad, what do you do? When I consider that question myself, I know that I must repent before the Lord and seek his forgiveness. There have been plenty of times when I have massaged my response or not answered as fully as I could have, for fear of offending someone—even though I knew that what I wanted to say was God’s truth, drawn right from Scripture. For that I must repent.
If you share this conviction with me—there is hope and good news. The God who explains himself as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit offers full pardon and forgiveness to those who trust in the substitute sacrifice of Jesus, the Son. The Father waits for us and welcomes us with open arms. The Spirit generates faith in our hearts. That same Holy Spirit performs a spiritual makeover on us, changing us into bold and loving Christians, people who will speak the truth in love and who will live that love and whatever happens, happens.
Some folks will get upset at that. They’ll claim that truth is relative—there are no absolutes. Others won’t really care one way or the other. And once in a while you’ll even run into some presumably well-meaning Christians who suggest that love and doctrine don’t go together real well. When that happens, we can take a page from Athanasius and just keep standing in there, holding onto what’s true. Love doesn’t let a child play on a busy street; or stick his hand in boiling water, and it’s love that causes us to share this simple message: There is a right way to know God—a way he wants to be known—and when you know him that way, you have everything.