Why The Trinity Doesn’t Matter If We Don’t Love

Easter is this Sunday, and while most churches were busy declaring victory over sin and death, George Barna was busy sounding the alarm. His new report shows only 16% of self-identified Christians believe in the Trinity—and according to him, that’s the real crisis.

Meanwhile, out here in the wilderness, I can’t help but wonder: if resurrection is real, why are we still policing belief instead of practicing love?

Let’s be honest: when George Barna starts panicking, it’s usually worth paying attention—not because he’s right, but because he’s telling you what the evangelical industrial complex is afraid of this week.

And this week, it’s the Trinity.

The latest report from the Cultural Research Center reveals just how fragile that orthodoxy really is—turns out, belief in the Trinity has become a minority position among Christians. Cue the alarm bells, sackcloth, and theological fainting couches. Barna frames this as nothing less than a full-blown crisis of orthodoxy—a nation of Christians adrift, disconnected from “essential truths.” It’s the kind of data point that makes Christian gatekeepers nervously recheck their Statement of Faith like it’s a spiritual TSA line.

But here’s the thing: I don’t care. And I say that as someone who’s spent most of his adult life in and around the Church.

I don’t care about the Trinity in the way Barna wants me to. I’m not interested in theological gymnastics that try to explain how God is one essence and three persons without stepping into heresy. I’ve done the dance. I’ve read the books. I even sat through seminary lectures where professors tried to bend backwards explaining its complexity with metaphors that ultimately boil down to sounding basically the same inane Sunday School version for tots..

“The Trinity is like water: solid, liquid, gas.”
Great. So God’s just a science fair project with commitment issues?

None of it ever helped me love better. None of it made me more compassionate. None of it showed up in the hospital room or when I was trying to figure out how to forgive someone who didn’t deserve it. The Trinity, as doctrine, has been a church gatekeeping mechanism for centuries—but for me? It’s never been the thing that made faith feel real.

What has? The way of Jesus. Not the “believe in Jesus” part. The walk like him part.

You know, the inconvenient stuff:

Confronting corrupt power.
Standing with the outcast.
Refusing to play religious games.
Loving your enemy.
Rejecting ego.
Moving through the world with justice and humility.

That’s the kind of “orthodoxy” I care about now. And if your belief in the Trinity doesn’t lead you to that kind of life? Then congrats—you’ve nailed the theology exam and missed the actual point.

Let me say it plainly: To me, the concept of the Trinity is ultimately irrelevant if we can’t love our neighbor and our enemy.

Arguing about doctrinal purity while people are being crushed by systems of violence, exclusion, and religious manipulation is just ecclesiastical masturbation. It’s for people who want to feel spiritually superior without getting their hands dirty in the real work of healing and justice.

I’ve sung enough worship songs that sounded uplifting but were ultimately self-soothing. I’ve been in enough church spaces where belief was measured in creeds, not in compassion. And I’ve seen what happens when a faith built on ideas has no spine for action.

So no, I don’t care if only 16% believe in the Trinity. The bigger scandal is that so many Christians still believe that right belief is more important than right living.

If God is real—and I still believe something sacred moves in this world—it’s not going to be found in theological spreadsheets. It’s going to be found in how we show up for the hurting, the hated, and the ones we’re told to keep at arm’s length.

Let Barna worry about orthodoxy. I’m more concerned about orthopraxy.

Because at the end of the day, the Trinity isn’t going to feed the hungry. You are.
Theology isn’t going to comfort the grieving. You will.

No amount of perfect doctrine will make up for a life that never loved well—if you miss that, you’ve missed the point of Easter.