This post is part of my Trinity series. For full context and recommended reading order, start with the series introduction.
For around 50 years I was a Christadelphian, born into that faith, baptised (into the Father, Son and Holy Spirit) at 17. At 48, I started a journey out of that tradition, leaving as a 50 year old. Now in my late 50s and Baptist, I look back on this transition with a mixture of gratitude and grief.
Trust me when I say that 50 years espousing a form of Unitarianism is not something that is easy to release. Every so often, I’ll be confronted by a doctrinal position and find myself momentarily confused whilst I consider it in the context of what I now believe. The mental furniture gets rearranged, but the muscle memory remains.
This series of articles represents my attempt to think through this transition carefully, fairly, and honestly. I wanted to give both positions a genuine hearing – to present the unitarian case as strongly as its advocates would, because I lived it for nearly five decades and it deserves serious engagement, not dismissal. And I wanted to document why, despite the beauty of much unitarian theology, I found myself compelled toward orthodox Trinitarianism.
Now, after working through these articles over the past few years, I wanted to pull together what I’ve learned and reflect on what this transition has meant – theologically, spiritually, and personally.
What I Had to Leave Behind
The Beauty of God Manifestation
John Thomas’s Phanerosis remains one of the most beautiful theological works I’ve encountered. His depiction of Jesus perfectly manifesting God’s character to humanity, of believers called to manifest that same divine nature to the world – it’s compelling, pastoral, and deeply spiritual.
I lived in that book for years. The doctrine of God Manifestation shaped how I understood spiritual growth, Christian character, and our calling as believers. There’s something profoundly appealing about seeing Jesus as the ultimate example of what we could achieve through complete surrender to God.
As I’ve explored in my article on moving from God Manifestation to orthodox Christology, I had to recognise that beauty doesn’t equal truth. The doctrine resonates because it speaks to genuine biblical themes – but it ultimately falls short of what Scripture actually teaches about who Jesus is.
Jesus didn’t manifest God’s character through perfect obedience. Jesus is God incarnate, revealing the Father because he is the eternal Son. That’s a fundamentally different claim, with fundamentally different implications for salvation, worship, and assurance.
The Certainty of Systematic Rationalism
Unitarian theology offered something deeply satisfying to my analytical mind: logical consistency. Everything made sense. God is one person. Jesus is his perfect human son. The Holy Spirit is God’s power. No paradoxes, no mysteries that defied rational explanation.
As I’ve discussed in my article on the rationalist captivity of Christian faith, this rationalism traces back through Socinian theological method to Renaissance humanism. It elevates human reason to the position of final arbiter over revealed truth.
The appeal is obvious – who doesn’t want theology that fits neatly into logical categories? But I had to recognise that demanding God conform to my rational frameworks was intellectual pride, not spiritual wisdom. The Trinity doesn’t violate logic, but it does transcend it. That’s not a flaw in the doctrine; it’s recognition that finite minds encounter limits when approaching infinite reality.
Family and Community Identity
This is perhaps the hardest part. My family remains unitarian. Leaving Christadelphian theology meant navigating relationships with people I love deeply who see my transition as theological defection.
I’m not talking about losing relationships entirely – though that happens for some who leave tight-knit communities. I’m talking about the more subtle grief of no longer sharing the theological language that once bound us together. Family gatherings where doctrinal discussions create awkward silences. The knowledge that people who shaped my faith now question whether I’ve abandoned biblical truth.
This isn’t unique to leaving Unitarianism, of course. Anyone who experiences significant theological transition knows this cost. But it’s real, and pretending otherwise would be dishonest.
What I Discovered
The Biblical Evidence Is Overwhelming
One of the most striking discoveries during my transition was realising how much I’d been reading around biblical texts rather than truly engaging them.
When John 1:1 says “the Word was God,” I’d deployed sophisticated arguments about the Greek grammar to make it mean something less than full deity. When Colossians 1:15-20 describes Christ as “the image of the invisible God” in whom “all the fullness of deity dwells bodily,” I’d appeal to God Manifestation doctrine to explain away the plain meaning.
But when I finally let Scripture speak on its own terms, the evidence for Christ’s deity becomes impossible to ignore. Not just isolated proof texts, but the entire structure of New Testament theology – the way the apostles worship Jesus, pray to him, attribute creation and providence to him, apply YHWH passages to him, and baptise in his name alongside the Father and Spirit.
As I’ve detailed in my article on arguments supporting the Trinity, the biblical case isn’t just strong – it’s the best explanation for the New Testament data. The early church didn’t invent the Trinity by importing pagan philosophy. They articulated the Trinity because Scripture revealed God as Father, Son, and Spirit in ways that demanded this formulation.
The Historical Reality Is Clear
My research into the historical transmission from Socinus to Thomas proved revelatory.
Modern anti-Trinitarian movements claim apostolic precedent, arguing that the early church was unitarian until Constantine corrupted Christianity with Greek philosophy at Nicaea. This narrative has enormous rhetorical power – it positions unitarians as faithful remnants maintaining original truth against institutional corruption.
But it’s not historically accurate. The complete anti-Trinitarian package that defines movements like Christadelphianism can’t be traced beyond 16th-century Socinianism. Earlier figures like Arius or Photinus held different positions that maintained aspects of divine plurality. The patristic evidence overwhelmingly supports Trinitarian development from the earliest post-apostolic period.
More significantly, recognising that John Thomas inherited Socinian interpretive methods rather than rediscovering apostolic Christianity changed how I understood my own theological background. I wasn’t raised in restored biblical Christianity. I was raised in a sophisticated but historically contingent theological tradition with specific Renaissance origins.
Understanding these transmission pathways wasn’t about dismissing sincere people or questioning motives. It was about recognising that what appears to be independent biblical discovery often represents inherited hermeneutical traditions.
The Logical Objections Were Strawmen
Perhaps the most significant shift came in recognising that my unitarian arguments against the Trinity were fighting positions orthodox Christians don’t actually hold.
As I’ve explored in my article on monotheism and modalism, unitarians typically argue that Trinity creates logical absurdities: God praying to God, God giving revelation to God, God being greater than God. These objections seem devastating – until you realise they only work if you assume modalism.
Trinitarians don’t believe Father, Son, and Spirit are different modes of one person. We believe they’re distinct persons sharing one divine essence. Once you understand that distinction, the “logical problems” dissolve. Jesus praying to the Father isn’t God praying to himself; it’s the Son communing with the Father. Two divine persons in relationship.
For nearly 50 years, I was arguing against modalism and calling it the Trinity. I was attacking a strawman.
Why This Matters
Prayer Becomes Divine Encounter
The shift from God Manifestation to incarnation transformed my prayer life more than any other aspect of my theology.
As a Christadelphian, Jesus felt like a telephone wire – necessary for the connection but not the destination. You’d tack “in Jesus’ name” on the end like a postal code or a magical spell to make sure the prayer reached God. Jesus was a human intermediary, a perfect example showing us the path.
But when Jesus is God incarnate, prayer becomes something entirely different. You’re not praying through a human intermediary to reach God. You’re praying to God through the divine Son who is himself fully God. Jesus isn’t facilitating the prayer; he’s receiving it as the second person of the Trinity.
The confidence this creates is difficult to overstate. Romans 8:34 tells us Christ is “interceding for us.” That’s not a perfect human putting in a good word. That’s God the Son advocating for us before God the Father with infinite divine authority and understanding.
Worship Gains Proper Focus
Christadelphian worship always felt slightly awkward when it came to Jesus. We sang hymns about him, celebrated his sacrifice, reflected on his example – but there was a ceiling on what we could express. We couldn’t worship him as God because we didn’t believe he was God. He becomes a cypher, almost disrespected, certainly not the centre of our worship.
Orthodox worship removes that ceiling. Jesus receives the worship that belongs to God alone because Jesus is God. Not a creature elevated to divine status, but the eternal Word who was with God and was God, who became flesh and dwelt among us. He is Yahweh, just as God the Father is.
This isn’t about emotional experience or aesthetic preference. It’s about whether our worship aligns with reality. If Jesus is God incarnate, then worshiping him isn’t idolatry – it’s appropriate response to who he actually is.
Assurance Rests on Firmer Ground
God Manifestation theology left me constantly measuring my spiritual performance against a standard I knew I couldn’t achieve. Was I manifesting God’s character well enough? Had I surrendered completely enough? The standard was impossible, which created either anxiety or resignation.
The incarnation grounds assurance in who Christ is and what he accomplished, not in how well I’m doing spiritually. Hebrews 7:25 promises Christ “is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.”
My security doesn’t depend on my manifestation of divine character. It depends on Christ’s identity as the God-man and his finished work. That’s not permission for complacency – it’s foundation for genuine transformation rooted in grace rather than performance.
This is vital. I doubt that Unitarians truly understand how their framework creates a works obligation that is antithetical to true grace.
Salvation Makes Sense
The doctrine of substitutionary atonement doesn’t quite work in unitarian theology. How can a perfect human’s death provide infinite satisfaction for infinite sin? How can one man’s obedience be counted sufficient for all humanity’s disobedience?
The incarnation solves this. Only God can bear infinite guilt. Only a human can represent humanity. Only the God-man can do both. Jesus’ sacrifice has infinite worth because of his divine person, while his human nature allows him to stand in our place as our substitute.
This isn’t just theological technicality. It’s the difference between salvation by example (try to be like Jesus) and salvation by substitution (trust in what Jesus accomplished). The former leads to anxiety and failure. The latter provides genuine hope and assurance.
What Remains Mysterious
I need to be honest: embracing the Trinity didn’t eliminate mystery. It exchanged rationalist certainty for revealed truth that transcends full comprehension.
I can’t fully explain how three persons share one divine essence. I can’t completely reconcile divine sovereignty and human freedom, or fully grasp how the eternal Word became human while remaining fully divine. These are mysteries that press on the limits of human understanding.
But I’ve learned to distinguish between mystery and contradiction. The Trinity isn’t logically incoherent – it’s supra-rational. We can know genuine truth about God without comprehending exhaustively how all aspects of that truth fit together.
The alternative – demanding that God conform to categories I can fully grasp – is intellectual pride masquerading as theological rigour. Better to embrace mystery with humility than reduce God to what my finite mind can systematise.
For Those Still Wrestling
If you’re reading this from within a unitarian tradition, wrestling with these questions, I understand the difficulty completely. Nearly fifty years of theological formation doesn’t disappear because you read some articles or heard some arguments.
A few thoughts from someone who’s been where you are:
- Take your time. Theological transitions can’t be rushed. I spent two and a half years in active questioning before I could articulate where I landed. That’s not wasted time; it’s necessary wrestling with truth that matters.
- Engage seriously with orthodox theology. Don’t just read unitarian critiques of the Trinity. Read what Trinitarians actually believe and why. You might be surprised to discover they’re not arguing what you think they’re arguing.
- Recognise the cost. Leaving a tight theological tradition means potential relational loss, identity disruption, and the grief of abandoning beliefs you’ve held for decades. Count that cost honestly.
- But also recognise what’s at stake. This isn’t just about theological correctness. It’s about who God actually is, how salvation actually works, and what Christian worship properly entails. Truth matters, even when it’s costly.
- Remember that sincere people can be wrong. John Thomas, Robert Roberts, and countless others who shaped Christadelphian theology were genuine, devoted Christians. Their sincerity doesn’t make their theology correct. Neither does the sincerity of current adherents.
- Seek community. Theological transition in isolation is brutal. Find people who understand the journey, whether that’s a thoughtful pastor, a theological mentor, or others who’ve made similar transitions.
Where This Leaves Me
In my late 50s, now nearly a decade into orthodox Christianity, I’m still processing this transition. Some days it feels settled and secure. Other days I catch myself thinking in unitarian categories and have to consciously reframe.
I’m preparing for potential ministry in Southeast Asia, where these theological questions take on fresh significance in contexts shaped by different religious backgrounds. I’m working toward what I hope will be my PhD research on theological transmission and historical development. I’m discovering how orthodox theology transforms pastoral ministry, spiritual formation, and mission engagement.
But perhaps most significantly, I’m learning to worship the triune God revealed in Scripture – Father, Son, and Spirit, united in essence and distinct in person. Not the unitarian God of my upbringing, nor the abstract philosophical deity of academic theology, but the living God who exists eternally in relationship within himself and who invites us into that divine fellowship.
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. That remains the most staggering truth in the universe – and the foundation of everything I now believe about God, salvation, and the Christian life.
Final Thoughts
This series of articles doesn’t represent the end of my theological journey. I’m still learning, still growing, still discovering implications of orthodox Christianity I hadn’t previously grasped.
But I can say with confidence: the Trinity isn’t pagan philosophy imported into Christianity. It isn’t logical contradiction or theological word games. It’s the church’s faithful attempt to articulate what Scripture reveals about God’s nature – that the one true God exists eternally as Father, Son, and Spirit, and that this triune God has acted in history to save us through the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
For those still in unitarian traditions, I understand why the Trinity seems strange, even offensive. It did to me too. But I’d encourage you to look past inherited interpretations to what Scripture actually teaches. Let the biblical authors speak on their own terms. Engage seriously with orthodox theology rather than strawman versions of it.
You might find, as I did, that the God revealed in Scripture is more glorious, more complex, and more wonderful than our theological systems can fully capture – but also more biblically grounded and historically attested than unitarian alternatives acknowledge.
The triune God of Scripture invites us into relationship with Father, Son, and Spirit. That’s the God I’ve come to worship, and that invitation remains open to all who would respond in faith.
This concludes my Trinity series. For the full journey, start with the introduction and work through the recommended reading order. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.