On 20 April 2026 I will have been both in my role and in Australia for eighteen months. In that time, two observations have stood out to me, what we might say, in Australian idiom, “like a shag on a rock.”
First, across the country there is a palpable desire to see God move: to see lives and communities transformed by Christ’s love, and to witness renewal in churches, schools, and institutions.
Second, there is a deep polarisation across theological and ecclesiological traditions, often coupled with a quiet fear that we will split.
I do not raise these observations as criticism. In my limited experience, both dynamics appear in varying forms across the world and across denominations. Nor do I claim to have a solution to an issue that reaches far beyond the Church and into the wider fabric of Western society and politics.
What I would like to offer instead is a brief theological reflection on how I, as a school chaplain working across numerous traditions, have tried to navigate this space. To do so, let me introduce a Greek word and an ancient doctrine: perichoresis (περιχώρησις).
The Theological Significance of Perichoresis
Perichoresis is often translated as mutual indwelling or coinherence. The term emerged most clearly in the writings of Gregory of Nazianzus, Maximus the Confessor, and John of Damascus as they wrestled with how the Trinity could be understood as one divine essence without collapsing the distinct identities of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
John of Damascus famously described the three persons of the Trinity as “dwelling in one another without confusion or division.”
Their aim was not merely to describe the metaphysics of the Trinity, but to articulate something essential about the nature of God: divine unity is not uniformity, but communion.
I often find it helpful to imagine perichoresis as a form of musical harmony. If the revelation of God’s identity is the composition itself, the persons of the Trinity are the distinct notes. Each retains its identity, yet together they reveal something richer: unity without sameness, distinction without division.
More recent theologians have extended this insight to reflect on how Christians across traditions might relate to one another. John Zizioulas argues that personhood itself exists through relationship; difference does not threaten unity but helps constitute it. Likewise, theologians such as Moltmann, Banda, and LaCugna have suggested that the doctrine of the Trinity should not remain an abstract speculation about God’s inner life. Rather, it should shape how Christians understand community, power, and relationship.
In this view, the Trinity reveals a divine life characterised by mutual self-giving love. If that is the life of God, then the Church, called to reflect the life of God in the world, ought to embody something similar.
Perichoresis, Mission, and the Church
To explore this further, it is helpful to briefly consider how perichoresis relates to mission.
In the twentieth century, as the world emerged from two world wars and began processes of decolonisation, theologians and missiologists such as Karl Barth and David Bosch emphasised a crucial distinction: the difference between Missio Dei (the mission of God) and Missio Ecclesiae (the mission of the Church).
The Missio Dei reminds us that mission originates in the life of the Triune God.
The Father sends the Son.
The Father and the Son send the Spirit.
The Spirit sends the Church.
Mission therefore precedes the Church. It belongs to God, not to us. The Church is invited to participate in what God is already doing.
The Missio Ecclesiae, by contrast, describes the diverse ways the Church participates in that mission. Different traditions often emphasise different aspects of this participation:
- Sacramental traditions emphasise sacramental life and worship.
- Evangelical traditions emphasise proclamation of the gospel.
- Pentecostal and charismatic traditions emphasise spiritual vitality and renewal.
- Progressive traditions often emphasise social justice and transformation.
These differences can sometimes become points of tension. Yet they may also be understood as varied expressions of the Church’s participation in the one mission of God.
Returning to the musical analogy: the Missio Dei is the composition itself, the unfolding work of God in the world. The Church participates in this composition through the diverse expressions of the Missio Ecclesiae.
But the composition is not ours to conduct. It belongs to God. Our task is not to dominate the melody, but to contribute faithfully to the wider work God is performing.
What Might This Mean for the Church?
Perichoretic theology suggests several possibilities.
First, the Trinity reveals that unity and difference are not opposites. God’s very being is communion between distinct persons.
Second, the Church participates in the life and mission of this Triune God. Through the Missio Dei we are drawn into God’s relational life.
Third, if the Church seeks to reflect the character of God, then relational unity must take precedence over competition between traditions.
Fourth, Anglican diversity, often perceived as a challenge, might also be understood as a gift. Different theological emphases need not be treated as threats, but as distinct contributions to the Church’s common witness and a wider understanding of who we are and how God’s mission is at work.
A Brief Biblical Reflection
Tim Gombis, in his commentary on Romans and in his podcast Faith Improvised, explores how the Apostle Paul navigated deep differences within the Roman church.
Paul appears to align himself with the convictions of the “strong”, those who believed Gentile converts were not required to adopt strict Jewish ritual practices. Yet he simultaneously calls them to honour and accommodate the convictions of the “weak,” who held more traditional views.
Paul’s aim was not theological uniformity, but a community shaped by mutual learning and love. No single group possessed the full measure of understanding, and unity in Christ remained the greater calling.
A Final Reflection
In a world increasingly defined by polarisation, the Church has a remarkable opportunity to demonstrate another way of living with difference.
Across our traditions, most of us share the same hope: to see God’s kingdom revealed in Australia and beyond.
Yet it is easy to become overly attached to our own note in the music of the Church, to raise our volume in an attempt to drown out others. When this happens, the result is less like harmony and more like noise.
Perhaps the invitation of perichoresis is something simpler and deeper: to attend carefully to the note we have been given, to ensure it is aligned with the wider movement of God’s mission, and to allow the richness of the Church’s diversity to contribute to the greater symphony of the Missio Dei.
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