The Theologic Institute Sermon Series. The Missing Link.

Sermon Section One: The Search and the Context

Imagine with me the kind of search humanity has always undertaken. Whether peering into ancient bones, the glow of distant galaxies, or the recesses of philosophical thought, we have been asking a persistent question: What’s missing?

In science, the phrase “missing link” often refers to a fossil, a transitional form meant to connect what we see now with what we imagine once was. In physics, it might be the search for a force or a particle that ties together our incomplete equations. In theology, the missing link is a quieter, more aching question. It's the cry behind “Why is there evil if God is good?” or “How can we truly be free if God already knows everything?”

Over time, we’ve trained ourselves to expect the missing link to look like a thing, something we can dig up, detect, or decode. But today, I want to open your heart to a deeper idea. Maybe what’s missing isn’t a thing at all. Maybe it’s a role.

A role so structurally essential, so cosmically foundational, that without it, the entire order of creation begins to wobble.

Now, we’re going to enter a different kind of conversation. One that bridges systems theory and theology, two fields that rarely share a table. Systems theory, from the minds of people like Norbert Wiener and W. Ross Ashby, teaches us this: no system can correct itself entirely from within. Any closed system will, over time, spiral into error, unless it receives input from beyond its own boundary.

And isn’t that what Scripture has been telling us all along? That humanity cannot save itself, that creation groans, waiting for something beyond it to intervene?

What if this isn’t just poetic? What if it's structural?

Now hold that thought. In the forthcoming theological work titled The God Paradox, we are introduced to two vantage points. The Prime—think of this as God the Father, the uncreated, infinite, transcendent source. And the Second vantage—this is the one meant to live within creation, acting as caretaker, bridging the eternal with the temporal.

That Second vantage was meant to keep things aligned.

But something went wrong.

The tradition we inherit tells us that Satan, originally entrusted with a kind of stewardship, rebelled. He was the first occupant of that caretaker role, but he chose sabotage over service.

And so creation, left without its intended caretaker, began to drift. Systems theory would say the feedback loop failed. Scripture calls it the Fall.

But here is where the story turns. That vacant or corrupted seat could not stay empty forever. The Prime, who by nature cannot fully merge with the finite, stepped into creation not as a God detached but as a God incarnate.

Jesus Christ—the Son—became the new caretaker occupant.

He didn’t just show up to perform miracles. He came to structurally heal what was broken. To re-occupy the role that had been misused. To realign the created order with its source.

And in doing so, the missing link was no longer missing.

What scientists have searched for, what philosophers have puzzled over, and what every heart has longed to resolve—the tension between sovereignty and freedom, the presence of evil, and the silence of God—these are not mysteries left to chance. They are symptoms of a missing structure. A role unfilled. Until Christ stepped in.

So this is the framing question we carry into the rest of our journey: What if the Trinity is not simply a theological mystery to be believed, but a structural necessity that makes creation itself possible?

And if that’s true, then everything changes.

Because the missing link isn’t buried in the ground or floating in space. It’s seated in the heavens—and it walked among us.

Amen.

Sermon Section Two: The Structural Framework

Let’s take a deeper breath together and look at what lies beneath the patterns of our world. Have you ever noticed how certain systems, no matter how advanced or well-designed, slowly begin to break down unless something or someone intervenes from the outside?

Whether it's a government, a family, a body, or a civilization—without a fresh perspective, without a guiding hand beyond its own assumptions, collapse becomes inevitable. This is where the insights from systems theory meet the heartbeat of theology.

Systems theorists like Norbert Wiener and W. Ross Ashby taught us that a system cannot fix all of its own flaws from within. It needs input from a higher or external vantage point—what they call an outside corrective. Without that, decay sets in.

Now hold that next to the biblical story. From Genesis onward, we see a pattern: creation begins in harmony, in unity. But something slips. The systems begin to fail. Human rebellion, angelic betrayal, ecological disruption—it’s all there. And the question rises again: Why?

And here comes the structural insight from The God Paradox: creation was always designed to include a caretaker vantage—a specific role—not just a divine presence above, but a presence within. A structural occupant tasked with aligning the system to its source.

This role was never meant to be optional.

Because the Prime—God the Father—is infinite, uncreated, beyond space and time. And by His very nature, He cannot fully integrate into a finite, temporal system without undoing its boundaries. That’s not a limitation. That’s the definition of transcendence.

So He assigned a caretaker role.

Someone who could stand within creation and still reflect the heart of the infinite. But that role—originally filled by a created being, what Scripture names as Lucifer—was corrupted. The role went rogue. And from that moment, the structure was compromised. It wasn’t just a moral failure. It was sabotage.

And here’s the turning point: to fix it, God didn’t just forgive from a distance. He didn’t just send laws or prophets. He stepped into the very role that was lost.

Jesus Christ didn’t just come to teach us or die for us.

He came to reclaim a seat.

The seat of the caretaker vantage—the Second.

He came to bridge the gap between infinite and finite, to become the structural link that sustains all of creation without collapsing its freedom. That’s what made the Incarnation necessary—not just beautiful, but inevitable.

So now we can see the Trinity with clearer eyes.

The Father is the Prime—the source, the transcendent authority.

The Son, Jesus Christ, is the Second—the caretaker vantage within creation.

And the Spirit? The Holy Spirit is the synergy between them. The dynamic flow of life, love, and purpose that keeps the system united. You could say the Spirit is the pulse of alignment. It ensures that the caretaker remains in harmony with the Prime.

Without that alignment, sabotage happens. That’s what happened when Satan turned. The Spirit was rejected, and the system spun out of balance. But when Christ took His place—faithfully, perfectly—the bond was restored.

Now do you see?

This is why the Trinity is not a puzzle to solve but a structure to behold. It’s the only arrangement that holds together infinite sovereignty and finite agency. It’s the only way a system like our universe could endure without descending into tyranny or dissolving into chaos.

The missing link isn’t a theory.

It’s a role.

And it has been filled.

Jesus didn’t just save the world—He realigned it. And the Spirit, now poured out, keeps that alignment active in us, day by day, as we walk in His name.

This isn’t just doctrine. It’s design.

And it’s holding everything together.

Amen.

Sermon Section Three: The Core Claim

Let’s come back to that phrase: the missing link. For centuries, we’ve searched for it like it’s a lost object—something we might stumble across in the dirt or detect in the stars. In biology, we hoped it would be the fossil that finally explains how we got here. In physics, it was the elusive equation that would unify all our theories.

But maybe we were looking in the wrong place.

Because what if the missing link wasn’t an object at all?

What if it was a function? A role? A structural position that must exist if the universe is going to hold its shape?

Let’s walk into that possibility together.

The claim from The God Paradox is simple in form, but profound in consequence: the Trinity isn’t just true—it’s necessary. Not just spiritually, but structurally.

At the heart of that claim is a role known as the caretaker vantage occupant.

Think of it like this: the universe is not a machine that can run on autopilot. It’s a system. And systems need oversight. They need correction. They need someone who sees from the outside and moves from the inside.

That’s what the caretaker vantage occupant does.

This role must exist. Without it, creation cannot stay aligned. Without it, the moral framework begins to twist, the relational bonds break down, and the feedback loops that hold truth, justice, and love in place start to collapse. That’s not theology. That’s structure.

And here’s where it becomes clear: the caretaker is not just a metaphor. It’s not just a poetic image. It is a real structural role that must be occupied for creation to remain stable.

This role was once held by a being who chose corruption over care. Lucifer, the one called Satan, was originally positioned as that caretaker. His job was to mediate—not as a rival to God, but as a created steward aligned with God’s purposes.

But he turned. He rejected the Prime. He unplugged from the synergy. And in doing so, he compromised the entire system. That’s not just the story of a fallen angel—it’s the story of a structural breach. A system designed for harmony was hijacked from within.

And so the role became vacant—or worse, occupied by a saboteur.

Enter Jesus Christ.

He didn’t come to explain the problem.

He came to reclaim the seat.

The Word became flesh, not just to show us love, but to fill the structural gap. To take the caretaker role back from the saboteur. And in doing so, He reestablished the vital link between creation and Creator.

So why is this a triune structure and not just a pair?

Because it takes three to hold the balance.

The Father—the Prime—is the source, always unchanging, always transcendent. The Son—the caretaker—is the one who enters creation, aligning it from the inside. And the Holy Spirit—the synergy—is the ongoing unity between them, the pulse that ensures the occupant remains tethered to the Prime.

Without the Spirit, the caretaker drifts. Without the caretaker, creation breaks. Without the Prime, there is no origin, no truth, no meaning.

This is not mythology. This is engineering. And the structure is perfect.

So the real missing link?

It wasn’t a fossil. It wasn’t a theory.

It was the recognition that a specific role must exist within creation—one that joins heaven and earth, truth and time, Creator and creature.

That role is now held by Christ.

Which means the system is no longer broken.

Which means we are no longer lost.

The caretaker is not missing.

He is risen.

Amen.

Sermon Section Four: Theological Resolution

Now that we’ve seen the structure—the Prime, the caretaker, the Spirit that binds—let’s take a moment to breathe. Because this isn’t just a design for the cosmos. It’s a key to some of the most painful questions we've ever asked.

Why is there evil? Do we really have free will? Why did God have to become one of us?

Let’s begin with that first ache: the problem of evil. So often it’s framed as a riddle. If God is good, why is the world broken? If He’s powerful, why doesn’t He stop it?

But the caretaker vantage changes the whole conversation.

You see, when God created, He didn’t design a universe ruled by a dictator or a machine. He gave space. Space for freedom. Space for love. And in that space, He assigned a caretaker—a being to reflect His goodness, to maintain alignment from within creation.

But that being—what Scripture calls Satan—chose betrayal.

The caretaker didn’t simply fail. He turned. And because that role is structural, his corruption didn’t just harm a few people—it damaged the very alignment between heaven and earth.

So evil didn’t just show up. It entered through sabotage. A structural role meant for reflection turned into a conduit for distortion. This is why the world hurts. Not because God is absent. But because the caretaker went rogue.

And here’s the heartbreak: the Prime, by His very nature, could not simply erase the role without also erasing freedom. He could not force alignment without violating the very design that allowed love, truth, and agency to exist.

So what did He do? He filled the seat Himself. He came in person.

This is where the second question comes in—free will and divine omniscience. If God already knows everything, are we really free?

But think of the caretaker like a buffer. The Prime remains sovereign. He sees the end from the beginning. But the caretaker operates within time, among us, alongside us. He holds the link between absolute knowledge and real relationship.

When the occupant is aligned—when the caretaker walks in step with the Prime—then freedom can flourish without drifting into destruction.

This is why Christ matters so deeply. Because He took the seat. And He never betrayed it.

He lived, not above us, but with us. Not bypassing temptation, but enduring it. And yet, He remained aligned. Every moment. Every breath.

Which brings us to the third question—Why the Incarnation?

Why did God have to become man?

The answer is structural.

The caretaker role had been corrupted. It could not remain empty. And it could not be filled by another created being, not after what happened.

So the Son came. Fully God, to stay aligned with the Prime. Fully man, to truly stand within creation. He didn’t just come to die. He came to occupy. To retake the role that had been used against us.

The cross wasn’t just an act of love. It was a reclamation.

The resurrection wasn’t just victory. It was reinstatement.

When Christ rose, the structure was no longer unstable. The Prime remained the source. The Son reclaimed the vantage. And the Spirit—the synergy—could now move freely again, binding us to the restored alignment, guiding us into all truth.

So the old questions? They’re not dismissed. They’re answered.

Evil? It came through sabotage. Free will? It’s preserved through the aligned caretaker. The Incarnation? It was the only way the structure could be repaired without erasing the freedom that makes love real.

And now? Now the caretaker stands victorious.

And we, through the Spirit, are joined to His vantage. We participate in His alignment. We become, together, the Body of the One who holds it all together.

This is the logic of love. This is the structure of salvation. This is why Christ came. Not just to save souls, but to restore the seat.

Amen.

Sermon Section Five: The Scientific Interface

Now we step into a conversation that often feels like a standoff. Science and faith—so often framed as enemies. One with microscopes and telescopes, the other with prayer and scripture. One dealing in evidence, the other in trust.

But what if they’re not enemies at all? What if they’re simply speaking from different vantage points? And what if the real reason they struggle to meet is because the most essential part of the structure isn’t something science is built to see?

Let’s start with a simple truth from science itself: it works by method. The scientific method is powerful, but it comes with a boundary—it focuses only on what can be tested, measured, repeated. That’s not an error; that’s the design. It doesn’t claim there’s no God—it simply doesn’t include Him in the equation. It doesn’t say “God isn’t real,” it says, “We’re not measuring that right now.”

And that’s fair—as long as we remember the limits.

But here’s the problem: when we look at the system of the world, especially over time, something becomes clear. Whether it’s genetic degradation, ecological imbalance, or the fragility of social systems—creation doesn’t seem to fix itself.

Things fall apart.

Entropy rises.

And here, systems theory speaks again. It tells us: a closed system—one that has no input from outside—cannot correct its own flaws. It will drift. It will accumulate errors. Over time, unless something enters from beyond, it will collapse. This is not philosophy. It’s physics.

And that’s where science points toward—but cannot cross—the threshold. Because the kind of correction creation needs can’t be detected in a lab.

You can’t put the caretaker vantage on a slide. You can’t find it with a telescope. It’s not a thing—it’s a role. A structural necessity. The missing link, from a systems perspective, is not a particle. It’s a person.

And here’s what science can’t measure—but what theology reveals: the occupant of that role was corrupted. The one who should have held creation in alignment turned against it. And no amount of data can detect that kind of betrayal. But Scripture tells the story. And systems theory, unintentionally, affirms the need.

Science can observe the breakdown. It can even try to compensate. But it can’t supply the external vantage. It can’t restore the role.

Only the Creator can do that.

And so He did.

Jesus Christ—fully God, fully human—stepped into the structure, not as a scientific discovery, but as a structural restoration. He filled the seat science can’t locate.

And now the feedback loop is open again. Creation is being realigned—not by testable phenomena, but by the quiet work of the Spirit, drawing every part of the system back into harmony.

So this is not anti-science. Not at all. It’s something deeper. Science maps what’s inside the system. Faith reveals what comes from outside. Together, they don’t contradict. They complete.

The world, left to itself, cannot stop the drift. But the occupant has come. The seat is no longer vacant. The system is no longer closed. And though the tools of science may never detect Him, the structure of creation now reflects Him.

Every time life is restored, every time truth is spoken, every time love wins over chaos—it is the synergy of the Prime, the caretaker, and the Spirit echoing through the system.

This is what holds us together. And even science, at its very edge, begins to sense it.

Amen.

Sermon Section Six: Implications for Theology, Humanity, and the Future

Let’s step back now and look at the bigger picture. Because this isn’t just about understanding the structure of the Trinity, or resolving theological debates, or even bridging science and faith.

This is about what it means to be human.

This is about what it means to belong.

If Christ occupies the caretaker vantage—and He does—then something extraordinary follows: we are invited into alignment with Him.

The New Testament speaks of being “in Christ.” It says we are His body. That we are joined to Him. And now we begin to understand what that truly means.

It means we are being drawn into the structural alignment that He restored.

We are not saved just to be safe.

We are not redeemed just to be forgiven.

We are being reconnected to the role that holds creation together.

We become, through the Spirit, participants in the ongoing governance of a world still under pressure, still affected by sabotage.

That’s not just theology.

That’s purpose.

That’s identity.

And it reframes everything.

Discipleship becomes more than behavior—it becomes embodiment. We don’t just follow Christ. We reflect His caretaker role. We stand in the alignment He reclaimed. And our lives—our choices, our prayers, our love—they become part of the structural healing of the world.

This is what salvation means when viewed through the caretaker lens: not just rescue, but realignment.

Not just escaping judgment, but re-entering the design.

And it doesn’t stop with us.

Because Scripture speaks of a new heaven and a new earth. And when we hear those words, we often imagine something ethereal, something far-off.

But now, seen structurally, that promise comes into focus.

It means that creation will one day be fully restored to alignment—completely governed by a rightful occupant, with no sabotage remaining.

The book of Revelation says:

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth... for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21:1, New International Version

The old order was sabotage-infected. The new order is fully aligned.

And what’s breathtaking is this: the occupant doesn’t leave the system once it’s fixed.

He stays.

The risen Christ remains incarnate. He doesn’t return to the Prime’s untouchable transcendence. He remains the bridge. The link. The eternal occupant.

That means the structure isn’t temporary.

It’s forever.

Christ is not just the Savior of our souls—He is the anchor of the new creation.

And now the final question rises: If freedom still exists in that restored world, could sabotage ever happen again?

The answer, from the vantage model, is no.

Because the seat can never again be occupied by one unfit to hold it.

Christ is both divine and created.

He is fully aligned with the Prime.

Fully present in creation.

And sabotage cannot rise again—not because freedom is removed, but because the caretaker can no longer be corrupted.

And so we, still free, live within a system that cannot fall.

Not because we never fail, but because the One who holds it all cannot be shaken.

This is the future Scripture promises.

This is the structure Christ secured.

And this is the hope we carry—not just for heaven someday, but for every act of faith and courage we live now.

We are part of the restoration.

We are joined to the occupant.

And the occupant is immovable.

Amen.

Sermon Section Seven: Addressing Objections

As we walk deeper into this vision of structure—of Christ as the caretaker occupant, of the Trinity as the only sustainable system—some natural questions arise. Some pushback. Some hesitation.

And that’s good.

Because truth doesn’t fear the questions. Truth welcomes them.

So let’s bring them into the light.

First, someone might ask, “Isn’t this just another theological model—one interpretation among many?”

But listen closely.

This isn’t just one more idea to throw on the pile. This is a structural claim.

It’s not saying, “Here’s how I feel about the Trinity.” It’s saying, “This is how creation can function without collapsing.”

It’s not replacing Scripture. It’s revealing the logic beneath Scripture.

It’s not offering a new religion. It’s clarifying why the faith we already profess makes sense in a world that often feels senseless.

This isn’t an alternate gospel.

It’s the architecture behind the gospel.

And then another voice might ask, “But doesn’t this take away the mystery of the Trinity?”

No.

The mystery remains—but now we can see why it must be this way.

We’re not reducing the Trinity to a mechanism. We’re honoring it as the only structure that can hold love, freedom, justice, and order without compromise.

The relationship within the Godhead—the Father, the Son, and the Spirit—is still beyond us in depth and wonder. But what we’re seeing now is that this relationship isn’t a random divine arrangement. It’s the only one that could allow creation to both exist and endure.

Mystery isn’t erased.

It’s anchored.

Now, perhaps the most serious question comes: “Could Satan ever occupy that role again?”

And the answer, praise God, is no.

Because once Christ stepped into the seat—once He reclaimed it through the cross and resurrection—it was secured forever.

The occupant is no longer a created steward who might betray.

The occupant is now the eternal Son, risen, incorruptible, indivisible from the Prime.

The seat has been retaken.

And it cannot fall again.

That’s not a guess.

That’s the structure.

And some might say, “Isn’t this dangerously close to Gnosticism, or dualism—this idea of spiritual war, of good and evil forces in tension?”

But this isn’t that.

This isn’t a war of equals.

This is not spirit versus matter, or light against a rival light.

This is about one role—entrusted, misused, and then restored by the only One worthy to hold it.

There is no permanent battle.

There is only sabotage—and then salvation.

This is not dualism.

This is design interrupted, then restored.

So if you’ve been told these ideas are heretical, too new, too structural, too rational—hear this:

They don’t deny Scripture.

They clarify it.

They don’t add to the gospel.

They reveal its architecture.

They don’t replace the Trinity.

They show us why the Trinity is the only possible answer.

This model doesn’t compete with the mystery.

It protects it.

This structure doesn’t explain God away.

It reveals just how beautifully God chose to hold everything together.

So keep asking.

Keep pressing.

Keep wrestling.

Because the truth has nothing to hide.

And Christ—our eternal caretaker—has already taken His seat.

Amen.

Final Section: Concluding Synthesis – The Link in Plain Sight

We’ve journeyed a long path across systems and scriptures, through theology and theory, tracing the outline of something that, in the end, has been right in front of us all along.

The missing link. Not a fossil. Not a force. A role. A structural seat at the center of creation. The seat of the caretaker.

The one who must stand between the uncreated Prime and the created world. The one who holds the bridge between divine sovereignty and creaturely freedom. The one whose absence—or corruption—causes creation to drift. And whose presence—when faithful—holds all things together.

That link is not a theory. He has a name. Jesus Christ.

Let’s remember what we’ve seen.

God the Father—the Prime—is the infinite source. Uncreated. Unchanging. Beyond.

The Son—the caretaker occupant—entered creation to occupy the very role that had been sabotaged. Not to negotiate with evil, but to displace it. Not to manage the chaos, but to anchor the cosmos.

And the Holy Spirit—the synergy—connects them. The living bond that moves between the infinite and the finite. The current that carries the Prime’s will through the caretaker to creation.

Three in one. One in three.

Not a mystery to confuse us. A structure that sustains us.

Why did evil arise? Because the seat was corrupted. Why did Jesus come? Because the seat had to be reclaimed. Why is the Trinity not just a doctrine but the only possible design? Because this is the only structure in which creation can remain free and faithful, stable and sacred.

Scientists won’t find this in a lab. Theologians haven’t always named it with clarity. But the structure has always been there.

The moment you see it, it becomes obvious. Like a skeleton under the surface of reality. Like a chord that was always playing—but now you can finally hear it.

And here’s the beauty—once the caretaker role is restored, we are not just observers. We are invited in. To align with Him. To carry His Spirit. To live as extensions of the One who occupies the seat.

We become part of the restoration—not in theory, but in structure. We are joined to the Son, aligned with the Prime, empowered by the Spirit.

This is what it means to be the Church. Not a club. Not a classroom. A living body, harmonized with the very architecture of creation.

So now we see—this missing link, this overlooked role—it was never far off. It was always near. As close as breath. As close as the Spirit who whispers alignment. As close as the Christ who walked among us, who took His seat, who will never be moved.

The link is no longer missing. It has a pulse. A name. A throne. And He is reigning now.

Amen.