Category Archives: creed

I believe in the Holy Spirit

Posted on by
3

(Part of the Creed series)

My friend messed up his marriage. He’s trying to clean things up. He wanted to help at church in a public way. His wife said it made her very uncomfortable. He wanted to know what to do, since helping at church is a good thing, right?

I said, “Imagine you and your wife were working in the kitchen together. Somehow, you cut her hand, pretty seriously. As the cut is just starting to heal, imagine walking over and poking your finger into the cut.” I said, “That’s what you’d be doing.” We both flinched. He understood.

I believe in the Holy Spirit.

I didn’t want to apply for the job. I was an obvious candidate, but I didn’t want to apply. “Nope, I never want to sit in that chair.” One day, walking through the building, after saying again “Nope, I don’t want to,” I thought “I don’t get to tell God that.” Later, I started writing an application letter to the search committee, explaining. Mid-paragraph, the committee chair walked in.

I believe in the Holy Spirit.

I didn’t get the job.

I believe in the Holy Spirit.

I sat next to the little coffin. As I waited, I was aware of a feeling in my chest. I know the feeling of butterflies, the anxiousness before speaking, before performance, before importance. I know that feeling well. This was the opposite. Not deadness, but a living, moving peace.

I believe in the Holy Spirit

Jesus was talking to the disciples, the eleven: “The Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you.”

I believe in the Holy Spirit.

I don’t understand. I can’t explain. But I believe. How could I not?

the one who decides.

Posted on by
2

(We are going back to the creed. Here’s what we’ve written so far.)

Most of us think judgment should exist. We want an end to gang violence and justice for families wrecked by meth manufacturers. We want an end to child trafficking and justice for those who buy and sell children like property. We want an end to brutal dictators and corporate theft and people who take our place in line.

We want just justice. We want fair judges to make the decisions, people who won’t yield to special interests or political expediency, people who will decide on the merits of the case, people who won’t allow the guilty to slide by on a technicality.

We want merciful justice. We want mercy involved in judging so there is protection for people who didn’t know any better, who were seduced against their will, who didn’t understand anything. We want someone judging who understands how complicated it is to be human, with weak wills and confusing choices.

The creed talks about judging. We read in the creed From [the right hand of the Father] he [Jesus] shall come to judge the living and the dead. The room divides. The ones who think they’re right. The ones who feel judged by the ones they believe think they are right.

When the room divides, some linger. They know that the date of judgment isn’t in the creed, nor is there any detail when the day is.  They don’t try to figure out rapture and tribulation, Lake of Fire, Armageddon.

Instead, we say we believe that the person who was the only-begotten son of God, who was born miraculously, lived, died, rose again, ascended and is sitting next to God the Father is going to come and judge us.  Who understands abuse and underdogs. Who knows both human and divine. A judge who could be just. And merciful.

Seated.

Posted on by
Reply

Andrew was home for Thanksgiving yesterday. He was in Florida last year, traveling as part of the crew with a band. He’s been traveling with them for more than two years: gone, home, gone, home. Last Saturday was his last concert. He retired from the road. He decided that part of life was done.

A bunch of people said great things about him. Fans of the band were fans of the stage manager. Not because of his music – he plays the radio – but because of his very Andrewness.

When I said he is home, I didn’t that he was with Nancy and Hope and me. He’s with his wife Allie at their apartment in Chicago. He’s right where he belongs. But last weekend we got to see him briefly, to give him a hug. To let him know, once again, how proud of him I am.

What does this have to do with the creed?

When we recite “He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of the Father,” I think it looks like Andrew stopping here on Monday morning, Andrew home today.

He finished his work, was proud of what he did. He did it well. He could take pride in finishing. And then he’s back to where he belongs, to the enduring relationships.

There is, between father and son, deep affection and pride. There is love. In the creed, for Father and Son, there is this same sense of affection, of completion. To say “God is love” is to see this relationship, this sitting side by side chatting, hugging, laughing, weeping.

With Andrew last week, with Hope home from college this week, I can’t stop looking at them.

What if that’s in the creed?

I wrote more about this image last year: Two chairs, leaning together.

From Friday to Sunday is 36 hours.

Posted on by
2

Everyone who can do clock math reads the creed clause “The third day he rose from the dead” and thinks, “it’s only thirty-six hours from Friday night to Sunday morning” Why do we always talk about the three days? Why did Jesus say “that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life”? Didn’t he know how to do math? I mean, why do we recite a creed that makes it look like we don’t know how to use a clock and a calendar.

I understand the concern. I really do. It is only thirty-six hours. That’s not three of our days. That’s like my dad saying, “the morning’s almost gone” at 9:30 on Saturday morning. The morning’s not almost gone. In fact, it shouldn’t have started as early as it did.

Stop for a minute and think about the whole phrase. He. Rose. From. The. Dead. Three days, three hours. who cares? I mean he was dead and buried and now he’s alive. That’s huge, right? Bigger than vampires. Bigger than Frankenstein. Bigger than cryogenics. Bigger than marketing for Black Friday.

In fact I love the matter-of-fact nature of the creed at this point. There is no attempt to impress, to preach, to prove. There is no Passion Play designed to evoke emotion. After being buried on parts of three calendar squares, Jesus, who has been described very carefully before this in the creed, rises from the dead. Once dead, now alive. Dude.

And this isn’t the end of the story, the end of the creed, the end of amazing. In fact, it’s just the middle. The story keeps going.

Whole books are written around these couple lines of death and resurrection. Arguments, careers, reputations. But this simple declaration is at the heart of them all.

ambivalent alliterative Pontius Pilate.

Posted on by
2

Of all the interactions Jesus has in his life, only two humans are mentioned in the creed. The first was his mother. The second is the Roman governor who granted permission and refused responsibility.

Crucified under Pontius Pilate, and buried.

I read through John’s account of Pilate’s presence. Pilate interrogates and interviews Jesus, then implores the Jewish leaders to release him. Pilate permits painful punishment, first flogging, second scornful spitting, finally crucifixion.

There is no alliteration for crucifixion. Nails through flesh, slow torture, asphyxiation. That should be enough to remember without introducing the self-justifying hand-washing Roman governor. Mary? Sure. List her name. But Pontius Pilate?

But what if you want to invite reflection when you profess what you believe? What if you want to suggest two people in Jesus’ life who made themselves available for someone else’s will? Mary said to God, “Whatever you say.” Pilate said to people, “Whatever you say.” The two acts of willing surrender of choice bracket Jesus’ life. One giving birth, the other death.

We daily wrestle with the threats and expectations of others: “We will depose you. We will riot. We will oppose you. We will cause problems that your boss won’t like.”  And every time we hand our responsibility for the life of Christ to the clamoring crowd, we understand the ambivalence of Pilate.

Mary’s openness brought her to the foot of the cross Pilate’s openness allowed to stand. Mary’s agony watching her son was far worse than Pilate’s agony over letting the bureacratic process run its politically expedient course. Mary’s mourning was deep. But so would be her delight.

These two names, recited for centuries, offer us the same options faced by Mary and Pilate.Because at the end of the clause, Jesus is buried,  but not at the end of the creed.