(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?