I believe in the Holy Ghost

The Holy Spirit is definitely the part of the Trinity we talk about the least. And yet there are pages upon pages that could be written on the person of the Spirit—sermons, books, whole theologies. But somehow it seems easiest to me to sum up the Spirit with the understanding that all good actions come from the Spirit. Moved to financially fight poverty? A gift of the Spirit. Being prompted to send a caring note to a brother or sister in need? A gift of the Spirit. An overwhelming sense of peace, even in the midst of stress or grief? A gift of the Spirit. Reconciling with a family member, the ah-ha moment on a Sunday morning, that feeling of communion with a friend, understanding Jesus on a new level, joyous laughter—all gifts of the Spirit. Galatians 5:22-23 is a better summary than you or I could ever come up with: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”

The Spirit lives in us, convicts us of sin, opens our eyes so that we see the world as God sees the world, gifts every person for ministry, and moves us into closer relationship with the Triune God. May you be open to the presence of the Spirit, for while she is powerfully overwhelming at times, she is also very much like sheer silence Elijah hears in the cave in which he hears the voice of the Lord. May your Lenten journey include the silence and stillness needed for the presence of the Holy Spirit to be known.

Grace and peace,

Jess

AND we believe the good news that “[Jesus] descended into hell; the third day he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”

Fully human? Yes. Fully divine? Yes. Not either/or, but both/and.

In the weekday kindergarten chapel last week, we were talking about Jesus being sad when we are sad. One small Batman-clad five-year-old declared that he was actually sad BECAUSE of Jesus—he wished Jesus were still around and not in heaven. “Well, that’s the great thing about Jesus,” says I, trying to keep my ministerial cool, “he’s both in heaven and alive right here in our hearts.” Frown, says the little boy’s face. “That’s kinda weird, isn’t it?” Pause. Fair enough, says the little boy’s face. And we moved on.
Somehow, having said it outloud that it’s hard to understand Jesus worked for that child. Not always, but sometimes kids can handle the ambiguity better than adults. Faith like a child. Belief grasped in innocence. It’s the only way to believe all that we believe—to hold fast to those moments of clarity when we know (not with our minds, but with our hearts) that Jesus was indeed raised from the dead and is alive both in heaven and in our hearts, sustaining us with his love and waiting to greet us in his Father’s house.

For if we do not, then as Paul says in I Corinthians 15:14, “…then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.” The good news in Jesus Christ is that… “he descended into hell; the third day he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.” It’s Lent, so we traditionally we refrain from raising our Alleluias, but praise God Easter morning is coming—when we celebrate that Jesus did indeed rise from the dead—fully human, fully divine.

“We believe… in Jesus Christ, his only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried…”

Fully human; fully divine. How do you wrap your mind around that? As I was outlining some thoughts on this section of the Apostles’ Creed, I titled it, “PREQUEL to the Gospel.” I guess at the time I was thinking the good news in Jesus is all the resurrection stuff. Perhaps that day was golden enough that I wasn’t bogged down in the mess of being a human being. But on days when I am just that, heavy with all the junk of earth, the good news in Jesus Christ has a lot more to do with his full humanity. Max Lucado, in his book, God Came Near, writes:

"It all happened in a moment, a most remarkable moment… that was like none other. For through that segment of time a spectacular thing occurred. God became a man. While the creatures of earth walked unaware, Divinity arrived. Heaven opened herself and placed her most precious one in a human womb… God as a fetus. Holiness sleeping in a womb. The creator of life being created. God was given eyebrows, elbows, two kidneys, and a spleen. He stretched against the walls and floated in the amniotic fluids of his mother. God had come near. [And] For thirty-three years he would feel everything you and I have ever felt. He felt weak. He grew weary. He was afraid of failure. He was susceptible to wooing women. He got colds, burped, and had body odor. His feelings got hurt. His feet got tired. And his head ached. To think of Jesus in such a light is—well, it seems almost irreverent, doesn’t it? It’s not something we like to do; it’s uncomfortable. It is much easier to keep the humanity out of the incarnation. He’s easier to stomach that way… But don’t do it. For heaven’s sake, don’t. Let him be as human as he intended to be. Let him into the mire and muck of our world. For only if we let him can he pull us out."

We believe the good news that Jesus… was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried…”

The Apostles’ Creed

“I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth….” What shall we eat for lunch? Oh, better not forget my purse. What’s the number of the next hymn?

We recite the Apostles’ Creed toward the end of worship on a regular basis. And since the words are burned into our memories, it’s tempting to just begin gathering your stuff and thinking about what’s coming up next instead of concentrating on the words themselves.

But the words themselves are important—like our faith in a nutshell. So I’d like to spend a little time reflecting on them over the next few weeks.

“I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.” These first two lines are pretty basic to our faith. First, we believe. We have been given the gift of faith, to make the choice in trusting one God, and leaving the others behind. We don’t believe in some higher being, but the Higher Being, the one who created the world out of a formless void, the one some call our heavenly Father.

On the surface, this begining is like a basic fact—not much reflection involved, but underneath, there’s so much more. Like believing itself—what does it entail? How do we arrive at it? Why “Father”? And of course the whole creating idea?

Oooh, it’s tempting to try to answer some of these questions for you, but it’s Lent after all—a time of reflecting, for our faith is often as much about questions as it is about answers.

That’s why we call it “faith” and not “fact.”