It’s ironic—I know this even at the moment.
Sitting in a room surrounded by my people…
Thinkers, not feelers, almost to a soul
(this was once upon a time before I became a big sap).
I am defending the Holy Spirit.
Ironic because, I will just say it—
I am a little skittish when it comes to the Holy Spirit.
The Father—ok, I can wrap my mind around that idea.
Jesus—divinity and humanity all together in one—I am irresistibly drawn to this.
But wind? Breath?
It sounds so unpredictable. So unquantifiable. So feel-y.
Even then, even before I became a big sap,
I knew groaning.
My heart knew the redemption ache.
We do not know what we ought to pray for…
The need feels too big.
Our faith feels too small.
We can’t process it all.
But the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.
This too, I have known…
My wordy, cynical, overthinking self.
When words fail, sometimes there is silence.
Giant, cavernous silence. Silence so loud it hurts.
Or still, heavy silence. Silence that beckons you to linger, to keep pressing in.
When words fail, sometimes there are tears.
Heaving, cathartic tears.
Or gentle, healing tears of release.
When words fail, sometimes there are words.
Words that come from somewhere else. From Someone else.
Words that tumble out of some hidden place that you know is not you
Because they are just right in this moment.
And you have nothing.
This, friends, is the Holy Spirit.
The One called alongside the called-out ones.
Thinkers and feelers,
If, tonight, you know groaning,
If words fail,
Let him intercede.
He’s got this.