My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Spirit
If you could grab hold and pin it down, would you still call it the Spirit? Its name implies a lack of definition and form. It is the Spirit who offers possibilities or outlines, not going beyond the suggestion of what might be. At the same time the Spirit is Holy, with the same holiness seen in the Father's creative and the Son's redemptive acts.
Labels:
faith,
Holy Spirit
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