Every Sunday at church we recite the creed from Iona Abbey. It’s not a standard or traditional Episcopal way to affirm faith, but it is a deeply theological and spiritual mode of such expression: broadening the language to make the concepts embedded therein accessible to a wider audience, specifically those traumatized by fundamentalists, literalists, and dogmaticians hellbent on one way (their way) or the highway. But it’s not only the broadened language that is its unique contribution to creedal expression, it’s the way the words themselves—though very simple—participate in the descriptive imagery daring to paint divine imagery of the three persons of our Christian Holy Trinity. Of God the Creator, ethereal and light words lift the confessors, bringing them into celestial realms, the feeling of the cosmos fresh on skin, eyes filled with heavenly light, ears ringing with angelic symphony as one finds themselves embraced and enveloped by “God Above us.” Of God the Redeemer, the same confessor is brought down to earth by words incarnate made of human existence presencing the suddenness of the onset of child-bearing labor: “God Beside Us” born among us and dwelling in earthy existence, flesh and bone, vulnerable and exposed, subject to the pain of life and death. This one is with us; this one identifies with us.

But when the creed comes to speak of the third person of the Trinity, the Divine Holy Spirit Comforter and Paraclete, the words take on a separate life from the ones that fell before. The ethereal and abstract words describing God Above Us and the material, temporal words describing God Beside Us give way to words that solicit rapid heartbeats and joy that surges through the bodies of the confessors. The words begin to dance, and the confessor is their partner, twirling and whirling lovingly captured in lexical perichoresis:

“We believe in God within us,
the Holy Spirit
burning with  Pentecostal fire,
life-giving breath of the Church,
Spirit of healing and forgiveness,
source of resurrection and of eternal life.”

In the context of the thanksgiving worship of the eucharist communion service, this change makes sense spiritually as well as theologically. It is through the Spirit we are, by faith in Christ, anchored into Abba God. It is through the Spirit that our very breath as beings and as beings in Christ finds foundation. The church (both general and particular) must acknowledge that its birth certificate resides with the Spirit in the event of the intimate divine encounter of Pentecost; it is this same Spirit that will keep continuity within Christ’s body from one era to another, grafting in those who go before and those who come after. By the Spirit, we are yoked to a God who is Love, Who is Light, Who is Life, and Who is liberation (even when things feel cold and dark, when chaos and confusion seem to be our only cairns on the path, even when anger, grief, and sorrow alight upon our fragile, vulnerable existence). By the Spirit, God Above Us and God Beside Us not only become real to us but are made real in us. It is the Spirit by which one can’t help but feel that all that is isn’t all there is. Hope rises; possibility has priority over actuality; good news comes.

But the point of bringing this up is neither to wane uneloquently about this humble creed of Iona Abbey nor to invigorate in my reader a robust role for the Divine Spirit of Abba God. I mention this portion because it is this very portion that is to me a great announcement of Kate’s life and impact on the world around her and the people so fortunate to be touched (and forever altered) by her. To encounter Kate was to be encountered by the divine spirit, the pathos and zeal of God for the Beloved like the prophets of old, those who felt (deeply and personally) the pain and love of both Abba God and humanity, daring to be a conduit and midwife of love for both. To encounter Kate was to be exposed and accepted like the encounter with the incarnate Word who set about to liberate and bring life to human beings stuck in captivity and the threat of death. To encounter Kate was to be invited to dance with her; caught up and twirled and whirled about by both her wit and intelligence while being guided by her gentle hand and deft step, so consumed with the ease and seeming simplicity of the motions, one would cease to remember who was leading whom.

If there ever was an embodiment of “Holy Spirit burning with Pentecostal Fire” it’s Kate. Her passion and energy for those she loved and the world around her wasn’t only palpable but infectious. She bore into the world joy, celebration, and enough holy mischief to rattle the status-quo. She identified with others and was connected to the world, even if it meant bearing the pain around her in her own person. In word and deed, she gave life to those around her: her presence marked a boundary in space and time that was for them, to be who they are as they are without needing to don a façade behind which to hide to be “acceptable” and remain safe. Thus, she liberated those whom she met, liberating them unto life by her authentic love for them. Whether inside the medical institution or outside, she healed others (spiritually and materially); and she lived a life continually expressing the profundity of divine forgiveness transcending mere human words finding location in the temporal realm. In all of this, Kate participated in making a reality today tomorrow’s hope of resurrection and eternal life announced to us by Abba God, made real in Christ, and sealed to us through the Holy Spirit.

While I find hope in reuniting with her in God at some point in my future, her physical absence is felt deeply. I must now wait to see her again. But in this waiting, I am encouraged and exhorted by God’s Holy Spirit to carry forward the light she brought, the life she gave, the liberation she offered to others. In this way, I carry her and her life’s work further into the world. In picking up her mantel, she is remembered and loved. In being remembered and loved, she is present. Since Love never forgets the Beloved, there the Beloved always is, beside us and with us.

I miss you Kate, and I love you deeply.