“The Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered,” Dr. Williams declared. “This means, brothers and sisters, that some grief is so heavy and some sorrow so deep and some pain so raw that no words in any language that exists now, no language that has ever existed, no language that ever will exist, can truly express it. But God’s Spirit can, amen?”

“Amen,” came the reply, a bit more solemn this time, reflecting the more serious mood of his statement.

“Those emotions, those questions, your hurts and your heartache—the Spirit of God is aware of your suffering and prays to the Father to ask him to remove it, to heal it, to unknot it from your heart. That’s the intercession that the Spirit gives. Those are the groans which cannot be uttered by human lips, the ones the Spirit of the Lord specializes in.”

While there are certain teachings of Christianity that remained inexplicable to me—the cross-carrying, burden-lifting paradox, for instance—what Dr. Williams was saying about groans that words could not express, that I could relate to.

I’d felt groans like that arise from my own heart. I’d searched futilely for the words to express my heartache but found only the glaring ineloquence of pain.

Was it possible that God’s Spirit understood me so well that he knew even better than I did how to express the hidden, thorny terrors rooted in my soul? If so, that was the kind of God I needed. That was the kind of God I could love.

After the service, while Tessa and I were on our way to the door, Dr. Williams made his way over, somewhat enthusiastically, to greet us.

“Good to see you, Tessa,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said noncommittally.

He looked at me with a touch of warmth and curiosity, then extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Williams.”

I was about to shake his hand and introduce myself, but before I could do either, Tessa said, “That’s Dr. Bowers.”

The PhD in geospatial investigation didn’t come up much in my job and I tended not to mention it.

“He’s my stepdad,” she added.

A wide grin. “Ah, so you’re the lucky man who married Christie.”

“I am.” We shook hands. “I appreciated your sermon.”

“But?”

“But?”

“Was that hesitation I heard in your voice a moment ago? You appreciated my sermon . . . but . . .”

This guy was better at reading people than half of the profilers at Quantico. I didn’t really want to question him or put him on the spot, so I simply said, “It was thought-provoking, what you said about Jesus wanting to carry our burdens for us.”

“We all have burdens.”

“Yes, we do.”

Though he waited for me to go on, I didn’t.

“Well, if God’s word spoke to you today, then praise the Lord. And where is Christie on this blessed day?”