Ray leaned forward. “Professor, it seems you were on the brink of believing. But you didn’t. Why?”

I tilted my head, considering how best to answer him. “I suppose my question became, how can I know for certain?”

He smiled. “A very good question. The answer is, you can’t. What would constitute certainty? You’re the historian. Is there any historical account you’d swear to with absolute certainty?”

“No, of course not.”

“And so it is with Jesus Christ. He has left room for faith.”

“But why? Why not make it absolute?”

“Because the heart of God is relationship. And relationship is based on trust, on faith. When two people marry—most people still married in my day—it is a commitment based on faith. They can’t be certain what they’re entering into. They have to trust the other. So it is with God. He offers to enter into an eternal union with us. We trust him—trust what his Son has done to make it possible—and enter in. It’s not blind faith. God has shown us more than enough to make it intellectually palatable, as you’ve discovered. But there is an element of trust. Trust seals the deal, as in any relationship.”

I fell silent. We looked at each other. I finally spoke. “Now that I’ve had the transplant, you believe I no longer have a spirit to join to God.”

“Yes,” he responded quietly. “I believe that is true.”

“But to receive his life—eternally—one has to be joined to God’s Spirit.”

He nodded.

“So does that leave me out? I mean, with this brain I can live forever in my current state.”

“That’s something you’ll have to entrust to God, won’t you? As to your current state, I wouldn’t count on it lasting forever. Bryson Nichols and I may have engineered your brain, but we aren’t God. We can’t grant immortality. You, too, will die, Creighton. As will I—sooner rather than later, I hope. I miss God.”

“How do you know for sure that you’ll be with God again?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t have a sense of God anymore. I can only tell you what it was like before. The spirit of Ray Caldwell, I suspect, is already with God.”

At that, the wind blew as if to underline his statement.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said. “My father…”

“Eli.” He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry about your father. He was a good man.”

“In the message you said you’d known him for a long time, but I don’t remember his ever mentioning you.”

“We went to school together ages ago, but life took us in different directions. We had only recently reestablished our friendship.”

“What prompted the sudden reconnection?”