There is a particular kind of fluster that comes with a hurried arrival on a rainy Sunday morning.
I found myself rushing through the downpour to reach the doors of St Edmunds, shaking off the dampness like a wet spaniel (or wet black labrador might be more fitting!) as I stepped inside.
Our church looks a little unconventional at the moment; while we work on fixing the heating, we have a large, marquee-style tent set up right inside the nave to help hold the warmth. It’s essentially like “Glamping with Jesus” and is great for the soul. It creates a cosy, intimate space for worship, shielding us from any potential frostbite as we gather together, though I did half expect someone to start passing around toasted marshmallows during the hymns!
As I settled into my seat, still catching my breath and shaking off the rainfall, the service turned our hearts toward the book of Exodus and the journey of the people of Israel. We reflected on the parting of the Red Sea – a story of incredible deliverance, yet one marked by very relatable human doubt. It is easy for us, sitting in our dry (if slightly drafty) chairs, to look back and wonder why they questioned Moses the moment they got thirsty, or why they grumbled when they were hungry, instead of simply turning to the Lord in prayer. Yet, if we are honest, we often do the exact same. We focus on the “puddles” in our lives rather than the God who can part the entire ocean with grace. We forget that the same Father who provided manna (yes, that’s actually a word I learned today!) in the desert is simply waiting for us to ask for His help.
The most profound moment for me came when Jeff, our church leader, invited us to place our hands over our hearts as we asked the Holy Spirit to be with us. As I moved my hand to my chest, I felt something firm and familiar beneath my fingers. My crucifix pendant, which usually slides around or rests further down its chain, had shifted. It was sitting exactly where my hand needed to be placed.
In that small, quiet coincidence, I felt a physical connection to my faith that transcended the words being spoken. It was a gentle, tactile reminder that He is always right there with us, positioned exactly where we need Him to be in every moment, even before we think to reach out. Even when we feel rushed, rain-soaked, or distant, He has already gone ahead of us to prepare the way.
This sense of presence was echoed beautifully by one of our speakers, as she spoke about the nature of our relationship with Christ. They reminded us that whether you have known Jesus for eight years, eight months, eight weeks, or even just eight minutes, He is the same Jesus. He is the same Father to all of us, and His door is never “half-open” just because you might have arrived later than another.
Our faith relationship with Jesus isn’t a race, and it certainly isn’t a competition of longevity or “who has the most years in the pews.” The love that welcomed the Israelites through the sea is the same love that meets a person in their very first minute of tentative prayer. Whether you are a lifelong pilgrim or someone who has only just stepped into the “tent” to escape the rain and find a bit of warmth with a hot coffee, His grace is absolute, unchanging, and entirely available to you.
Time doesn’t measure God’s love for us; our heartbeat does. And whether that heart has been beating for Him for decades or seconds, He is already there, waiting for us to lay our hand upon it and feel Him near.
Blessings,
Frankie.
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