Every day holds the quiet promise of a blessing, provided we slow down enough to notice it. But every so often, a day comes along that carries a weight you just can’t ignore – one where God’s presence isn’t just a gentle background thought, but an undeniable tap on the shoulder. Today was one of those days.
It kicked off with the usual morning rush: shoes being hunted down, breakfast on the go, and the lovely chaos of a busy house finding its rhythm. Lately, I’ve been trying to carve out a few deliberate minutes in the middle of that swirl for morning prayer. If I’m honest, prayer hasn’t always come easily to me. It’s not a lack of desire; it’s that nagging fear of sounding rehearsed or insincere. I’ll start tripping over my own words, worrying I sound robotic, and end up rushing a clumsy chat with the Lord before the day sweeps me away.
Over time, though, I’m learning that God doesn’t ask for polished poetry. He wants the honest, unvarnished heart. Whether we stumble, repeat ourselves, or simply sit in silence trying to find the words, our Father is already listening. He just wants us to show up truthful and real.
That sense of grounding carried straight into our first church Bible study session of the season. A good crowd of us crammed into a local coffee shop to dig into 2 Corinthians. I love the simple warmth of fellowship like that. Left to my own devices at home, it’s far too easy to let my eyes slide over scripture, skimming words without letting the truth take root. Sitting together over coffee, chewing over Paul’s letters, and wrestling with what the text actually demands of our daily lives brings everything into sharp focus. With those verses still turning in my head, I headed out to the Showcase Cinema de lux, Derby, to see ‘The Passion of the Christ’ on the big screen.
I’ve watched this film at home before, but the living room gives you an easy way out. At home, whenever the scourging got too brutal or the cruelty too heavy to stomach, I’d hit that pause button quickly. Once or twice, I even switched the T.V off entirely just to gather my courage and wipe my eyes. In a dark cinema, though, the escape hatch is gone. You’re locked in, front and centre, with nowhere to look but straight into the agony of it all.
Watching it unfold without interruption is a completely shattering experience. From the claustrophobic dread in the Garden of Gethsemane and Judas’s wretched kiss for thirty pieces of silver, the film strips away every bit of sanitised, Sunday-school comfort. The Roman scourging isn’t just cinematic violence – it is exhausting, sickening savagery. You hear the thud of the flagrum, the tearing of flesh, and the cold indifference of the soldiers, until Christ is reduced to a mass of open wounds and blood pooling on the stone pavers. It forces you to confront the visceral cost of grace.
What broke me completely, though, wasn’t just the brutality; it was the love answering it. Seeing Mary in tears, watching her son endure that unimaginable agony, utterly helpless to shield Him, tore right through me. And then came the cross. Bloodied, gasping for every breath, and nailed up to die in public humiliation, Jesus doesn’t summon wrath or pity for Himself. He looks upward and whispers…
“Father, forgive them…”
Let’s pause and sit with that for a moment…
We often lose our tempers over a delayed bus, an unexpected traffic jam, or a train cancellation that ruins our evening commute home. Yet there He hung, carrying the weight of our brokenness, pleading mercy for the very men hammering the nails. It is a mercy so staggering it leaves you completely undone.
By the time the final credits rolled to a hush and the house lights flickered up, I was completely emotionally wrung out. I stayed seated until the bitter end just to pull myself together, wiping away the remnants of tears and trying to mentally transition back to reality.
Walking out into the bright foyer feeling raw and slightly hollowed out, I was caught completely off guard when a lovely lady stepped across towards me. She looked at me with genuine warmth and a kind smile, saw straight through my tired eyes, and asked, “Hi there, I was in the same screening as you… could I take a few moments of your time and pray for you?”
In our busy modern world, where everyone rushes past one another with heads buried in phones, that kind of bold, unfiltered Christian love stops you dead in your tracks. “Of course!” I replied, as we found a quiet spot, sat down, and ended up talking for around twenty minutes like two people who’d known each other for years. We spoke about the sheer weight of what we’d just seen, life’s daily hurdles, and the wild beauty of grace. She shared a bit of her world, including her own love for trying out in basketball – and I shared a piece of mine.
Then, right there in the cinema, amidst the hum of passing folk, soft drink machines, and the smell of sweet popcorn, she prayed over me.
It wasn’t a rehearsed performance or an uncomfortable display. It was quiet, steady, and full of grace – the exact balm my spirit needed after the heavy cross we’d just watched Christ carry. Two total strangers, brought together in an ordinary lobby on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, bound together as brother and sister in the Lord. You could feel the Holy Spirit hanging in the air between us.
Now, anyone who knows me will tell you I have the world’s worst memory for remembering people’s names. If I hadn’t answered to my own for the last four decades, I’d probably manage to somehow forget that too. But to the kind lady who stopped me: sincerely, I thank you. Your kindness made an indelible mark on my day, and the moment I got back home, I made sure to return the favour in my own prayers for you.
I prayed for your health, for daily joy, and for total fulfilment in your new basketball journey; may it bring you nothing but energy and great fun on the court. Mostly, I prayed that the Spirit keeps radiating through your heart so you can carry on surprising people with that same boundless grace you showed me today.
If this little corner of the internet ever finds its way to you, please don’t be a stranger. In a world full of hurried passers-by, you chose to be the hands and feet of Jesus to a total stranger, and you were an answer to a prayer I didn’t even know I had that afternoon. If you’re ever in the mood to swap the cinema for the court and watch some basketball, just say the word, and I’ll gladly make sure the best seat in the house has your name on it.
Blessings,
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