There is Hope: When I see Your face

Description

I see you in the starry skies
All across the universe
In the beauty of creation
In the wonders of the earth

I see you in a baby born
at the time when life begins
In the moment love made promises
And the memories they bring

I see you in the bread and wine
Joined together all as one
In the wonders of your glory
And the things that you have done

But when I look and see the lonely old man
Sleeping in a doorway by the road
Right there in the centre of his loneliness
Is when I see your face

But when I look and see the broken young girl
Crying out to anyone who cares
Right there in the centre of her brokenness
Is when I see your face

But when I look and see the hopeless young child
Looking for a way out of the pain
right there in the centre of their hopelessness
Is when I see your face

In the beauty of creation
It was Autumn and I awoke early to prepare for a long drive from Yorkshire to Coventry where I had a meeting. As I opened the curtains the sun was just starting to rise, bringing light across the bay, the sun shimmering over the sea—its light dancing on the waves in a way that took my breath away. In that quiet, golden moment, God’s presence felt undeniable. God was there and I could see the beauty of creation laid out like a tapestry of multi colours before my eyes.

I See You in the Baby Born
As I drove south along the painfully slow M1, my mind drifted to memories of my children. My daughter’s birthday was only days away, and soon I was recalling those sacred moments of holding each of them for the first time, witnessing the miracle of birth up close. Their tiny faces were mirrors reflecting a God who creates not from distance, but from nearness—breath to breath, heart to heart. It was as though heaven shone a light deep into my soul, revealing how greatly I had been blessed. In those ordinary-yet-miraculous days, I saw the hand of God.

But as the miles passed and city edges drew near, beauty was replaced by clutter—broken bottles, torn plastic tangled in brambles. It was as if the world wanted to remind me not only of its wonder, but also its wounds.

Arriving in Coventry just after noon, I walked through the city streets. Near a bus stop lay a man folded into a sleeping bag, face pressed to concrete, weathered by time and solitude. People stepped over him without pause, eager to catch a bus, blind to his reality. I hesitated, unsure what to do, and joined the flow of pedestrians as they hurried by. The contrast struck me: the splendour of creation and the miracle of birth suddenly seemed very distant. And the question rose—Where is God?

When I arrived at the meeting, It felt great reconnecting with old friends I had not seen in ages. Worship was powerful—God’s presence thick, holy, unmistakable.

The next day we gathered in the ruins of the old cathedral, its bombed-out walls open to the sky. Together, we prayed for reconciliation: between nations, neighbours, and the divided chambers of our own hearts. Once again, I knew—God was there, His presence saturating our conversations and filling the fractured space with hope.

When I See His Face
As evening fell and I walked back to my hotel, I passed a shuttered shop where a girl sat cross-legged, crying, mascara streaming down her cheeks. She was staring at her phone; she looked broken and forlorn. I wondered if she was waiting for someone to text back, apologise, or come to her. A little farther on, a boy wandered the street, pupils wide and frightened, lost in the half-promises of chemicals and escape. The question returned—Where is God?

Even before the thought could settle, a quiet answer rose:
Here, exactly here.
Not aloof, not absent, but present in every wound humans inflict and every tear humans shed. That Is when I see His face.

People ask, “If God is real, why is there so much suffering?”
But perhaps the deeper mystery is not God’s absence from suffering—but our blindness to His presence within it.

Loneliness, brokenness, hopelessness—these do not prove that God has turned away. They reveal the fragile places where His compassion meets our humanity. The sunrise over the bay, the miracle of a newborn child, a cathedral filled with prayer, the tears of a girl who feels forgotten—these are not separate worlds but one woven revelation.

The same face that shone over the water at dawn, and blessed the prayers in the ruins of stone, is the face that kneels beside a sleeping bag at noon and weeps with the broken on city streets.

He is the face that shines through darkness, the presence that whispers you are not alone.

The true beauty of creation is not just in the world’s splendour, but in the love that holds us—especially when life breaks.

Faith is not merely seeing God in the grand design,
but recognising Him in the cracked places where humanity bleeds.

Prayer
Father, open our eyes.
Give us eyes to see what You are doing and hearts to recognise Your presence—in beauty and in brokenness, in sunrise and in sorrow, in the faces of the forgotten and the cries of the weary. Teach us to see Your face in every place You dwell: in creation that sings Your glory, in communities gathered in Your name, and in the wounded places where Your compassion shines brightest. Lord Jesus, help us not to walk past what You are doing, but to discern Your work, Your nearness, and Your love wherever we go.
Amen.