seeing

"Come and see us, won't you?"

These were the words of the lady out in Kirkliston whose son so very tragically died last August.

I think she was worried that maybe now that my time at Kirkliston is done, I'll kind of give them the heave and not be in touch again. Which, of course, is anything but the case.

I was out at Kirkliston for lunch. A spur of the moment sort of thing. There'd been a couple of folk I know really well who'd come in just after twelve.

We'd chatted a bit and then, it seemed such a really nice day, I suggested lunch. They were keen.

I'm not even sure they'd been to Kirkliston before, and it seemed to me a chance to touch base with this lady again. She runs the place where we went for lunch. It's always great to see her.

In times of sorrow like she's going through, I guess it's often just the physical presence of people who convey some sense of the presence of God himself.

"Come and see us, won't you?"

The need for that sense of the presence of God in the face of the turmoil and heartache they know.

It's been a day where that sort of thing has been strangely repeated in all manner of different ways.

A lady on the phone in the morning, from far up Aberdeenshire way, asking if she could come down to Edinburgh next week and ... well, see me. I've never met the lady before in my life.

But she was plainly upset and disturbed by so much that went on a week or two ago at big church. And she'd heard me speak and figured that she needed to speak with me. She'd even asked her own minister if that was OK!

Another sort of crisis in another person's life. "Can I see you, please?"

The physical presence of someone who's either a friend that they've known or a person they think they can trust. The need for the sense of the presence of God in the midst of the turmoil and pain.

Another phone call later on. I was getting quite used to the thing by now!

This time a man. A man I've met a couple of times before. A man for whom I have the highest regard.

The man whom I sometimes think is the nearest the church in our land really has to Mother Theresa.

Humble, down to earth, dead genuine. Gracious and kind and wise. Out on the streets, alongside the poor, like Jesus was, doing good wherever he goes.

"Can I see you, please?"

Strange in a way. That he, of all people, should be saying these words to me.

But these are troubled, troubling days. And strange things start to happen in such troubled times.

The need for the sense of the presence of God.

We all need that.

And probably more than we care to think, we're meant to be a people who impart that sense of the presence of God himself to those we're with.

That's why he gives us his Spirit.

That's why we're called 'the body of Christ'.

Jesus before your very eyes. Jesus you can touch and see and listen to and watch.

The body.

The God you can cling to when times are bad.

The God who's there.