Sometimes I walk into church on a Sunday, and I expect to really feel the presence of God. But then he also really meets me inside the cold walls of a hospital on a Monday morning.
On a non-stop day, it feels like I am striving to carve out just some quiet to connect with God. And then, when I think I have lost all opportunity, I am overcome by his presence in reading a bedtime Bible story to my toddler.
God is always looking to show us he is with us. He will always want to meet with me more than I want to meet with him. Inside and outside of our expectations.
As David tells in Psalm 139, and perhaps all our stories testify: there is no where we can go that God will not be present with us (Ps. 139:7). As the cross shows us: there is no length to which he will not go to show us he longs for more of us (Rom. 5:8).
The problem is me. I am stuck. I want more of God and I want to enjoy his presence. But it feels like the days are running without him. The week goes by, and I forget that God has faithfully been with me. I have reduced his presence to background noise.
Always Near, Here, Everywhere
In Psalm 84, the Psalmist says his “soul yearns, even faints” for the presence of God (Ps. 84:2).
God’s presence is essential; it’s everything to him.
God’s presence is not an extra add-on or a nice-to-have. Even though it is very effective to take out time to meet with him, it is something else when this intimacy is extended through the day and night.
Quiet time is not like a coffee with a friend, where we say goodbye and go our separate ways. His presence goes with us—as Jesus said—to the very end of the age (Matt. 28:19-20).
He is already here and everywhere. From the garden to the tabernacle; from the cross to our own unholy bodies. He longs to be nearer and nearer and nearer (Gal. 4:6-7).
Herein is the puzzle of his presence: he is supremely holy and we are unthinkably unholy. Yet he wants to make a home in us. When I’m freshly bathed, I don’t even want to get into old pyjamas again.
There is really no one like him.
Always Joy-Giving
The 17th-century monk Brother Lawrence wrote that one way to establish ourselves in the presence of God was to “continually converse with him.”
That phrasing of just being in constant chat with God sounds so enjoyable to me. But when I’m honest about my life, it’s clear that I prioritise conversations with the online world or real-life friends far more.
My eyes are rarely awake to his presence, even though my heart is silently longing for it all the time. I feel it when I run out of words to say to a friend whose pain I can’t take away. I feel it as I hit the sack, doomscrolling and desperate for more hours of the day.
But living in the awareness of his presence does change us. Just as a child who uses a spoon for the first time eventually gets the hang of it, it does feel more natural to integrate our life with the presence of God. The Holy Spirit is our helper here, as Jesus promised. We grow up and mature in his presence (John 14:16, 26).
Now, I find that sometimes I ask God to help me make a fried egg with the yolk intact; and sometimes I ask him to keep my hope in him intact by his grace. There is more repentance and there is more joy (Ps. 16:11).
Always Reassuring
Being aware of his presence in everything can feel like hyper-spiritualising life. Is God really present in the face of this person I am with, whom he made, but who doesn’t know him? Can he really help me find parking this minute? When feeling isolated and unapproachable, can he really come near me in my shame?
Something about enjoying the peace of his presence counters the cynicism and doubt in me. When I yield to his presence, every person I behold is an image-bearer, every lie I tell myself feels a bit awkward and amiss. My adjectives for myself and for those around me are traded away by his narration over it all.
Often, our living reality doesn’t look ideal. Life is bitter. Our bodies are worn out, our hearts are cold, and every single plan feels delayed or derailed.
In Genesis, we read that Joseph’s life was rife with betrayal, decades in prison, being sold, forgotten, abandoned and long patches with only pain. And yet through the pit and the prison, the Bible constantly says that “The Lord was with him” (Gen. 39:2, 3, 21, 23).
That’s the thing about the presence of God. It may not change the facts of how our lives look and appear. But our experience of God changes how we experience our lives.
We get better at living in an unseen reality. It becomes more and more normal; as if it’s our natural habitat. When God’s presence feels more consequential and essential than anything else, we feel safe and secure in the most frightening of places (Ps. 3:5-6).
This is what my toddler’s book, a lyrical re-writing of Psalm 23, awakened me to, at the close of a long day: “Even when I walk through the dark, scary, lonely places… I won’t be afraid. Because my Shepherd knows where I am. He is here with me.”
