Outrunning The Rain

Living in Ireland, I’ve gotten used to the rain taking its own sweet time. It softly falls for days or weeks on end, completely oblivious to how egregiously it has overstayed its welcome. In Alabama, where I grew up, things are different. The rain there waits and builds up and waits some more and then suddenly bursts out of the clouds in a mad rush to pelt the ground all at once with all the drama and thunder and sky-splitting electricity it can muster (and sometimes tornadoes).

I remember a day years ago when I went for a run with my brother-in-law down the road through Possum Holler (as the locals call it) in Alabama. The dark clouds came up from behind us, and threw down a wall of water. On our side of the wall, the world was parched. On the other side, it was drenched. There was no middle ground. As the dark clouds moved inexorably forward, the wall ate up the road behind us and it was obvious that our jogging speed would not keep us dry. We broke into a full sprint, but the wall still gained ground behind us. Closer and closer, soaking everything completely, until it was right on our heels and suddenly it rushed over us, too. We ran on through the thick rain until we reached the shelter of the front porch, soaked to the skin and keenly aware of our own tiny size compared to the overwhelming power of nature.

Sometimes, you get a glimpse of how small your own strength is. Sometimes, you get a reminder of how awesome and unavoidable the power of God is. The clouds did not pause for us, or struggle to compete with our fastest speed. God’s strength simply cannot be compared with ours. And yet, many people today still live their lives trying to outrun him—hoping he might not catch up to them and notice the wrongs they have done, that maybe, perhaps, they can stay a few steps ahead of his perfect justice. But as the rain easily overtook our sprint in Possum Holler, God’s justice will not struggle to overtake those who spend their strength running away from him—as if any of us could hide our wrongs from the eyes of the Maker of all things, or outpace the length of his arm. Like our race against the rain, such an effort can never work. As Jeremiah 23:19 says, “See, the storm of the LORD will burst out in wrath, a whirlwind swirling down on the heads of the wicked.” This is a storm we cannot outrun. But the good news—the best news ever—is that we don’t have to. God has already provided a shelter from the storm of his own judgment. He built it himself. Jesus Christ took the just judgment for our sin—the judgement that we deserve—on himself and paid for it completely on the cross, if we will only stop running away and come in to the shelter of his forgiveness. Our hope in the storm of God’s justice is not in how fast or clever or good we are. We cannot outrun the rain. But we can run to Christ, and find shelter. Forever.

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.’” —Psalm 91:1-2