Where Do You See God? (Spoiler: She’s in the Water)

Based on Psalm 8; Romans 5:1-5 – God’s glory is not reserved for any one group.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The characters, events, and settings are created for illustrative and reflective purposes only.

On the Saturday before Trinity Sunday, Lynette arrived early to arrange the altar flowers. She was a creature of habit, arriving with the punctuality of a liturgical calendar and the precision of a well-folded linen. The sanctuary was quiet except for the low whirr of a fan and the squeak of her sensible shoes on the polished tiles.

That’s when she saw it.

Behind the communion table, hanging in place of the usual maroon velvet frontal, was a large, vibrant banner. At the centre stood a striking figure—a Pacific Islander woman waist-deep in river water, eyes lifted in calm defiance, the water around her glowing. To one side, an Aboriginal Elder knelt with ochre-stained hands, pressing them gently into the earth, eyes closed in reverence. Above them, a firebird arched across a swirling night sky, its wings tipped with gold and flame.

Lynette’s floral foam block wobbled. “That’s not my Jesus,” she muttered, loud enough to startle the arrangement.

Fuming, she marched toward the vestry, where Reverend Tolutasi, Tolu to most, was halfway through sorting hymn numbers.

“Reverend,” she snapped. “Have you seen what someone’s hung behind the table?”

Tolu smiled warmly. “Yes. Grace painted it.”

Lynette blinked. “Grace… the one who joined from the Congo?”

“Yes,” he said. “She’s a gifted artist. We asked her to create something for tomorrow’s service. We’re reflecting on the diversity of the congregation, and the Spirit’s work among us.”

Lynette folded her arms. “We’re not a gallery. And honestly, if you want to reflect diversity, why not use flags or national costumes? That at least makes sense.”

Tolu considered his words carefully. “Flags are fine,” he said, “but they point to what we already know. Grace’s work shows us something we may not have imagined: that God doesn’t always look like who we expect.”

By morning tea the next day, it was all anyone could talk about.

Robbie was loving it.

“Did you see her face?” he whispered to Grace, nodding towards Lynette. “Like someone had hung a Banksy in the Vatican.”

Grace giggled behind her cup. Robbie had helped her install the banner, mostly by accident, having been caught loitering in the hall looking for biscuits. He didn’t usually take an interest in church art, sermons, or anything that involved sitting still. But something about the firebird and the Elder had hooked him.

After the service, the discussion became an informal meeting. Lynette, seated near the urn, addressed the minister.

“Look, no offence to the artist, but that image confused people. Some thought it was meant to be us. Others thought it was Jesus. It’s not clear.”

“It’s meant to be both,” Grace replied, gently. “It’s the Trinity as seen through different lenses. One from here. One from my home. One from the sky.”

“But that’s not how God looks,” muttered someone else, then caught themselves. “I mean, it’s not how we’re used to seeing God.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows. “Maybe that’s the point?”

Tolu chuckled. “Thank you, Robbie. That’s quite the theological mic drop.”

Someone snorted into their teacup. The tension broke slightly.

Grace stood and spoke quietly. “I grew up with churches full of images of European saints. Pale-skinned Jesus. Even the angels looked Scandinavian. I used to wonder if God spoke my language… if God could look like someone from my village. Painting this—” she gestured toward the sanctuary, “—was the first time I felt like God saw me.”

A few murmurs. Not hostile. Just… unsure.

One of the Elders, a retired teacher, nodded slowly. “Perhaps… perhaps instead of just a multicultural celebration, we could celebrate the diversity within our own walls.”

Tolu picked up the thread. “A celebration of who we are now—First Peoples, migrants, refugees, settled families, adopted traditions. Not just where we came from, but what we’re becoming.”

Robbie grinned. “Like Trinity Sunday. Unity that doesn’t match.”

Lynette frowned. “I still think it’s confusing. No one asked for my input.”

“Well,” Robbie said with a shrug, “God didn’t ask for ours either.”

There was silence. Then laughter. Even Lynette smirked, despite herself.

By the following year, the “Diversity Sunday” had become “Multicultural Sunday.” Grace’s banner was rehung with little debate. The morning tea included foods with names few could pronounce, and Robbie made laminated cards with phonetic spellings and fun facts. There was a Samoan hymn, a Vietnamese prayer, and an indigenous welcome from a local elder.

After the service, as people lingered near the banner, Robbie leaned on a pew beside Tolu.

“So,” he said, “we worship a God who doesn’t match. The Trinity shows us that unity doesn’t mean sameness. If God chose to be known in many faces, many tongues, many stories—who are we to paint God in only one?”

Tolu nodded, eyes glinting. “Remind me to put you on the preaching roster.”

“Only if I get to wear the firebird stole.”

Tolu laughed. “Deal.”

And just like that, something shifted again.

Where Do You See God? (Spoiler: She’s in the Water)
(shorter version)

Based on Psalm 8 and Romans 5:1-5 – God’s glory is not reserved for any one group.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The characters, events, and settings are created for illustrative and reflective purposes only.

On the Saturday before Trinity Sunday, Lynette arrived early to arrange the altar flowers. She was a creature of habit, arriving with the punctuality of a liturgical calendar and the precision of a well-folded linen. The sanctuary was quiet except for the low whirr of a fan and the squeak of her sensible shoes on the polished tiles.

That’s when she saw it.

Behind the communion table, hanging in place of the usual maroon velvet frontal, was a large, vibrant banner. At the centre stood a striking figure—a Pacific Islander woman waist-deep in river water, eyes lifted in calm defiance, the water around her glowing. To one side, an Aboriginal Elder knelt with ochre-stained hands, pressing them gently into the earth, eyes closed in reverence. Above them, a firebird arched across a swirling night sky, its wings tipped with gold and flame.

Lynette’s floral foam block wobbled. “That’s not my Jesus,” she muttered, loud enough to startle the arrangement.

Fuming, she marched toward the vestry, where Reverend Tolutasi, Tolu to most, was halfway through sorting hymn numbers.

“Reverend,” she snapped. “Have you seen what someone’s hung behind the table?”

Tolu smiled warmly. “Yes. Grace painted it.”

Lynette blinked. “Grace… the one who joined from the Congo?”

“Yes,” he said. “She’s a gifted artist. We asked her to create something for tomorrow’s service. We’re reflecting on the diversity of the congregation, and the Spirit’s work among us.”

Lynette folded her arms. “We’re not a gallery. And honestly, if you want to reflect diversity, why not use flags or national costumes? That at least makes sense.”

Continue reading the full story here.