Life has a way of unraveling at the worst possible moments. The job you thought was secure disappears overnight. The relationship you thought would last forever doesn’t. The plans you carefully mapped out? They don’t even make sense anymore. And in the middle of it all, you’re left wondering: Where is Jesus in this mess?
It’s easy to assume God is most present in our highlight-reel moments—the worship nights where you actually feel something, the job offer that came at just the right time, the breakthrough conversation that made you believe in friendship again. But the idea that Jesus only appears in the polished, Instagrammable moments? That’s not just bad theology; it’s bad storytelling. Because if Scripture tells us anything, it’s that Jesus thrives in the mess.
Look at His track record. Jesus was literally born into messiness—an overcrowded city, a feeding trough for a crib, an escape plan that involved His family fleeing for their lives. He spent His time with people who couldn’t get their lives together—tax collectors, sinners, people society had written off. He walked straight into people’s brokenness, not around it. He met Peter in the middle of his doubt, Thomas in the middle of his skepticism and Mary Magdalene in the middle of her grief. He didn’t wait for them to get it together first.
Pastor and author Rich Villodas puts it this way: “Jesus doesn’t call us to perfection before presence. He meets us in the mess, in the struggle, in the uncertainty.” That’s the radical thing about grace—God isn’t waiting for you to hit some imaginary benchmark before stepping in. He’s already there, standing in the wreckage with you.
And yet, modern Christianity has a weird tendency to act like we need to present a cleaned-up version of ourselves before we can expect God to show up. We try to curate our prayers, self-help our way into being “good enough,” and pretend we’re not as lost as we feel. But Jesus doesn’t demand a pre-approved version of you. He steps into the worst parts—the anxiety, the bad decisions, the career confusion, the existential dread at 2 a.m.—and says, I’m here for this, too.
Dr. Curt Thompson, a psychiatrist and author of The Soul of Desire, emphasizes the importance of acknowledging God’s presence in suffering. “We are most transformed not when we avoid pain but when we recognize that we are fully seen and fully known by a God who never leaves,” he explains. That’s why the Psalms are packed with brutally honest prayers. David didn’t sugarcoat his feelings; he cried out, raged, questioned—and God was still there.
Of course, acknowledging Jesus in the mess doesn’t mean the mess disappears instantly. Faith isn’t a magic trick that makes pain vanish; it’s the assurance that you don’t have to wade through it alone. It’s why Paul, writing from an actual prison, could still talk about peace that doesn’t make sense. It’s why David, in the middle of his deepest failures, could still write psalms about God’s closeness. It’s why Jesus, sweating blood in Gethsemane, still clung to the Father.
So if life is chaotic, if the pieces aren’t falling into place, if the prayers feel like they’re bouncing off the ceiling—Jesus is still there. Not just when it gets better. Not just when you feel Him. Right now. In the tension. In the disappointment. In the mess that feels like it shouldn’t be this hard. He’s showing up. And honestly? He always has.
