I was hosting Big Church Festival when the tragedy struck. I don’t understand it but I know God is good

In true Big Church Festival Main Stage host style, I thought I would plan what needed to be said, then trust the Lord that the right words would come in the right order.

I have hosted the Main Stage for eleven years. I have never been to Big Church as an attendee. For me, it has always been work, but it has also always felt like coming home.

When I first stepped onto that stage over a decade ago, I knew I was in a place where my gifting could be used for the glory of God. As a Christian in the media, that is all I have ever wanted.

This year felt particularly significant. I was the more experienced of the two hosts, alongside the brilliant Rhys Stevenson, and I joked that I would be the one “adulting” on the Main Stage.

I was also preparing to share something deeply personal. Earlier this year, I had travelled to Ghana with a Big Church team and Compassion, where I met Eva, the six-year-old girl my family began sponsoring after last year’s festival. I was excited and nervous about sharing her story and encouraging others to join us in supporting children like her. 

We were having such fun. The production team were incredible. Everyone was serving, laughing and doing what they do because they love Jesus. Then the wind picked up. Health and safety procedures were implemented and I went onto the stage to ask people to take down their gazebos. It was disappointing, but we joked about it while reminding everyone that safety mattered.

The hardest thing to say

Then Franni Cash came on stage. We sang ‘Holy water’ before heading back for a production meeting. And then my husband and daughter came backstage.

My daughter was trying to tell me there had been an accident. They had just witnessed a sign fall onto people. They had seen CPR being administered. I remember disbelief. Confusion. Hope that somehow what they had seen wasn’t as bad as it appeared. Then the messages started coming through on the radio.

A show stop was called.

I watched the people around me step into action. Fear and concern were present, but so were extraordinary calm and professionalism. Everyone simply did what they had been trained to do.

Later, I was asked to go onto the Main Stage and read a statement. I have spoken to thousands of people from that stage, but that was one of the hardest things I have ever had to say. There was no humour to add, no way to soften it. Just words that needed to be read. And I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to pray. So I was incredibly grateful for the people who were praying for us.

Sometimes faith is simply saying, “I don’t understand, but I know who You are.”

We eventually returned to Wiston House with the artists and waited for news. We were told the festival was cancelled before the public announcement. Knowing something that other people didn’t yet know was incredibly difficult.

That evening, we sat with friends. We talked. We questioned. We prayed. The girls played together and even found some old festival cue cards, pretending to be Main Stage hosts. There was music. There were tears. There was silence. There was grief. And there were questions. Because we know our faith. We love our God. And yet we still have questions.

Questions without answers

On Sunday, I went to church. I hadn’t expected to. But it was exactly where I needed to be. My daughter needed people around her. My husband needed friends. And I needed somewhere safe enough to finally cry.

I cried a lot. I still don’t really know what for. Perhaps everything. The loss of Pastor Robert Guanco. The devastation of his family. The people who were injured. The people who witnessed something they will never forget. The organisers and leaders of Big Church, people I love, having to face something they never wanted to happen. The disappointment. The sadness. The questions.

I don’t have answers. And I don’t think I need to pretend that I do. Jesus never promised us a life without suffering. We are not exempt from pain because we follow Him. But I do believe that pain will not have the final word.

When I first stepped onto the Main Stage this year, I said, “God is good.” The crowd replied, “All the time.” And I said, “All the time.” The crowd replied, “God is good.”

I still believe that. But I am learning that good doesn’t always mean brilliant. It doesn’t always mean easy, joyful or full of light. Sometimes good looks like sitting in the pain and still turning towards God. Sometimes faith is simply saying, “I don’t understand, but I know who You are.”

I don’t know what will come from this. I don’t know what purpose God may bring from this pain. But I know it will not be wasted.

Rest in peace, Pastor Robert Guanco.