When tragedy struck the Big Church Festival, killing Pastor Robert Guanco and injuring several others, thousands of Christians were left frightened and searching for answers. But festival-goer, Rhiannon Goulding reflects on what happened beyond the tragedy itself – and the extraordinary calm, kindness and trust she witnessed as thousands of people faced a terrifying situation.
The Big Church Festival made the headlines recently for a tragic reason: a large sign was blown over by high winds, killing one man – Pastor Robert Guanco – and injuring several others.
In the aftermath, as police and Health and Safety experts began their inquiries, ordinary Christians were asking questions too: What happened? What caused the accident? Why did God allow it? That’s understandable, because when something so horrendous happens, you try to make sense of it. You want to put it in a box and explain it, and find a way to manage your feelings about it.
Much has been written in the Christian press about ways to process such a tragedy. We are reminded that God doesn’t promise us a life of safety and ease – he tells us that whatever happens, he is there with us. Amy Orr-Ewing wrote a piece in Premier’s magazine Christianity, giving an excellent account of the Christian viewpoint. She says, ‘Christian hope is not: Nothing bad can happen to me. It is: Whatever happens to me, I belong to Christ—and death does not get the final word.’
But for me, there’s a second story, which approaches it from a different direction. Because we were there – not at the actual scene, but at the event, and some aspects of what happened were extraordinary.
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Like any festival, the BCF attracts huge crowds on a vast site.
Like any festival, the BCF attracts huge crowds on a vast site. There was the main stage, the worship tent, a spoken word stage, places to camp, places to picnic, a fun fair, a cinema – so much to visit and do. On Friday afternoon we were in our seats at the main stage when there was an announcement, asking us to leave the area. We didn’t know what was happening, only that there had been an ‘incident’. Then we heard a helicopter, and saw the ambulances arriving … was it a bomb? Was it a stabbing? A terrorist attack?
Everyone was scared – we’d been preparing for a weekend of fellowship and worship and learning, and it was interrupted. And there were suddenly thousands of people on the move, away from the area. We know from other incidents in very busy places that often the first event isn’t the only thing that happens – when people are fearful and panicking, they hurry, they push, and then there are secondary incidents – crush injuries and people falling over each other in their rush to get away to safety. And yet nothing like that happened.
All of us who were sitting in the main arena did exactly as we were told. People just got up, packed up their things and left, almost silently. There was no shouting, no screaming, no pushing. The general feeling was, ‘We don’t know what’s happened, but we trust the organisers. Let’s keep ourselves and everyone else safe.’
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Of course we were alarmed and frightened – at that stage we didn’t know if we ourselves were in danger, or from what – it’s normal to feel scared.
Of course we were alarmed and frightened – at that stage we didn’t know if we ourselves were in danger, or from what – it’s normal to feel scared. And yet everyone seemed to be in agreement that the thing to do was to obey the instructions, vacate the area, walk slowly and quietly towards our tents. We trusted the people in charge.
On our way back to the campsite we didn’t see any stewards, because they were all busy at the centre of the crisis, but that didn’t matter. All those thousands of people walked together, quietly and calmly, looking after each other.
We got back to our tent and waited for the last two of our party to arrive, and they didn’t come for a long while. We knew they were in the worship tent (by then the word had spread that the sign had fallen near there), and we grew more and more concerned as time went by. At last, after nearly an hour, we saw them coming round the corner, and my eyes filled with tears. I gave them a massive hug.
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They told us that the tent had been packed and the atmosphere was wonderful. And then the music was switched off suddenly and they were all told to remain where they were. They said that no one complained, no one shouted – they just waited until more information was available. Even though they could hear sirens and helicopters. And then when the back doors were eventually opened, everyone left calmly and quietly, just as they had where we were.
Think of what you know about other accidents and tragedies in crowded locations, scenes you might have seen on TV reports, of crowds pushing and fighting to get away. And so the true story of the Big Church Festival isn’t just the details of how a tragedy happened. It’s sadness, and it’s pain, and it’s a difficult set of events to process. I think we should be able to sit with that without expecting explanation, or a reason. But mainly it’s a story about God’s love and grace and care, and the spirit within so many people that made them able to trust, to act with kindness and consideration towards one another, and to stay calm in the face of fear.
We stayed over that night on the campsite, and left on the Saturday morning. By nine a.m. the camp was sombre. Usually the atmosphere when we were taking down our tents would be joyful, with people smiling and high-fiving one another, saying ‘Good morning, how are you?’ ‘Are you coming next year?’ ‘What a great time we’ve had!’ That day there was none of that. Instead there was silence and a sense of sadness, of calm, and of peace. Everyone understood, by then, the magnitude of what had gone on.
My family has been attending Big Church Festival since the beginning, in 2009 – I think we’ve only missed one year. In all the years we’ve been going we’ve seen how excellent their organisation is, and we’ve always trusted the leadership to do the right thing, and to keep us safe. We knew they’d be caring and looking out for us, and making the right decisions.
To everyone who was involved, I want to send heartfelt condolences. I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through, but I want you to know that the whole camp was standing by you in prayer and love. Our prayers, thoughts and hearts are with all of you.
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