Text: Song of Solomon 2:11 — “For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”
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You can almost hear music in that verse.
After months of gray skies and cold wind, the bride lifts her face and says, “The winter is past.”
It’s the sound of hope. The feel of life returning after silence.
That’s what rain means.
Rain is God’s reminder that He hasn’t forgotten the earth.
Rain means the drought has an end. The season is changing.
The Bible often uses rain to describe what happens when heaven touches the human heart.
So today we’ll walk through three rains — really, three seasons of grace:
1. The Early Rain — God begins the work.
2. The Latter Rain — God finishes the work.
3. The Eternal Reign — God completes the story.
And the truth tying it together is simple:
> The early rain was a forecast of the season to come.
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1. The Early Rain — God Begins the Work
If you’ve ever lived through drought, you know what hope sounds like when the first drop hits tin.
In Israel, the “early rain” came after months of scorching heat. The ground was cracked and lifeless, but that first gentle shower softened it so the farmer could sow again.
The early rain didn’t bring the harvest — it brought the promise of one.
It was the forecast that the barren season was ending.
The Texas Story
A story from drought-stricken Texas captures it perfectly.
For months no rain had fallen. The land was brown, wells were low, tempers shorter than the days. Desperate believers finally called a Friday-night prayer meeting.
One farmer stopped for fuel on the way. In the back seat lay an umbrella.
The station attendant mocked, “Why carry that? It hasn’t rained for months.”
The farmer smiled. “We’re praying for rain tonight,” he said. “I’m bringing what I’ll need when God answers.”
That night the saints travailed in prayer. Around midnight thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and rain poured. Driving home, the farmer stopped again. “See the rain?” he asked.
The cowboy, drenched to the hat brim, growled, “If you Christians ever let it get this bad again, I’ll tan your hide all over east Texas!”
Faith-filled intercession doesn’t merely talk about God’s power — it acts on it.
Like that farmer, the disciples in Acts 2 came to the upper room expecting heaven to move. They didn’t bring umbrellas, but they brought hearts wide open. And when the Holy Spirit descended, it was the early rain of the gospel age.
The descent of the Holy Spirit upon the church in the days of the apostles was the beginning of the early, or former rain, and glorious was the result.
Three thousand were baptized in a day. Fear melted into courage. Ordinary people spoke with heavenly fire.
That was God saying, “The season has changed.”
And He still sends that kind of rain.
Every soul needs an early-rain moment — when the heart softens, when repentance sprouts, when forgiveness soaks deep.
Maybe you’ve felt crusted over by disappointment or guilt. The early rain is God’s whisper: “I can still work this ground.”
Don’t despise small beginnings. The drizzle that darkens the dust is the same water that fills the river later on.
Pentecost wasn’t the conclusion of God’s story; it was the forecast that greater showers were coming.
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2. The Latter Rain — God Finishes the Work
Months later came heavier clouds. The “latter rain” fell just before harvest, swelling the heads of grain, bringing the crop to maturity.
If the early rain started the seed, the latter rain finished it.
Where the first softened, the second strengthened.
Where the first promised, the second produced.
That’s God’s pattern in grace.
He begins with conviction; He ends with completion.
He starts by breaking ground; He finishes by bringing fruit.
Ellen White described it this way:
> “Near the close of earth’s harvest, a special bestowal of spiritual grace is promised to prepare the church for the coming of the Son of man.”
— The Faith I Live By, p. 333.
The latter rain isn’t about starting faith; it’s about maturing faith.
It’s the deep, refining work of the Spirit that ripens character and readies hearts for the coming King.
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The Little Old Saint Who Still Said “Amen”
You know, the latter rain doesn’t fall where hearts are closed; it falls where hearts are open — even when things feel dry.
Reminds me of a little old saint who came to church every Sabbath and sat right down front.
The preacher was predictable. The sermons were steady, maybe a bit too steady.
But every week, that dear lady found something to say “Amen!” about.
Every time she did, it startled the whole congregation — because nobody else ever said a word.
Finally, the church board met with the pastor.
“Pastor,” they said, “that woman is disrupting the service. Every time you preach, she shouts ‘Amen!’ or ‘Praise the Lord!’ It throws everyone off.”
The pastor said, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
So the next Sabbath he decided to preach the dullest sermon of his life — no stories, no spark, nothing that could possibly excite anybody.
He chose the topic of the Exodus, and when he came to the Red Sea, he said, “Scholars tell us it wasn’t really a sea at all, but a shallow marsh — maybe six inches deep.”
The old saint straightened up, eyes wide.
He continued, “So there was no real miracle. The Israelites just walked across in six inches of water.”
Suddenly that little lady jumped to her feet, clapping her hands.
“Glory to God!” she shouted. “Praise the Lord! He drowned Pharaoh and his whole army in six inches of water!”
The church couldn’t help but laugh — and the pastor learned you can’t stop genuine praise.
Friends, that’s the spirit of the latter rain.
When the Spirit’s alive inside you, you can find an Amen even in the middle of a drought.
That’s the kind of heart God can trust with revival — a heart that stays thankful when everyone else has gone quiet.
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The Waiting Farmer
James 5:7 says, “Be patient therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. Behold, the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, and has long patience for it, until he receives the early and latter rain.”
You can’t hurry rain. You can only prepare for it.
The farmer keeps the weeds pulled, the soil open, and his eyes on the sky.
That’s where we live — between rains.
We’ve seen Pentecost; we’re praying for the latter rain.
And perhaps, if we listen, we can already hear the first distant rumble of revival — a hunger for truth rising, a longing for authenticity, a stirring of prayer across the land.
The latter rain doesn’t fall on proud hearts; it falls on plowed ones.
It comes to those who stayed faithful through dry seasons.
Every trial that drives us to prayer is part of that ripening.
Every disappointment that sends us back to Scripture is rain in disguise.
And when that outpouring finally comes, it will be unmistakable — not chaos but clarity, not noise but holiness.
The church won’t just be busy; it will be beautiful, reflecting the character of Christ.
The early rain planted the gospel seed.
The latter rain will bring the harvest home.
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Bridge: The Lord Is Long-Suffering
Sometimes we ask, “Why hasn’t the Lord come yet?”
Peter gives the answer — and remember, he’s not writing to the world; he’s writing to the church.
> “The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, as some men count slackness; but is long-suffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.” — 2 Peter 3:9
That’s not a message to the drunkard or the atheist — it’s a message to the saints.
He’s patient with us.
He’s waiting for His own church to be fully ready, for the fruit of His Spirit to ripen in His people.
The delay is mercy.
He’s not holding back the harvest — He’s perfecting it.
You see, heaven’s not planning a new thing; heaven’s finishing the old thing.
And that’s why we’ve got to be careful not to mistake delay for neglect, or patience for indifference.
God isn’t waiting because He’s slow — He’s waiting because He’s still saving.
And sometimes the souls He’s saving are sitting in the pews!
You know, sometimes we act like the solution to every disappointment in the church is to start another one.
We get restless. We get frustrated.
But friend, it’s too late to start another denomination.
The Lord doesn’t need a new label — He needs a new heart inside the label He already has.
He’s not sending the latter rain to build a new movement — He’s sending it to finish the one He started.
The rain that fell in the early church will fall again on the end-time church, not to form something different, but to bring His people to completion.
That’s the mercy of God’s delay.
He’s waiting until the harvest is ready, until the rain has done its full work, until the church that bears His name truly bears His character.
Then — and only then — will the Reign begin.
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3. The Eternal Reign — God Completes the Story
When the fields were full and golden, the farmer called for the sickle.
No more clouds to watch, no more storms to fear — just joy and singing as the sheaves came in.
That’s what heaven’s finale looks like.
The story that began with rain ends with reign.
Revelation 11:15 says, “The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever.”
The rains of grace end when the rule of glory begins.
No more drought of faith, no more flood of fear — just the steady sunlight of His presence.
The Traveler in the Storm
A missionary once told of driving through a violent storm in west Africa. The wipers couldn’t keep up; lightning split the sky, and the road turned to mud. Then suddenly they crested a ridge, and sunlight broke across a green valley below. Behind them, thunder. Before them, peace.
That’s how the Eternal Reign will dawn.
One heartbeat you’re in the storm; the next you’re in the sunlight of His face.
Ellen White wrote:
> “When the warfare is ended, and the saints are all gathered home, our song will be, ‘Worthy, worthy is the Lamb that was slain.’”
— Review and Herald, Nov. 24, 1885.
No more pleading for rain, because the river of life will flow clear from the throne.
No more revival meetings, because we’ll live in perpetual revival.
No more forecast, because the final season has come — eternal spring in the presence of the King.
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4. Until the Rain Be Past
The Song of Solomon says, “For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”
The bride hears the turtledove, sees flowers pushing through the soil, and knows — it’s time to rise and go.
Spiritually, that’s where we are.
Winter’s been long. The world feels cold and restless.
But heaven’s whisper says, “The rain is almost past.”
The early rain has fallen.
The latter rain is gathering.
And soon the Eternal Reign will break over the horizon.
As the dew and the rain are given first to cause the seed to germinate, and then to ripen the harvest, so the Holy Spirit is given to carry forward, from one stage to another, the process of spiritual growth.
What God begins, He finishes.
The same Spirit that touched your heart years ago will be the One who brings you safely into glory.
So if your ground feels dry, don’t lose hope — clouds are forming.
If you’re still waiting for the latter rain, keep your heart turned upward.
And when the Eternal Reign dawns, you’ll stand among those who can say with joy, “The winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”
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Appeal
Maybe today you need that early-rain moment — forgiveness washing through your soul.
Or maybe you’re longing for the latter rain — deeper surrender, fresh fire.
Wherever you are, the invitation is the same:
Let Him rain again.
Let Him reign again.
Let Him soften what’s hardened.
Let Him finish what He started.
Let Him carry you through until the rain be past and the reign be forever.
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Closing Thought
When we finally reach the city of God, we’ll realize that every drop along the way — every tear, every answered prayer — was rain preparing us for reign.
The droughts made us thirst for Him.
The storms drove us to shelter in Him.
And the rain itself taught us to trust Him.
Then, standing in sunlight that never fades, we’ll say,
“The winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”
