To read the post that provides the context to the following writing, click here.

This trip that has me in Nairobi, Kenya, is one that I am doing on my own. Here at the Micah Network conference I have been forming some good acquaintances very quickly, some that I hope will turn into good global friendships, but there is no-one that I am very familiar with to the point where I can offload my experiences so far. So writing this is partly about processing my experiences.

It has surprised me how isolated that has made me feel. From the moment I landed in Johannesburg everything has felt very unfamiliar – it has almost been eerie and it came to a head on Sunday as already talked about.

With the chaos of Sunday foremost in my sense of being when I got up on Monday I was aware that the events of the day were either going to make me or break me. God seemed seriously vacant in the chaos that was overwhelming me at times, I just could not see him in the despair of the city, and the proliferation of churches in the face of the poverty only heightened my sense of God being vacant – going into Kibera felt like it was to be a moment of staring the devil in the face. I was facing a personal crisis and the crisis of the world was about to be shoved right in front of me.

My guide from Compassion Kenya, Jim (a wonderful man), picked me up from Brackenhurst and we made our way into the city. I switched into work mode and asked lots of questions about Compassion Kenya, their work in Nairobi, the slums, Compassion’s relationship with various churches, how supporting the projects impacted the churches engaged in the work and a myriad of other things.

As we neared the slums I felt heavy – with the weight I was carrying, something had to happen – either good or bad.

We rounded a corner in the city and the street changed – what was already dusty, dirty, busy and crowded became exponentially worse – we had entered Kibera – and then something happened for me. To adopt the words of John Wesley – I felt strangely warmed. It was not an ecstatic moment. There was no great thunder from the sky or booming voice calling my name – but something changed.

I’m a guy who gets nervous easily and a situation like that would normally have me feeling a nervousness that would create a desire to vomit and then I would start acting – making sure I still looked confident in the face of it. That didn’t happen. In the warming I felt strangely calm – a peace came over me that I have never felt before and cannot properly explain – except to say that through the provision of the Holy Spirit I was experiencing a peace that surpasses all understanding. I felt secure and I felt safe.

Now here me, I’m not a Christian who would be described as Pentecostal. I’ve spent time in Pentecostal churches and been in Pentecostal meetings. I have largely found them flamboyant and showy, often lacking substance, with people seeking after emotional experiences and then crediting those experiences in well manufactured situations, to the move of God. I detest such grand-standing, though I would never deny that God can and does meet us in our emotional experiences.

As we entered Kibera there was nothing about the situation that should have caused such an experience. I was chatting away normally with Jim with a sense of nervous anticipation, waiting to gain an understanding of this big unknown.

Would I say that I had met God with that experience? No, I would say that I was being equipped to open myself up to the situation.

We drove through the slum roads – narrow dirt roads that had been made for walking. It was dense and teaming with people – industrious people – working and selling things, talking together and doing life. There was rubbish, dogs, open sewers, stenches that would normally see me reaching for a bucket with the weak stomach that I have, children running around and I had absolutely no sense of direction in the middle of it – but I was completely relaxed and at ease in a way that I have never been before. The euphoria of adrenalin maybe? No, I had not been worked up enough coming into it for adrenalin to be taking over.

We reached our destination. Right in the middle of the slum was a Compassion project – housed in a compound that had acted as a safe haven for women and children during the political violence of 2008. As we pulled up a bunch of young boys rushed to the gates to open them up so we could drive in.

This was a project where sponsored children from within the slum were able to receive an education and food. We drove into the dusty compound where the orange dust had covered the whole place and the younger children looked on with wonder.

I got out of the vehicle and Jim introduced me to Ben, the administrator of the project. Ben very quickly showed me to a few classrooms and explained the project, patiently answering my barrage of questions – I wanted to know this place well.

The children were beautiful and clearly the camera provided some excitement – no matter where I pointed the lens a large group would quickly be in front of it. I had to get very quick at picking my subject and shooting before the excited and enthusiastic youngsters would be filling my view. I loved it. Then it happened.

Jim was lifting some of the young ones into the air – his face beaming and giggles of excitement coming from him. I snapped some pictures and then noticed he was getting tired so I asked if I could take over while he took some pictures – he obliged and the kids lined up, pushing and trying to get to me in their excitement as I lifted each of them up. They ended up pushing so hard that I fell over into the dirt and dust and they piled on top laughing and shouting in their own language – a few of the boys trying to wrestle me as a couple of the very little girls tried to hold my hand. In their play God showed up.

In the middle of hell – here was God. In the middle of extreme poverty with people at their most destitute and struggling – with children whose lives were otherwise destined for a path of destruction and chaos – God was active. This project in the middle of the biggest slum in the world was a focal point for the activity of God’s established family living out what it means to follow Jesus. Sponsors all around the world were providing for these children, a church was running the project, the staff were patiently working with the children and the children were truly being enabled to live and be themselves – excited, playful and fun – they were happy. There were a few tears shed when a couple of little ones got bumped, but they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. This place was the bastion of another world within the slum and it was a testament of Jesus to the slum around it. Families were embracing the work being done there.

I was told about how the sponsorship of each individual child was having a flow on effect into their families and how the church was able to further help those in need as people around the slum came to see through time and patience that they could be trusted and were able to help.

But all the benefits of the project aside, there wriggling around in the dust and dirt, with the oxygen being smacked out of me as more and more excited, bustling children piled on top of me, laughing, giggling and ecstaticly talking to one another in a language I could not understand at all, I met God.

The King was in them and the reality of the Gospel smacked me between the eyes – the good news of God’s Kingdom coming near, the very message proclaimed by Jesus himself was there in the flesh in the middle of Kibera. The whole story was on display. Here, the captives were being set free – it wasn’t just a “spiritual” reality – here, the message of good news was visible in very real, physical and tangible ways.

I am ashamed to say I have engaged in arguments about what exactly the Gospel is. In that moment those arguments meant nothing as looking at the children and watching them, playing with them and gazing into their eyes I cemented what the Gospel is and means in the world’s darkest places.

I describe myself as evangelical and for a long time, many evangelical scholars have held up substitutionary atonement as the ultimate message of good news – THE proclamation – the idea that God created, humanity sinned and therefore God needed to punish us, so Jesus came to earth and paid the penalty by dying on a cross and by confessing our sins and believing in the redemption of the cross we can find salvation. It’s the perfect confession crafted for evangelism, but I’m not satisfied to call it the entire Gospel.

Whilst I believe that is an important part of the story – it’s not the whole story – it is a message of good news (gospel), but it is not the whole message. I am now completely and utterly convinced of this beyond reasonable doubt. Substitutionary atonement speaks profoundly towards individual redemption, but it is silent in the face of the need for societal and communal redemption – a space where the Gospel must speak loudly.

When the disciples of John asked Jesus if he really was the promised Messiah, Jesus answered by pointing out his work amongst the outcasts and he stated that the good news was being given to the poor… prior to the events of the cross and the substitution therein.

As I wrestled on the ground with those children, getting dirt and dust in my face and up my nose; and at their lunchtime, as I watched a little girl eat a good meal I cemented for myself the understanding that simply offering the message of substitutionary atonement falls woefully short in the face of the world’s chaos.

In the face of the poverty these children live in, if our compulsion towards Christian action is to tell people that they should act out of gratitude for what Jesus did on the cross, that they should act simply because they are grateful for the substitution, whilst it is a good starting point, we are selling these children short.

Where individual people are simply looking for a way to meet redemption in the face of their sins then stopping at the message of substitution could be fine – but on Monday, God’s message became much bigger and much more real for me and the story needed to be bigger than just that part of the story that gives us citizenship in the Kingdom as individuals – the story must take us further, it must take entire societies further.

On Sunday I came face to face with the ravages of sin and it messed with my sense of humanity. Driving through Kibera on Monday I was made intensely aware of how humanity was being ravaged and the need for redemption. It was all around – I believe God’s anger burns white hot at the depravity of his people that would result in such chaos and destruction of the pinnacle of his creative expression.

In the dirt with those children I found the redemption of the cross – the act that wipes the slate clean, I sensed the victory of the resurrection pointing to a renewed world, I felt the assurance of the ascension, I reveled in the hope of God’s future time of complete restoration where his justice shall be displayed in full and I relished the visible transforming power of that story on display before me in the very lives of those children. Right there, in the middle of human depravity was a small point where the very transforming power of the gospel could be seen. Right in the middle of the darkness there was a light shining very brightly.

I must act, not just out of gratitude for the substitution Christ gave on the cross – no, the story and message of good news (the Gospel) doesn’t end there. Because the Kingdom has come near, it is active. Christ’s work has given me citizenship and I work to transform this world in anticipation and with the hope of God’s complete justice in view. As those children transformed my life, it’s that Gospel that overwhelmed me and I will permit no scholar to demand that I settle for less, no matter how popular their name.

The Kingdom is alive and well, the King reigns, the Kingdom of heaven is transforming the world – I participate not simply because I am grateful, but because I am a citizen of that Kingdom and citizenship of this Kingdom demands that I follow the King in sacrificing of myself to serve others and in doing so, His love is made complete in me.

In serving those around me, whether they are my direct neighbour, or beautiful children in a slum on the other side of the world, I meet and get to know my King. I live and breathe the Gospel, not as a simple confessional statement, but as a messy transforming way of life that demands that my hands do not stay clean when confronted with the chaos of the world.
I use my life to proclaim that the Kingdom of heaven has come near in both word and action – the whole story. That statement was living and breathing in the dirt and dust of that compound in Kibera – it was evident in the hustle and bustle of the children.

The good news is being preached to the poor – but not only is it being preached – it is transforming. I’ve seen it.

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