there's no place like home (kenya update)

There’s no mistaking being here in Africa. The moment I step off the plane, the sights, the sounds, the smells and the atmosphere bombard my senses and scream to me that I’m not in Kansas anymore. I look around each day and remind myself, “I’m in Africa!”

There are so much that’s so different from what I’m accustomed to. Of course, Kenya is filled with…well, Kenyans. That’s obviously different. The driving, on the left-hand side of the road and, in Nairobi just about anywhere a driver chooses, is different. The warmth and kindness of friends and strangers here alike is pleasantly different. Foods, sights, conveniences, homes and much more- different.

But let me tell you a bit about last Tuesday. Pastor William of the Masii Christian Chapel, took Pastor Josh and me to make calls around town. We walked a distance from the primary part of town to a community known as “Kosovo.” It’s an alcohol brewing area, and most inhabitants are social outcasts. We got there before 10 a.m. and everyone had already been drinking for some time. We were invited to sit and as we conversed, the elder of the group, Peter, asked us if we believed they were misguided to drink as much as they did.

A conversation quickly blossomed. A conversation about what ought to control us, and deeper lordship issues. About Jesus making wine (OK, they said it was beer) and about making God happy. About the shame and self- contempt they felt because church people usually preached at and condemned them. About feeling unwelcome, uncomfortable and unloved in church. And about who Jesus might hang out with if he came to Masii. Suddenly, Africa felt a little more like home than it had.


We stood talking with a friend of William’s on a main street. A young man, obviously drunk approached us (is there a sign on me or something?!) and introduced himself as Abdullah. He insisted we buy him lunch, which William declined. He then asked us to follow him- actually, I think he dragged us- into what we thought was a restaurant to pray for him. Sitting with him in a booth of sorts, we realized we were in a bar and the half-empty glass of beer between us all was his. He poured out his heart, lamenting of his addiction to drink and the destruction it had caused. How he spent whatever money he earned on beer, even if it meant he didn’t eat. How he was tired and wanted change. He begged us to pray that he would be delivered. With tears in his eyes we prayed. And then we bought him lunch. Hmm, sure seems a lot like what I do at home.


William took most of our group to a corner of town where 15-20 young men gather daily to sell drugs. As we met these men, I had the opportunity to present the gospel to them. I spoke as William translated, and we found ourselves quickly surrounded by even more men, coming over to see what was happening with the wazungu (whites). A car pulled up behind us, something was removed from the trunk , something from within our midst replaced it, and it sped off with its newfound treasure. As we prayed with these guys, I saw the hollowness, the hopelessness, the longing for something better in their eyes. And somehow, I felt pretty much like I was at home.


I realize again how alike we are. That although customs and externals may not be the same, we’re not so far apart. Our very essence cries out for value, for freedom, for meaning and purpose, for love. From others and from God. We may dress ourselves in contextual uniqueness, but at the heart we’re very much alike. Don’t be fooled by what you see on the outside. It’s about the inside. It’s about people and our need to be right. With others and with God. In Kenya, in Africa, in America.


It’s good to be home.