Day after day we laid hands on the sick and prayed for them to be healed in Jesus' name. Day after day we spelled out the gospel to people who have never walked with Jesus. A young boy is finally rid of pain in his ear after a "fresh wind" blew in it as we prayed. A dying HIV victim experienced the all-consuming presence of Jesus. A battered wife wept at the love of a perfect Father. A former Rastafarian is now reading the words of Life. A grandmother has returned to work after her arm was miraculously healed. An estranged young woman is now writing out pages and pages of God's words to her. A teenager is now laying hands on the sick, his eyes so alive with the compassion of Jesus. There was singing in the streets, worship to the Creator of every race, as a man who lost his leg to a gunshot wound stepped into new life. There's nothing incredibly fantastic about any of us who were praying, or leading worship, or teaching. We're just average humans who have been adopted into the family of God and who now walk as co-heirs with Christ, the Son of the King.
Many days as I laid hands on the sick, I was sick myself. A fever wracked my body, and deep, painful coughs seized my body often. Some days I could hardly talk, but somehow words of Life were still flowing out my mouth, pumping breath into limp souls. It's not me, but a Spirit living in me. I had nothing to give these needy people - my soul was weary from months of unending travel and ministry and my body was wanting to just shut down. Yet somehow, when the day was over, a half a dozen impoverished people had received healing and salvation, and all I could think in between coughs is that the mercy of God is great.
Once again, I found my absolute favorite moments to be explaining who Jesus is to people. Most of the time I walk away from a conversation astounded at the language I've just used to describe the gospel. I've never heard it told that way, and I can't tell you how I knew to say what I said - except that the Gospel is alive and it lives in me. A few of my teammates were marveling at the way I'd so succinctly and clearly just laid out salvation for yet another unbelieving individual. I laugh, because I too am marveling! Guys, for real, it's not me - it's Jesus taking over.
The day that marked me the most was one of the last days we were to be in Masiphumelele. As I was wandering about with Chris, I felt a strong sense from the Lord that we were supposed to go to the soccer field. It was a bit odd, since the soccer field was on the opposite side of where we'd spent most of our time in the township. But after our scheduled meetings with people, we trekked across Masi towards the soccer field. We had two young boys in tow, which was not unusual in any way - we nearly always had a handful of ragamuffins traipsing after us, holding our hands and chattering away. These two little guys seemed rather special though. I'd played with dozens of adorable kids over the course of my visit to Masi, but these boys had a unique tenderness that made me just really want Jesus to consume the whole place.
We arrived at the fields not entirely sure what to expect. The games were over for the day, and dozens of young people were packing up to walk home. Chris and I sat down on the bleachers and began to just wait on the Lord. There were kids climbing all over the bleachers, playing catch with a mangy dog. We had our Bibles out and were chatting a little bit, but mostly we were just sitting and taking in the place. There was trash everywhere. Curled up barbed wire fence. Grass wasn't really anywhere to be found. A few guys were smoking behind a little building. I kept thinking that perhaps the Lord was going to send us someone who really needed to hear the gospel or something super spiritual like that.
As we waited though, I began to dream about what Masi could be like. About what would happen if a white family who loved Jesus moved into the township. About what would happen if revival broke out among the young people. I held the littlest of the kids who'd followed us. He was utterly precious and melted my heart in a way that none of the other kids had.
And I can't tell you why or how... all I know is that I encountered the Living God sitting on those rickety wooden bleachers looking out over a trashy dirt field, holding a runny-nosed smelly four-year-old, and tossing a deflated ball to a flea-infested dog. There was no lightning falling from heaven. No revelation shooting out the Bible open beside me. No divine appointments or shocking prophetic words for an atheist. But the God who holds the universe in the palm of His hand sat next to me there, and it was for me the most stunning moment of the whole trip.
I didn't even really realize how impacting that moment with the Lord had been until later that evening, when back at the team house our whole group had huddled around a few young South African guys from Masi who loved Jesus and had been doing some translating for us. As I placed my hands on the feet of a young man named Vuyani to pray for him, I began to weep. I don't often close my eyes to pray, but as I did this night, all I could see was that trashy soccer field and that dear little boy. The Presence of God hit me all over again and I knew... I knew I didn't know much, except that the Presence of God is worth living for.
I had to leave the room I was so overwhelmed. It was quite dark as I stepped out on the back balcony that overlooks the whole valley, the ocean, and all of Masiphumelele. I began to pray in the Spirit as I continued to weep. Scenes began to flash back to me from the last 6 years or so. Scenes of orphans I knew in Russia, of street kids I knew in Mount Vernon, Ohio, of the poor and broken I knew in Kansas City, of the needy I had most recently known in South Africa. Love washed over me. Again, I can't really put words to it. I just stood there clutching the bannister, weeping over the love of God, worshipping full throttle.
I just want Jesus. I don't care if I'm on the tip of Africa or the middle of North America. I don't care if it's a ghetto swimming pool, a university in Sin City, the top of a mountain overlooking where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet, or a trashy soccer field. I don't care if I'm preaching to a crowd or sitting on a bleacher doing nothing. I am loved by God. Why, I won't ever pretend to know. He is love, that's the only reason I'll ever be able to come up with. The love of God is bigger than me, its bigger than anything I can see. I can't conjure it up. I can only be ready to receive it.
He is so very eager to invade our every moment. Not just the ones we designate as spiritual. He is so very eager to consume us with love. Not just when we're anticipating it or praying and fasting for it. He is so very eager to have ALL of me! And so, Lord Jesus, have it all. Your love is totally worth living for. And totally worthy dying for. This is IT. Your Presence. May this be what my life is comprised of - my living and dying and living again for eternity.
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