God of this city

Every city exports something.

Every town, city, country and culture has something that they uniquely contribute to the global village.

Whether that unique contribution is wholly good, or the fact that it might have some sort of dark side, doesn't really negate the fact that there is definitely something special to any geographical area and people group in the world.

My wife, Lisha, and I had the amazing opportunity to live and work in the United States for the best part of six months in 2008. With the exception of the five days we spent being tourists in New York City, we spent the entire rest of our time there in and around the city of Los Angeles.

Working with a local community of faith called Mosaic , we got to experience life on the ground in places like Pasadena, North-Hollywood, Arcadia, Santa Monica, the South Bay area and downtown LA. We were amazed at the scale at which a city like LA exports not only creativity, but also imports creatives – artisans who flock to the city to learn the creative craft and hone their skills on the much feared and respected “boulevard of broken dreams”, before embarking on a tour de force of influence and impact, quite literally changing the world from their home base in LA, SoCal.

Sharing our lives with some local friends, we quickly realized how few Angelino's actually come from the city. To hear somebody say “No, I'm from here” became such a rare thing, as everyone comes to LA from somewhere else, chasing some dream or trying to find that one thing that's bigger than themselves, something that they can be a part of.

If living and working with Mosaic in Los Angeles has taught me anything, it has taught me how to understand, appreciate and know the city.

And love it for what it is – the good with the bad.

Flying back on the plane I was shocked at how much better I was able to articulate the spirit and character of LA - what it means to be an Angelino - as opposed to how weak I was in my knowledge and vocab of what was actually going on in my own city for close to thirty four years – namely Pretoria, South Africa.

The problem was just that six months is not a long enough time to change who you are and where you come from, and that I really wasn't an Angelino.

I was a Pretorianer.

Right there and then, between seatbelt lights and “chicken or beef?”, I decided to re-love Pretoria.

To get to re-know the city and her children – all of them.

To rediscover what it means to say “I am Pretoria”, and to make my peace with all the dangers and disappointments that has become such a part of life here on the southern tip of Africa, on the upside of the Transvaal river.

I wanted to be able to talk to other people about my city as if I knew her intimately - like a loved one or closely related family member. I wanted to, like the prophets of old and even Jesus Himself , gaze upon my city and see so much more than mere brick and mortar, than just simple streets and suburbs.

I wanted to be a prophetic voice to my city, someone who can speak with knowledge and insight, not as an outsider but as an insider, creating a new future within the familiar context that is Pretoria.

But above all, I wanted to find God in my city.

If He could be in the movies, the glitz, the creativity and the influence of a city like Los Angeles, then surely He wouldn't be too hard to find in places like Moreletapark, Faerie Glen and Hatfield?

Even more so between the shacks of Soshanguve, and the muddy streets of Mamelodi.

I just had one problem – after living here for 35 years, I've never really met this Jesus of Pretoria.

I've been really well educated in the strict and conservative ways of the Jesus of ancient Europe, and I'm pretty sure I've been introduced once or twice to the capitalist and commercialized Jesus of America.

But I longed to be familiar with the incarnation of Christ in my own, local context.

I not only wanted to know just Jesus anymore, I wanted to know – intimately know – the Jesus of Pretoria.

I wanted to know my city, and God in it.