Years back we lived near a woman who had immigrated from another country to the neighborhood with hopes of finding work. Within a few years she married a local man who was caught in a tangled web of violence and substance abuse. He eventually left her alone as a single mom raising two kids in government housing with no income and broken English.
Every week the kids’ dad would promise to come by on Saturday to spend the day with them. Every week, the kids would get their hopes up; and nearly every week he’d be a no-show. He’d forget. He would change his phone number. He would disappear on a binge and not resurface for days. Every week his kids would sit and wait with heavy hearts and crushed expectations. It was hard to watch.
In their disappointment, the kids started calling him “Mr. Promise”—a painful acknowledgement that his actions frequently fell short of his words.
Christians can talk a lot about “being good news” in hard places. But in a world dominated by bad news nearly all the time—from the global to the personal—what does good news actually look like?
As a witness and participant in these kids’ lives, somewhat by accident but clearly by God’s providential design, loving my neighbor has come to mean inviting redemption and restoration into this broken family’s existence. Quietly and intentionally, our family began to weave these neighbors deeper into the fabric of our lives. We helped walk the kids to school. We spent extra time at the playground together. We turned up for birthdays and Christmas.
It is easy to abstract the story of the good Samaritan into vague theories of poverty or simple proverbs about do-goodism while missing the fundamental question, “What does loving my neighbor really look like?” Sometimes it starts with meeting wounded people at the side of the road: deadbeat dads and disappointed children alike.
Being good news in places of poverty begins with presence. It means showing up. Jesus didn’t just proclaim the message of a new Kingdom from a mountaintop, or write it in the clouds. He embodied it. He chose a people and place, learned a language, picked up a trade, and walked the streets. The Word became flesh and came to dwell among us. And when he sent his followers to spread his message, it started with, “Now go…”
Jesus also sends us with power. When he commissioned his followers as sent-ones he did so with his delegated authority. It isn’t enough to just “be among”—we are called to pray for the welfare of our neighbors, confront spiritual strongholds in our city, and pursue healing and reconciliation where trauma has shattered lives.
This power isn’t just for ourselves, it’s for our neighbors as well. When we journey with people in poverty we often discover that our own healing and liberation becomes linked with theirs. A genuine mutuality begins to form around friendships and family bonds. We learn that we have lots of ways to learn and grow together; that people in poverty have just as much to give as to receive. We learn that often the beauty of power is in the strength of giving it up out of love for others. Jesus demonstrated this too by surrendering his heavenly power in his death on the cross. He was sent to us and spent for us.
Our presence and power equally serve to amplify our proclamation. If good news is news, we can’t just live it out in action only—it needs to be spoken and shared. Jesus followers believe that the good news is wrapped up in a story—the story of a God who gave his Son to live among his people, surrender his power on the cross, conquer death by dying, and who lives again so that we can have true life.
Our job is to tell this amazing story to others and then let them reflect it back to us. For example, one key step when we share scripture with people on the margins is inviting them to say it again using their own words. We do this because we believe that transformation comes when people know the message of Jesus in their own heart language.
We are not the Messiah. Not for Mr. Promise or his kids. We can’t keep every promise we make either; and we can’t easily stand in for an absent parent or a stable family. But we can point the way to the One whose promises never fail. It begins with making disappointing Saturdays a little bit better. It leads all the way down the road to seeing families in our neighborhood restored by the love and grace of Jesus.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Darren Prince lives in East London and directs InnerCHANGE, a community on mission committed to cultivating followers of Jesus on the margins of society. Darren and his wife Pam live in a working class immigrant neighborhood alongside families from many global cultures. The Princes have served with Novo in places of poverty since 1997.