“Well … I’m homeless.”
My friend had reached out, asked if he could drop by sometime when he was near the church.
I met him on a more professional level, seven years ago. I was the customer. At that time he had a business, owned a condo in a nice part of the city.
“So you’re the new pastor at Evangel,” he’d said then. “I like that church. They’re good people.”
He followed up with, “But DON’T give me God.” He held up a firm hand to emphasize the point. He had his reasons - good ones.
“Ok,” I said.
Over the years, whenever I went, we chatted some more.
“How’s the church?”
I’d give him some updates. Then ask, “And you? How you doing?”
And slowly we built a connection. Things started to decline, and the business was struggling. He was struggling.
Cue pandemic … accompanying stresses … increasingly limited options. Sometimes he came by and I listened.
“I could really use some spiritual counsel,” he said. So I listened some more, offered what I had. “Not Jesus,” he said. “That’s fine for you, not me.” So I prayed for the Holy Spirit to help, to be real to him, to guide him. Sometimes we talked on the phone.
And then the other day, he came by as planned.
“Well … I’m homeless.”
Has been for a month, and the city is getting colder.
His ID got stolen. Awfully hard to access services when you have no home and no ID.
He told me where he gets food. “There’s lots of food.”
Where he sleeps. “Sometimes I can get in a shelter. You don’t sleep there, can’t possibly sleep, it’s a $#%-show, loud, crazy. But it’s inside.”
Told me what he’d learned, how he was surviving, who’s helping when they can, where security will turn a blind eye and let you warm up if you don’t make a scene.
“Do you know any other shelters or services?”
I texted my colleague, who sent me info. I showed him and he wrote it down, adding it to the list he was creating, then tucked the piece of paper into a ziploc bag so it wouldn’t get wet.
I offered the washroom, and he pulled a razor out. “Do you mind if I shave? You have hot water.”
Three hours after he had arrived, he got ready to go, and I offered to pray with him. “Of course,” he said. We held hands as I prayed for God to help him, show him a way forward. He wiped away tears.
Just before he left, he asked if I had an extra pen. I gave him a few.
I went home, aware I had a home to go to. Sent a note to the woman in my church - another follower of Jesus - who works for the charitable organization that has the shelter and tax clinic I told him about. I thanked her for the work she does. I told her about my friend. Her response was warm and full of compassion.
I messaged him later. “It was good to see you today. Thanks for coming by.”
“Good to see you too,” he said. “I just needed a friendly face, you know?”
I know.
“Holy Spirit, help me to see people. Help me to affirm their visibility, their dignity, as human beings. As Jesus chose to be fully present with us - and we are an ever-loving mess, every last one of us - help me to be fully present with others, where they are. Even when I can’t fix it; and whether they are interested in knowing You or not. Help me, still, to be the friendly face of You. Amen.”