“The streets need a pastor!” Operation Nightwatch has been on the street responding to this invitation for over fifty years. Recently, the street ministry team was doing outreach to a homeless encampment when two men approached us. Both gentlemen were visibly nervous, asking, “Are you able to bless the ashes of our friend’s mom before we spread them in the park? Another invitation! “Yes, I would be honored!” Their friend came over and began to sob as she shared how close she was with her mother. My new friend pulled a Ziplock bag of her mother’s ashes out of her backpack and reflected on the blessing it was to run into a pastor on the street. “I have been carrying my mom around for two years.” We talked about the grieving process, closure, and the ongoing healing the Spirit of God provides. Gathering in a circle, the bag of ashes is placed in my hands, and I pray. The sound of cars, people arguing, the radio, and dogs barking serve as musical accompaniment as we cry out to God together. Everyone in the circle prays, and my new homeless friends pray for me. “Please bless pastor Michael. Amen!”
Kindness leads to repentance
Yesterday I met a young woman in the stadium district of Seattle. She was standing by the entrance to a parking garage and talking at a bush. My fellow street minister and I approached her gently, quietly announcing who we were and what our intentions were. “We are from Operation Nightwatch. We are passing out sandwiches, socks, and water if you’re interested.” She looked up, smiled, and said sure. She was smoking a cigarette and telling us that a lightning storm was coming out of the bush. “Doesn’t that one leaf look like a man coming out of the ground?” I agreed that it did sort of and that sometimes you can see pictures in the clouds. As we fumbled through the burning cigarette and her constant swaying, we listened to her story about no one believing her and how it made her feel. She noticed my clergy collar and said she liked it and that she had one too. She called it a Saint collar and asked me my name. She referred to me as St Michael for the rest of our time together.
She walked with us and continued to talk about her life. As we were walking towards a group of RVs, she stopped and looked me directly in the eyes. “I stole ten dollars this morning and I don’t feel bad about it. Do you think repentance is only genuine if you feel bad?” I told her that the Bible says that it’s the kindness of God that leads to repentance. I said that God forgives us and that his love creates an environment in our heart that makes it safe to be honest about our regrets or struggles. She told me that she used to be a pathological liar and that she always tells the truth now. I offered to pray and we bowed our heads and felt the abundant love of God!
The Miracles you don’t see
We spoke with a man on outreach that shared we were the reason he and his friends gathered on the street corner. Hunched over with a beverage that was labeled liquid death, our new friend declared, “You are the miracles no one sees. Everyone reports bad news, the overdoses, and the crime. You come to the street and bring good news! No one sees all the miracles that happen when street ministry is out here!” As our new friend spoke life and encouragement over me and the ministry of Operation Nightwatch, people on their way to dinner and drinks with friends hurried past, either not noticing us or intentionally looking away and avoiding our spontaneous circle of care.
Later in the evening, we saw our long-time friend who sleeps in the park. She shared that she had lost feeling in her feet. I shared my concern about her numb feet and suggested some options. She promised to go to the clinic in the morning and asked if we would pray with her. She always talks about God but usually doesn’t want to pray. When we finished praying, she said, “I am glad you believe in God!”
Broken Arm
The clue that church is working is when people bring their friends. Samantha brought her friend Rhoda to our Community Dinner Church and introduced us. “This is Michael, he is a good guy.” To be known and trusted by women on the street as “a good guy” is everything to me. Rhoda and I chatted for a few minutes with our conversation quickly turning to violence and God’s love. Rhoda’s arm was in a sling and broken. She was recently thrown into the street by a man looking for drugs. Rhoda began to cry and asked if we could pray for the man that broke her arm. “He must be struggling and not be in his right mind. Why else would someone do something like that?” To live on the street is to encounter violence and God’s love.
As people shuffle up and down the stairs eating chicken parmesan and cake, Rhoda and I bow our heads and pray. I pray for safety, peace, and protection for Rhoda and all of her friends living outside. Rhoda prays that the man who hurt her would know the power of God and his love. That he would be restored into his right mind and experience freedom from addiction.
“While they were eating, he took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, “Take; this is my body (Mark 14:22).”
I Feel so Much Better
My friend Kevin was sitting in his wheelchair in the rain. His knees were exposed through ripped pants, revealing a sprawling expanse of open infected wounds. I was putting the signs out for our Community Dinner and gently asked him if he was ok. His shoes and socks were off, and he was surrounded by the contents of his backpack that he had been trying to organize. I asked if he wanted me to call an ambulance and told him that I was worried about his wounds. “I am fine. It looks worse than it is.” I reminded him that dinner was going to start. “Something is wrong with my brain. I can never remember what day it is.” I came out to check on him ten minutes later. Someone had given him a coat. I asked him if he wanted to come inside or if he wanted me to bring him a meal. The ability to have a choice is empowering and taken for granted by most of us. I brought him a hot meal and went back inside to the dinner.
The dinner was extra busy with lots of people staying to chat and eat together. I stood in the middle of the room and read the story of Jesus being baptized. In the story, the voice of God declares from the heavens that Jesus is “his Son, the Beloved, with whom he is well pleased (Matthew 3:17).” I tell the room that even Jesus needs to be reminded of his true identity. That like all of us, he will face struggles that will challenge his understanding of himself and who he is in God. Before I pray, I encourage all of us to reflect on the question, “What if God says we are his beloved and that he is well pleased with us? What if we all need to be reminded of our inheritance and identity as children of a loving God?” The look on everyone’s face as they contemplated the possibility that God loved them and was pleased with them was like seeing God’s Spirit descend like a dove from an open heaven.
At the end of the night, I went to get the signs. Kevin had moved toward the front door. He asked if he could have another meal. I brought him the last two dinners. He thanked me for the good food and wheeled himself up the block declaring, “Thank you, I feel so much better!”
Staying Connected
“I am the vine, and you are the branches. If you stay joined to me, and I stay joined to you, then you will produce lots of fruit. But you cannot do anything without me (John 15: 5 CEV).”
I read the passage from John 15 that talks about Jesus being the true vine at the Broadway Community Dinner last night. Before the “Christ Story” moment, I was outside negotiating with two angry pit bulls and their owner. Before the dinner started I went outside to lay the relational groundwork for the inevitable confrontation of me having to remove the two dogs. I started with a gentle, “hey, when we start the dinner can you move your dogs?” There will be a lot of people coming and going up and down the stairs.” My request was made as the Rev Rick Reynolds, and I picked up garbage around a group of folks surviving on the steps of the church. I held the trash bag; Rick had the grabber. I wore gloves, Rick went natural and bare-fisted. There was a person in a sleeping bag blocking the front door. I asked if they knew who was napping and if they could wake him up before we started. A few people yelled, “That’s Toby. Wake up Toby.” I thanked them and thought, I can yell too!
While we were inside setting up for dinner, I could hear the dogs freaking out. I prayed with our volunteers and noted that the peaceful resolution of the two dogs was our main prayer for the evening. I went to open the door. Toby was still asleep and sprang to his fight. It was as if the smell of beef stroganoff had summoned him from the grave. The owner of the dogs also yelled at him to “move for the dinner.” The dog owner tried to wrangle the canines and needed help from her friend. People gingerly walked into the dinner as the dogs lunged, growled, and terrified. I went over to the friend, who turned out to be the owner of the dogs. She was getting high with a group of people and brushed me off. Eventually she came to move them. While this was happening the original woman who I thought was the dog’s human dropped a jar of pickles and began to scream in frustration. “Those pickles were eight dollars.” As I was cleaning up the pickles and glass, another guest offered to help. I told him I didn’t want him to accidentally cut himself. He responded, “what’s the difference if you or I get cut?” The woman I had been negotiating with walked back by me as I was hunched over on the sidewalk cleaning and said, “Thank you, I am so sorry.” I looked up, smiled, and said, no worries, sorry about your pickles.”
I went inside to read the “Christ Story” and pray. I shared how Jesus and God are one and intimate with each other and with us. When he says abide in me and I will abide in you, he is saying I am a God who is close and wants to be closer. I shared how the story reminds us that you can tell a good tree by the fruit it bears. It’s how you can tell who is a good branch and how isn’t. I told the room that they were all good branches. I prayed that we would all experience the God of relationship and intimacy. The God who knows us. The God of church step pitbulls. The God of broken pickles jars, and beef stroganoff. “I have loved you, just as my Father has loved me. So remain faithful to my love (John 15:9 CEV)”
That Was Special
When I do outreach for Operation Nightwatch, I pass out water, socks, and snacks. Every month I receive a donation of two cases of Fiji water. The bottles are too big for me to carry on the street, so I usually put them in the trunk of my car and give them to a group of people in an encampment or RV. Last week it was in the mid-eighties, and I knew the bulky cases of fancy water would be a blessing. Sally, who lives in an RV with her boyfriend, asked if we had any more water. I told her that I had some in my car and that I would be back in a few minutes. She looked at her feet and thanked me. People say all kinds of things to homeless people and make all kinds of empty promises. “I will get you into housing if you agree to drug and alcohol treatment even though you have been clean and sober for ten years.” “Jesus will heal you if you participate in our “faith based” recovery program. It’s not rooted or grounded in science or medically assisted treatment, but we will pray for you and hope you don’t die when you go through withdrawals.” My motto is to under promise and over deliver. It turns out that twelve huge bottles of water can change your outlook and lift your spirit!
I returned with the box of water and Sally was surprised to see me. People say all kinds of things and make all kinds of empty promises to homeless people. I went through my corny dad routine, explaining how someone donates them and that my daughter likes to drink water out of a giant jar with a straw. Sally smiled and came out of her RV. She locked the door and sat down on the sidewalk. Her pants were unzipped because they were too small. In my effort to be observant, I didn’t want her to think that I was looking at her broken zipper. I think she perceived me as kind and not creepy. Sally took a deep breath, sighed, and asked if she could ask me a question. “I have been dealing with the same issues with the same people for forty years. I need the balance between good and evil to be corrected. Right now, the scale has tipped way over to the evil side. Can you ask people to do random acts of kindness for each other? Kindness is what we all need. Kindness can conquer evil.” I listen, agree, and promise to let people know about her request. I affirm her in her wisdom and for the millionth time, find myself in the presence of the living God on the street. I tell Sally about Galatians 5 and that kindness is the fruit of the Spirit the church seems to never take seriously. I offer to pray for her, and she is surprised again, “That would be amazing.” We bow our heads, and if I am honest, I pray the prayer to end all prayers! When were done, Sally smiles, looks me in the eye, and says, “Thanks that was really special.” She asks for my card, and I tell her to call anytime. I happen to have a ten-dollar Starbucks gift card that I give her as well. “Thanks, I was hoping to get coffee today!”
“By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things (Galatians 5:22-23).”
I Tried Everything
I got a call from a man I don’t know. He left a voicemail detailing the trouble he was having in his apartment. Through whimpering and sobs, he described a spirit that was tormenting him. It was in his bed and had stolen his laptop and wallet. Recently, it came in through his eye, giving him a migraine, resulting in blurry vision. “Please call me. I really need your help. I have tried everything.” I received the voicemail while I was on vacation and decided to ignore this stranger’s plea for safety. I felt oddly peaceful walking to the beach with my family and not responding to this particular mental health crisis. After all, I was on vacation and even Jesus went away to a quiet place to pray. The next day while I was sitting on the sunny deck of our home away from home, reading, and drinking coffee, my phone rang again. He left another voicemail expressing a desperate need for help. I called him back and had a surprisingly reasonable conversation. Anthony had got my phone number from his building manager whom I had met years ago. A devote Catholic, the building manager asked me to pray for the curse that was on the building. Several people had died by suicide, and she believed there was an evil presence that had taken hold over the space and residents. Anthony talked with me about his problems, and we agreed I would visit him when I was back in town, I asked if he wanted to pray and if he thought that would be helpful. “Yes, please pray for me, I have tried everything.” We prayed and ended our call with respectful pleasantries. I was amazed that he didn’t ask me for a bus ticket, a cell phone, or accuse me of being an informant for the FBI.
A few weeks later, Reverand Rick Reynolds and I went to visit him. Anthony smiled as he led us into his tiny, subsidized apartment. A tapestry of Jesus with a crown of thorns hung over his window. The poster of a Lion taped above his bed along with the neon Lets Party sign made Rick and I feel like we were in the right place! Anthony had been burning sage in hopes of “cleansing” the space. We talked about mental health therapy and medicine. I offered the idea that it was good to have a team of people from a variety of disciplines to help us in times of need. That sometimes what seems spiritual can also be brain chemistry or a need to have some prescriptions reevaluated. Anthony said that he took anti psychotics and was a diabetic. He said he had told his doctor about what was going on, but it didn’t seem to go anywhere. After we prayed, Rick anointed his doorway with oil and prayed again, explaining that it wasn’t magic but symbolic of God’s love and protection. Earlier in the day, Rick pulled the anointing oil out of his pocket unaware of why he had it or how it ended up in his possession! We often don’t know what we’re doing or how we end up where we are either!
Anthony seemed relieved and smiled when I said that we had vanquished his apartment from the disturbing spirit and that if it happens again to know that he is safe and loved. Anthony calls me every few days to talk about the spirit’s return to his room and how he is being tormented. I listen, tell him that we can pray, and that mental health care is always a good idea. He thanks me, and asks me if what I have suggested will work. I let him know gently that, God loves him and that “I have tried everything.” “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ (Galatians 6:2 NIV).”
Eyes to See and Ears to Hear
As a street minister with Operation Nightwatch, I find myself invited into the most intimate and personal moments of people’s lives. As the world continues to spew hatred and propaganda about the poor, Jesus responds to those in need with the truth of compassion. He tells us that when the lost are found the heavens throw a party. That there is rejoicing and celebrating when the heart turns toward God and finds home. The people that I meet on the street know this to be true. They understand their suffering through the wounds of the crucified Christ. The story of a servant king who shares and participates in humanities suffering, reveals a God who is in solidarity with the marginalized. Jesus is the God who sees. Jesus is the God that doesn’t turn away from our pain. He stops and looks at all of us, bringing wholeness to the abandoned, rejected, and abused. The empire and its quest for power can never see, hear, and know the goodness of this God. Consequently, the powers and principalities of the world require a spirit that is dull and demoralized. Demanding that our attention be focused on their endless stream of lies, sanctifying injustice, justifying greed that creates poverty, desensitizing and numbing us to the reality that Jesus weeps for the city, that Jesus looks with compassion not with drone bombs. The kingdom of God has been called an “upside down kingdom.” The greatest among us being the least of us. The weak inheriting the earth, receiving double for what was taken away. There is hope with the promise that the glory of our future will be greater than that of our former. With God, being last means being first.
Recently, I attended a new community dinner. There were white tablecloths, baskets of homemade bread, real china plates, silverware, and all kinds of people. It reminded me that God dwells with us when we stop and consider each other as fellow human beings. As all equally created in the image of the living God. I met elementary school aged soccer players, retired military service members, people struggling with addiction, and ate way too much homemade bread! All of my conversations were warm, mutual, and sincere. There is something incredibly healing about being honest and truthful about ourselves while eating with strangers. Very quickly, the truth of our lives becomes the material of relationship. Our stories become relational assurance that were not alone, that we are seen, known, and heard. The harshness of living in a system based on violence and competition is removed and we experience resurrection in the midst of suffering. We get to see and hear the Jesus that connects all of humanity with divine mystery. May the stories of Jesus, wake us all up to his heart of mercy and compassion so we can listen and understand.
“The reason I speak to them in parables is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.’ With them indeed is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah that says: ‘You will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. For this people’s heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes; so that they might not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and understand with their heart and turn— and I would heal them.’But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear.Truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it (Matthew 13:13-17).
4th of July
I was on call for the fourth of July weekend and available in case there were any emergencies. I showed up to our dispatch center on Friday night ready to drive our guests to shelter. As I was walking to pick up the van, low and behold a faithful volunteer appeared ready to drive! I gave him the keys and “posted up” in our meal center. I talked with a man in line who was from Denver. It was his first day in Seattle and he was surprised to find out how close Nightwatch was to Lumen Field and T Mobile Park. We talked about sports and the Bible. He was able to get a shelter bed and thought Nightwatch was, “pretty wild!” I agreed and told him that we were ground zero for people experiencing homelessness. The van was low on gas, so I hopped in with our volunteer and filled it up between shelter runs. When we returned, I talked with a woman who stays in our shelter. She tried to get me to take her to the gas station so she could get a box of special creamer for her morning coffee. She was delightful to talk with, wildly offensive, and was clearly planning ahead! There was a group of guys who asked if I was a priest and thanked me for helping them find free clinic resources. They loved the food! Hot links, potato salad, and watermelon. I told them that I was glad the food was good and that I loved to see the people serving the food smiling and excited to be at Nightwatch. They agreed. “You can tell when people put time and care into food. Everything tastes better when your kind!” I prayed with a man out-front that I have known for a while. He was drunk and said that he hadn’t slept for five days. Hopefully, he found a safe place to sleep it off. A man came by showing the staff a picture of a missing woman on his phone and asked if we had seen her. We hadn’t and encouraged him to file a police report and told him some other places to look. He claimed to be her “friend” and I hope he was. A former resident in our senior housing program came for dinner with his buddy. It was great to catch up and chat. After I brought over some adult diapers and Bibles from my office I stood out front, looked toward the sky and thanked God. There is no place I would rather be to celebrate the fourth of July!
STREET MINISTRY STORIES 