Power in the name
Noni is sitting in front of the grocery store selling newspapers that advocate for the homeless. Some street drama has unfolded around the corner and she is happy to be by herself. It’s hard for homeless folks to have a moment to themselves. Winter has come early this year and it’s already snowing in the mountains. Her boyfriend is an alcoholic and is in detox today. She seems relieved that he is safe even if he is mad at her. Across the street, a group of homeless folks are drinking and playing music. The battery powered guitar amp is surprisingly loud and distorted. One of my homeless friends is mixing vanilla extract and Gatorade. Vanilla has alcohol in it, and I imagine the tiny bottle is easy to steal. A woman walks by and a homeless gentleman tells me to thank Jesus. “Thanking Jesus will take the place of lust!” Wisdom from the street.
Noni has a Bible verse tattooed on her arm. It’s a verse of protection. She believes in the power of Jesus. “There is power in his name!” When Noni was a teenager a drug dealer had a gun pointed at her head. She yelled the name of Jesus and the gunman’s arm pointed toward the ceiling. “He freaked out and ran out of the room!” Noni has been saved by calling upon the name of Jesus many times. She tells me story after story involving the goodness of God in her life.
Hearing all the ways God has provided for Noni causes us to praise God. I kneel on the sidewalk and we hold hands. We pray and thank God for the power of his name. “I call upon the name of the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies.” (Psalms 18:3 ESV). I love praying on the street.
— Michael Cox
End of the world
I was talking with a group of homeless folks on Friday
afternoon. It was pouring down rain and everyone was anxious. The city keeps
telling homeless people they need to move, but there is no place for them to
go. Packing and unpacking your stuff in the rain is exhausting. They ask, “Where
should we go?” I have no good answer for this question. The shelter system is overburdened,
and affordable housing is nonexistent. I try to keep the conversation focused
on the positive and hopeful. It is amazing how people on the street survive.
Living on the food people throw away and trying to navigate the system of human
services must be demoralizing. Carter tells me about all the stuff he finds in
the garbage. Watches, antique radios, and cash are some of his favorites. He
wears a reflective vest when he dumpster dives so people don’t think he is car
prowling. “Why would I try to be visible if I were up to no good?” Even with
the vest, people have threatened him with violence and murder. People on the
street live between the margins of law and justice. “No one cares if we go
missing or die.” I tell Carter that I always thank God I know so many homeless
people. If the world ends, they will be the only ones who know how to survive. I
believe Carter and his friends would take care of me and my family.
A couple is franticly packing up their tent and sleeping
bags. The business owners don’t want them making the storefront their home. Who
can blame them? “Don’t you know people die out here? What are you going to do to
help us?” Again, I have no good answer for this question. I listen to his
desperation and anxiety. To his mental health crisis and drug abuse. As I
listen, our conversation becomes less confrontational. I am not the bad guy, and
I agree with lots of his frustration. He offers me a beer and I respectfully
decline. His crippling paranoia has him thinking there is a government
conspiracy trying to exterminate the homeless. He tells me an elaborate scheme
involving food served at shelters. “It’s prepared with a chemical that causes
organ failure.” He tells me how the blankets that people pass out to the
homeless cause cancer. I encourage him in his ability to survive: “It’s good to
be in the land of the living!” The couple packs up and is ready to move. We
part ways and I wonder how long I would last sleeping outside.
My friend Ryan comes to my church and loves to talk about the end of the world. He feels it is his duty to warn people about the final judgment on earth. He isn’t interested in conversation. He likes to corner people with his monologue of fear. This week I confronted him and told him that people might be interested in getting to know him. That his message may be more meaningful to people if they knew him. Not realizing all the ways that God can transform us through our neighbors might be real end of the world! “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” (Psalms 116:9).
— Michael Cox
The light shines in
We walked into a tent encampment next to the freeway downtown. We are standing by the off-ramp, surrounded by tents, garbage, and drug paraphernalia. It feels like we are removed from civilization. I have never been in a situation like this and am filled with anxiety. Standing with my canvas tote bag filled with survival items, I make friends quickly. The motor powering this camp is heroin. The engine hums steadily, people of all walks of life coming and going. Black, white, Latino, young, and old. Certain tents seem to be steering the entire camp toward darkness and death. I talk with a woman who says she has been addicted to opioids since she was twelve: “I broke all the bones in my leg. I have metal screws in my knee that expand when it rains. All the pain meds they gave me changed my brain chemistry.” Before I can respond with anything hopeful, she excuses herself and shoots up on the couch in the middle of camp. My coworker is hugging a longtime street friend who is crying. Tears of regret and shame drip into the dirty blankets on the ground because he was unable to go to his dad’s funeral. “I lost my I.D. and couldn’t get a plane ticket.” A resident invites us to go check on the tents toward the back of camp. We walk up the hill and somebody asks us for a Bible. A voice from a tent thanks us for the granola bars and wishes us an enjoyable summer. There is a young married couple frantically pacing up and down the camp as if they are looking for a precious keepsake or long-lost treasure.
It’s hard to make sense of our time under the freeway. Drug addiction brings everyone to the same place of hopelessness, stealing life and dignity. However, the light of Christ shines everywhere. Reminding us in our garbage that we are created in the image of God, created for life. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5, NIV). The true light of Jesus, which gives light to everyone, has come into the world. (John 1:9). Even under the freeway.
— Michael Cox
The struggle is real
I was handing out survival items with Operation Nightwatch when Felicia approached us. She asked if we were outreach workers and took some socks and water. She was staying in a tiny house village and was trying to get her ID. The Deptartment of Social Services lost the hard copy of her birth certificate and social security card. They were still using paper and didn’t save her ID on a database. The Department of Licensing wasn’t much help either. It has been a five-year struggle. Instead of bitter complaining, Felicia was gracious. “I am praying for a miracle. Because at this point, I don’t know what else to do.” I offer to pray and it’s a good one! Sometimes you just know God is on the move!
I run into Felicia three months later. She is still staying at a tiny house village. I visit her village all the time and don’t remember ever talking to her. Yay for getting older! She finally has her ID. She can start applying for jobs and has a few promising leads. Felicia recaps the very real struggle of obtaining identification while living on the street. “People steal your stuff. It’s fifty-four dollars for a replacement ID card. You need to establish residency even if you don’t have an address. A cable bill or piece of mail can work if you have some other supporting document. You can get food stamps from the government but the DOL won’t accept your EBT card as proof of being a person.” Her ID drama ended when she got sealed medical records. “They don’t list medical records as an approved document, but they accepted it. People on the streets have all been to the emergency room!”
We’re sitting on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store laughing about the real struggle for identity. A thirty-something man walks over and offers us a pack of cigars. It’s open and one is missing. How strange. He leaves and we speculate on his plans. “He’s going to make a blunt and is easing his guilt with tobacco charity.” Felicia gets up and tosses them in the trash can. We laugh some more and talk about dogs. A few weeks ago, someone broke into her tiny house and stole her dog. She is confused why the culprit didn’t get arrested. I offer to start a GoFundMe site to see if we can get her a new canine companion. Smiles and tears commence. We both agree that spending time with dogs is way better than dealing with people. Especially people at the Department of Identification! “May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the children of the needy, and crush the oppressor!” (Psalms 72:4 ESV).
— Michael Cox
I go walking along the freeway overpass on a rainy Monday afternoon looking for homeless people. There are a handful of tents lining the fence where the bike path and on-ramp meet. I met three people here last week and want to see if everyone is ok. This area was swept by the city and the folks that are left seem more isolated than usual. Ronald is on his way to take a shower and looks like he has stepped off the set of a Mad Max movie. He is carrying a giant backpack with smaller bags attached to it with bungee cords. I give him some water and granola bars, which he stuffs into his cargo pants. As he lumbers off, he tells me, “Things could be worse!” Trevor lives in a tent under the bike path and I hand him socks and water. I can’t hear him because of the freeway noise so we just smile at each other. Karen takes some survival items and, within seconds, has shimmied down the side of the freeway to her tent. All I can think about is my daughter and how dangerous life on the streets is for young women.
I travel down to the off-ramp and meet Gary. Gary is sitting in a wheelchair, in the rain, under a tree. His legs were amputated last year when he got frostbite from sleeping outside. He wants to get into stable housing, but it hasn’t seemed to work out yet. His friends tell me that he has a great attitude and never complains. Privately he confides in me that he gets a little depressed sometimes. I have absolutely no idea what to say or do. I can’t get him into housing, and I can’t take him home. So, I stand in the rain and try to encourage him. He knows all the resources and is a very gentle soul. My only plan is to come back tomorrow, stand in the rain, and talk to him again.
I come back to the freeway overpass and talk with Gary again. He is sitting in his wheelchair staring at the traffic. We chat and he tells me he has had a rough night. The rain and cold have left him hopeless and more depressed. He thanks me for the granola bars and says he needs to get inside. As he pushes his wheelchair back to a tent all I can do is pray for him. “Our Father in heaven, reveal who you are. Set the world right; Do what’s best — as above, so below.” (Matthew 6:9-10, MSG).
— Michael Cox
Friendship, food, happiness, and health
Henry walked by and didn’t recognize me. I remind him that we prayed last week and tell him that I have some socks and PB&Js. “Oh yeah, I am starving.” It’s going to dip down into the low forties tonight and the homeless community is preparing. Henry sleeps in a doorway and feels safe except for when drug addicts try to rob him. I ask if there is anything I can keep in my prayers for him. “Friendship, food, happiness, and health!” I love praying with homeless people at the bus stop. It always makes God smile. The strange looks we get from people leaving CrossFit are equally delightful! I wonder what people think when they see me holding hands and praying with a person everyone is trying to avoid. Prayer communicates care. Henry walks across the street and yells a hearty thanks.
There are three of my friends are sitting on the sidewalk by Starbucks. Martin is a guitar player and I tune his acoustic that’s missing a string. He plays slide guitar with a travel size vodka bottle and we have an instant connection. He is nostalgic about past relationships, wishing he could go back in time. “If I knew then what I know now …” He spots Dorothy, my coworker’s puppy and I am instantly old news. Crawling over to Dorothy on his hands and knees they become fast friends. There is a gentleman lying on the ground. He is the drunkest I have ever seen anybody in my life. He looks like my friend Little Rabbit, but I’m not sure. His level of intoxication has altered everything, even his physical appearance. “Is that you, Little Rabbit?” It is and he’s overcome with shame and guilt. His addiction has set his plans for housing back again. We always pray when we chat, and this time is no different. Kneeling, I ask him what he would like prayer for. I put my hand on his shoulder and tell him that God loves him. That God loved him first and that there is no shame or guilt for those who are in Christ. He grabs my shoulder and squeezes. I think he assumed we were going to pray about the demon of booze tempting him, about the right path and good choices. The presence of God and his love are so thick you could eat it with a spoon. We all need to know the hope of God’s love. Little Rabbit already knows he needs to quit drinking.
My coworker introduces me to Dante. Dante is a sweet, soft-spoken man in his 60s. He has an interesting street hustle as a self-appointed doorman. He stands in front of a restaurant and opens the door for guests. Sometimes people give him a dollar. Everyone says thank you. I have some gloves and extra shirts in my bag, and he is appreciative. Our conversation turns to God, church, and baptism. He was baptized in Atlanta by Martin Luther King Jr.’s sister. Dante was forever changed when he heard God’s voice on the phone. He was in the hospital and heard a gospel song while he was on hold. The song’s lyrics were “I will always be with you and never forget you.” Our eyes get watery sharing with each other how God has changed our lives. He was shot at seven times at point blank range, walking away unharmed. My testimony about miraculous sobriety puts us on the same level. I tell him about how much I used to play the guitar at church. Without missing a beat Dante smiles and reminds me that “even God took a rest!” Preach, sir, preach. I ask him if he wants to pray. If he wants to pray for me. He doesn’t like to pray out loud, so I babble onward and upward. We part ways with a big hug, and I am overjoyed. I thank God for friendship, food, happiness, and health!
— Michael Cox
Faith in uncertainty
I have talked with William a few times now. He is always
sitting on the sidewalk by the grocery store. He is a talker and a manic one at
that. The last time we talked he shared how his sister had helped him through
his mental health crisis. She quit her job at a powerful law firm in New York
so she could take care of him. She helped him finish school and get stable. He
gushed nonstop about the sacrificial love of his sister. He is forever grateful
and proud of himself for being able to pay her back with money he has earned
over the years. “She doesn’t need money, and I could never really pay her back.
It feels good to contribute what I can. It’s a way to show my thankfulness.” As
we part ways, he thanks me for listening to him. He lets me know that listening
has the power to bring much healing to people who are hurting.
Tonight, William is sitting in his spot reading books on
prayer and theology. He is excited about the mystery of communicating with God.
“If we have the ability to talk with God, we should take advantage of it!” I
agree and listen to him share his heart. He tells me that faith in God doesn’t
mean you know everything. It means that you have peace in the uncertainty of
life. The mystery of God is supernatural joy in the midst of suffering. William
stands up and begins to preach. “The Bible says Jesus is a healer, not a cure!”
We talk about the reality of being healed and not cured of mental illness. “I
have a few bad days a month. But, compared to ten years ago I am a walking
Our attention turns to the ten-week-old puppy my fellow street minister has brought with us. The most powerful expression of God’s love may be a miniature Dotson. The puppy is in William’s lap and we’re all smiling from ear to ear. William tells me how there are all kinds of ways to pray. “You can kneel or stand. There are prayers of praise and grief. Prayers of blessing and gratitude!” Yes, William’s prayer is a conversation with God! I ask William if he wants to pray together. A polite and refreshing “No thank you” is his response. As we say our goodbyes William shares a parting blessing. “Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times and in every way. The Lord be with all of you.” (2 Thessalonians 3:16). Thank you, William, I receive your prayer of blessing!
— Michael Cox