Last night we heated water and filled up a large thermos and a big insulated dispenser, preparing for our weekly Friday street outreach. I loaded up the back of my Black Toyota FJ Cruiser with a fresh supply of Cup Noodles, hot chocolate, cider, coffee, and plastic forks, and refilled a plastic stow with socks, scarves, and hats. I included a supply of Narcan and as many blankets as I could find from our warm closet at Tierra Nueva, before heading over to the commercial center of Mount Vernon to look for people outside the stores.
Since it was Black Friday, I assumed the police had driven the unhoused out of the sight of shoppers. But the cold also drives people into their tents in the woods, behind dumpsters, and in whatever hide-away they’ve managed to find for themselves.
I headed to our meet-up place, not sure how many of our volunteers would show up on a cold night the day after Thanksgiving. My son-in-law Esteban showed up right as I parked in front of a group of men and women congregated outside the Goodwill, beside the Dollar Tree.
“Would anyone like a hot drink?” I asked, as we approached the group of twelve to fifteen people standing under the big cement eave of the store. A few of the guys were on bikes, and three of the men were in wheelchairs. Several had grocery carts filled with their belongings.
“We’ve got soup, hot chocolate or cider,” I added.
I looked around and recognized many of the faces as one person after another asked for this or that drink. Esteban and I began filling up Cup Noodles with hot water and mixing hot chocolate as fast as we could, and passed them out. More people showed up who recognized our truck, since we come around every week. Most everyone wanted both hot chocolate and Cup Noodles. People expressed appreciation. I spoke with an older Mexican man I’d known for years who straddled his bicycle, introducing him to Esteban, who spoke with him in Spanish.
I asked if anyone needed blankets, and the men in wheelchairs were the first to say yes. I asked one of them, a Latino guy, how long he’d been in a wheelchair and what had happened. He told me he’d been shot a few years ago, and that the bullet had hit his spinal cord, paralyzing him from the waist down.
I wanted to pray for him as I’d seen Jesus heal a man in jail from paralysis from a gunshot wound. As I pondered whether to go for it, he waived goodbye as his friend wheeled him away, and I let out a feeble “God bless you guys.” Maybe there would be another occasion to pray, once we’d gotten to know each other better.
Suddenly people began to disperse. Maybe they’d seen a police car. We passed out gloves, hand warmers, and hats. So we got in my car and headed over towards Safeway instead, to look for more people. I didn’t see anyone on the streets in some of the usual places, so I drove slowly around the back, adjacent to a large, abandoned field. I then spotted a grocery cart, and noticed a small group huddled in the dark near some dumpsters under a tree.
We pulled in near them and parked. A woman came up, not wanting a hot drink but needing a hat. She said her mother’s birthday was the next day, and I told here that she was welcome to take a scarf or hat for her mom. She was delighted, and found a scarf she thought her mom would like. We approached the huddled group, asking if anyone wanted a hot drink.
“Bob!” one of them yelled. It was a man I knew who’d relapsed back into Fentanyl after a long period of sobriety.
We greeted each other and began to catch up from the previous week. We served him a cup of hot chocolate, and he was glad to receive a fresh supply of Narcan. He told us how many people call 911 too soon, assuming someone who has passed out is in danger when they’re not.
“When they’re turning blue, that’s when you really have to move fast,” he told us.
Just then I spotted a tall, very thin man who was heading towards us on the sidewalk behind the store. He walked with long, determined strides—like a man on a mission.
“Jeff” (not his real name), my friend yelled, “dude, I’ve been looking for you. Come on over!”
Jeff stopped in front of us and my friend gave him a hug. Jeff couldn’t stand still, but lurched forward, twisting around with contorted gestures, a common manifestation of the street drug called “Trank,” which is Xylazine, a veterinary tranquilizer that’s being mixed into the Fentanyl these days.
Jeff spoke haltingly but revealed sensitivity and intelligence. He told us how he was a few credits short of a business degree at the local college, but had messed up “yet again.” I told him we could see that he was a highly intelligent and articulate man, and that it’s not too late to achieve his dreams. It seemed right to ask him if we could pray for him about being able to finish his schooling. He said “yes” he wanted prayer, as he twisted around in a few circles, spiraling down on his haunches before us, bowing his head and cupping his hands over his mouth and chin.
I was deeply touched by his humble gesture, and felt a tenderness as my heart softened. wondered if I was going to cry. I prayed a prayer over him, and his friend and Esteban joined me as we blessed him with success, protection and God’s peace.
When I finished praying I found myself making a comment I hadn’t thought about in advance.
“Well, it’s Black Friday and everyone’s out shopping. But I’m pretty sure Jesus wouldn’t be shopping for deals. He’d be out shopping for people. Searching for what’s most precious to him– you guys!”
The men seemed to receive these words into their souls, and I felt like I was basking in a tenderness from the invisible heart of God that filled the darkness.
Esteban later commented that in fact Jesus is our Redeemer, the One who purchases us by his blood, freeing us from the clutches of the Ruler of this world. We are his deputized agents, invited to search for his beloved ones along the alleyways, highways, behind the hedges and dumpsters.