It is hard to describe how I feel about the ministry of The Church on the Street. I tell anyone who will listen that it is the most beautiful ministry in the world, and one that I am fortunate to be allowed to share with the people of our city. By all worldly accounts much of it seems like a total waste of time. However, in my more reflective moments I realize that the answer lies somewhere in the mystery that on the street I am constantly surprised by holiness in the midst of addiction, violence, and poverty. 

I was thinking about all of this one evening as I started out downtown on the street that was once synonymous with violence and drugs. It is still a volatile street, but it is now home to a village of tents whose occupants blare music so loud that it wards off all who come within earshot. As I walked past, there was a stark reminder of the days of violence. On a wall was a newly painted sign that read, “RIP Steve”. It was a reminder that nine years to the day Steve had been killed at this very location. 

As I stood at Steve’s memorial, a lady that I have known for years approached me and asked for money so that she could find a homeless shelter. When I reminded her that I do not give out money on the street, she looked at me with profound disappointment that touched my heart, but it is one of the boundaries I have in place for this ministry. I did, however, direct her to a women’s shelter in an adjoining street that usually has space for a few more people. 

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Some readers may recall “Red Bag,” one of the few prostitutes who are still actively working the streets of the downtown area where I walk, and who warmed up to my presence after six months of ignoring me. I was on my way to visit her street corner when I was stopped by a lady walking her dog. She had seen my clerical collar and asked what I was doing on the streets. I explained the work of The Church on the Street and she looked at me and said, “We need that, I just moved into this area seven months ago from out of town and I am afraid to go out. The prostitutes and their clients scare me. I am associated with the justice system, and I know how dangerous it is. I hear all their stories, and they are brutal.”

 I mentioned to her that I was on my way to visit Red Bag who, over the last couple of years, has become my friend and I am hoping one day that she will give up this lifestyle. 

“I know her,” she said, “she is always on this street. I see she has another girl with her tonight.” 

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I thanked her and gave her my business card telling her to call me if she ever needed help or support. In the distance I saw “Red Bag” and indeed she was standing at the usual corner with another girl sitting on the ground beside her. When I reached her, she put her hand on my shoulder and gesturing towards the girl sitting on the ground said, “This is my sister, she has come from our home country in Africa to join me.” I am usually prepared for most surprises on the street, but this one floored me. 

I thought to myself, “I was hoping she was going to get off the street one day, but now she has opened a family franchise!”  

My final destination of the evening as always was to visit the doorway where my friend Chilly lived and died a year ago. For the first time since she died, I saw that someone else was sitting on the steps and using it as a shelter. I stopped and said, “Good evening” to him and started to explain my relationship over the years with Chilly. 

“I stop here every week now that she has passed, and I pray for her. I also pray that she will guide me to the people who need support each evening,” I said. 

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“Thank you for doing that,” he said. “She was a good woman, and she is up there looking after us.” 

At that moment, in the midst of an evening of darkness and gloom, I realized we can still be surprised by holiness on the street.