A Day in the Park

On Saturday the Mission Year teams in Philadelphia embarked on a retreat of solidarity with those experiencing homelessness. We went into Center City, Philadelphia’s downtown area, broke off into pairs, and visited several parks that several folks call their homes. Our goal was simply to talk to people. We took nothing with us: no clothes, blankets, hygiene products, or food to donate, realizing that such items create a position of power. With nothing to give but ourselves, we ventured into new relationships.

I was paired with Matt, one of the guys from another Philly team. At our first destination, we spent some time observing interactions within the park. This stillness in the midst of a busy city center felt uncomfortable at first. Most people had some objective, some place to go. Our discomfort quickly slipped away, and we began to appreciate being in the city with nothing to do. We soon realized that was an important step toward solidarity with those experiencing homelessness.

Our first two friends were a pair of old white men who came to the U.S. from the British Isles several decades ago. They have both been on the streets for a long time and when they me a few months ago they appreciated each other’s company enough to stick together. We enjoyed several hours talking to them, and learned about a simple life comprised of Sudoku, spending retirement checks on motel rooms, finding bars that allow you to watch soccer games, and behaving enough to be able to use the bathroom at Barnes and Noble.

We continued with a few more interactions like this, and gave away our simple bag lunches to a diabetic women who panhandled to buy her insulin needles. My most meaningful experiences came toward the end of our day. Matt spotted a large concentration of homeless folks off the beaten path from the more touristy parks where we had spent much of our day. Still very much exposed to the view of the public, we stumbled upon the hang-out spot (and, at night, bunking area) of about 60 people experiencing homelessness: men, women, black, white, young, old. Somewhat weary from the day, we entered the space not intending to interact any longer but to just be there and observe.

Matt and I picked different corners and sat down, positioned to see and experience as much as we could. Soon after I sat down (and curled up as much as I could to curb the cold), I was twice approached by a man asking if I was “looking to earn a couple of dollars.” He thought I was. Not long after I told him I wasn’t interested, another man asked me if I knew the schedule of a local homeless ministry. He, too, assumed I was homeless. Although many would be offended, and in other context I may have been, in this case I was pleased! As a college-educated white male, my interactions in Mission Year are often colored by the power my physical features and speech patterns communicate. But not this time. The only people who hung out where I was had no other place to go, or they came to give out food. Because I had nothing to give and I wasn’t going anywhere, I had to have belonged.

This location is known for its homeless crowd, so folks often pull off from the busy road and pass out donations—usually food. Having given away our lunches, Matt and I got in line when one group set up a table to distribute brown bag lunches and hot drinks.

In line in front of me was a younger white man, whom I assumed was weathered by many nights on the streets. He turned around and asked if we were also living in that area. When we said, “no,” he assumed we were volunteers. We left our status ambiguous, hesitant to reveal that we were accepting donated food to join in solidarity with those who live off donations, an admittedly controversial position to be in.

His spirits were low, so he didn’t say much, but I could sense a desire for interaction. Just a few minutes into our conversation, sparse with words, he had shared that this was in fact his first week on the streets of Philadelphia. Kevin was his name, and he had recently moved into his mom’s house, trying to get away from his heroin-addicted brother. When he relapsed into his own “habit,” his mom kicked him out. He went to the only place he knew he would be somewhat safe, fed by donations, and free to figure out if he wanted to check into rehab.

This story was hard for me to swallow. I had never met anyone who had used hard drugs, much less been addicted to them (at least not that I knew of—I’m sure there’s been someone…). But he was so simple, kind, and warm. It broke my heart to see Kevin in this place, and I knew so little of what I could do to help. So Matt and I did what we could. We shared a meal with him. Having received the same donated food as him, there was no power dynamic to our interaction with him. We just ate lunch together and raved about how much we appreciated a warm drink in our hands. We didn’t even say much. We didn’t offer the Good News of Jesus or even a word of encouragement. Although sometimes I wish I had verbally communicated some hope for his life, I sill appreciate the utter simplicity of our meal together.

As much as it pained me to hear Kevin’s story, it hurt so much more to walk away. I wanted so badly to stay and offer the only thing he needed: solidarity. Lonely, uncertain, and afraid, Kevin needed a friend at this confusing time in his life. Matt and I could provide that for the duration of one meal, but Kevin needs it for a lifetime. Alas, our retreat was ending, and we had to return to the group to process our experiences together.

A sign a created in response to my day, expressing how I felt about it.

I still don’t know what to think of my experiences that day. I don’t have much time to return and offer much more to Kevin than my prayers, and I do that often. He mentioned that he was considering checking into rehab, so I pray that he can overcome addiction. I pray that he will encounter the Living God, the only entity larger than his addiction.

He also mentioned that he wants something better for his kids, although he doesn’t have any kids. He spoke of his future kids—kids he would have after he got his life together. I pray for his hope of a better life to intensify and be fueled by faith in Jesus Christ.

I ask you to join me in prayer for Kevin, and all the others in his position, in Philadelphia and in cities around the world.