An Unexpected Night of Prayer

Tuesday night we were visited by several members of the Post from Southeast Christian Church (my home church).  Just  a bit of a reflection on the night....

Sitting on the front steps of Jeff Street I starred onto the dark street. It was surprisingly calm. A soft light of street lamps cast shadows, a random passerby looked curiously through the window, cars sped by - oblivious.
They trickled in at first…just a few arrived at a time. They seemed apprehensive. They seemed scarred to be here. It wasn't surprising…many of them don't come this way often. Many of them aren't familiar with what can happen on the streets. That's the interesting part…sometimes I wonder if the mystery or the true life is the scarier part?

Suddenly they arrived in full force. Before I knew it there were about 30 people sitting on the entrance steps of Jeff Street's front room. They were mostly comprised of 20-somethings - a good mix of guys and girls. Some seemed excited, some seemed tired. Some people looked impatient and a few looked calm. I myself was just a little confused - I didn't know what to expect.

They had arrived with a single word in mind. A single vision for what would occur that night. Prayer. They were here to pray. Over the building, over the staff, over the residents, over the guests, over provision - they didn't know yet what it might look like - but there was a faith that God would provide.

We went through a quick tour of the building, learning the stations that the homeless guests know too well. Mail check, bag check, laundry, showers, handouts, breakfast, hang-out spot - there wasn't much to see, but there is a power in picturing the space full of people. Full of the smells of homelessness. Unwashed clothing, fresh showers, too much cologne, lack of deodorant, ripe shoes, coffee, stored luggage, paper, predictable lunch…. The room was empty, but in just a few hours the guests would arrive - I'm sure silent prayers were beginning to fill the room. I'd like to think that we left the day shelter with a different aroma. The scent of joy and grace.

I talked fast, it was getting late. We quickly jumped from room to room learning about the changing world and changing times - trying to imagine the battle of living homeless, trying to imagine overcoming addictions, trying to imagine the obstacles of ministry in a changing city.

Community was a big word. The greatest poverty is feeling unwanted. The greatest poverty is feeling unloved - this building is sometimes full of poverty. We learned how we try to cultivate community, the important roles of consistent volunteers, the ability each of us have to impact and change a life - simply by being there. Prayers filled the second floor, they drifted through the corridor of ceiling-less rooms, they softly brushed the hearts of the residents.

We returned to the entry way. It was 9:00, time to go. We decided to pray instead. Prayers for grace, prayers for provision, prayers for boldness, prayers for compassion, practical prayers, spiritual prayers, deeply needed prayer filled our hearts and lifted the building to God.

A few people needed to leave, it was 9:20. The rest set out through the building. They prayed in various locations. They searched for the broken and hurting - they shared in their pain. The prayers kept rolling in.
Memories were made. Bonds were formed. Ties were created. Hearts will be called back to Jeff Street. The prayers will keep coming, for the need was real. The desire for transformation was apparent. Transformation can only come through the Holy Spirit, it was present.

It was sad to see the group file away. The energy of the youth, the passion of their prayers, the range of their emotions - it changes the mood of the building. Genuine smiles were exchanged, profound thanks was given, contact information was requested. I pray that the threads of connection will spread, grow stronger, and not be cut away.

Thank you for those who came to Jeff Street. When you work with the invisible, you sometimes began to slowly drift into a cloud of invisibility yourself. Thank you for seeing us, not through your own eyes, but Christ's eyes. Thank you for seeing us not as creatures of pity, but rather as fellow seekers, fellow children, desperately in need of His love. Our prayers go to you.

"In the face of the oppressed I recognize my own face, and in the hands of the oppressor I recognize my own hands. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood, their pain is my pain, their smile is my smile." - Henri Nouwen