God on the Streets

I have a number of friends and family members who are heading out on or have just returned from  mission trips this summer, and as I hear from them and pray for them, I am reminded of a mission trip I went on during highschool that was deeply impacting for me. I've been to Africa and I've been to Mexico, but my heart doesn't break for the poor or for the orphans as much as it does for the people group I encountered in my own home country, on East Hastings Street in Vancouver: the homeless. 

I believe we all need to be actively engaged in social justice. There are so many needs around us! I rejoice in those individuals and organizations that are passionate about reaching the starving, those with AIDS, children, refugees, and others who desperately need love and practical help. 

I just want to share how God spoke to me through "the street people."

(Story written in 2004 after our trip; don't think I've put it on my blog before...)

     “What are you doing, a project or something?”
     “Um, yeah,” I replied as I snapped a picture of one of the walls of her house.
       I probably didn’t have the right to be going through her house like I did, but I sort of couldn’t help it. I was going past her house anyway, so I decided to stop and take a look. Her house wasn’t the prettiest. In fact, it was ugly compared to the standards of today. The paint was peeling, the floor wasn’t swept, and it stunk. Bad. This lady herself wasn’t the best looking, either. Her hair was long and matted, her face dirty, her teeth crooked. The tone of her voice when she asked what I was doing implied that so many other people had come through her house—just like I was then—and not respected her or her property. She assumed I was just like all the other people. Many people walk through her house every day; at the same time, many people walk by her house, not daring to stop and see inside.
     You see, this lady’s house was a street; her bed a pile of cardboard boxes on the floor, her food the scraps in the dump. Every day many people would walk through the streets, not considering that this was someone’s personal property, not caring that this was someone’s house. It certainly didn’t look or feel like a home, but it was a place where someone dwelled. And I was one of many people who didn’t notice that. So when this lady asked me what I was doing as I took pictures, I was stopped dead in my tracks and had to think for a bit. Was I doing a “project”? Did I consider this whole mission trip to Vancouver a “project”, something I was working on? Well actually, yes…
     I headed into this mission trip with the mindset that I would show homeless people God’s love. I figured that downtown Vancouver—East Hastings Street—was a place where God didn’t really abide, so I needed to go and point these people in God’s direction. I thought that I had something they didn’t, and I wanted to share it with them. I did have some things they didn’t—I had a house made out of wood, money, new clothes, education, food, and most of all, peace, hope, love, and joy through Christ. So my plan (emphasis on MY) was to go and show these people God. Well, God took my plan and warped it and instead did HIS plan. Imagine that! It always amazes me how God can take something we want, something we plan, and turn it around and accomplish his will through it.
     One morning our group was led in a Bible study about, well, God. We read verses like Matthew 7:7 that says, “Seek and you will find…” Psalm 139:7, “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?” Jeremiah 29:13, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” The point of the Bible study was that God is everywhere. In my mind I believed that, but it really got to my heart that afternoon.
      Our task was, in groups of four, to walk down East Hastings Street—alleys and all—and take pictures of people, places, or things that reminded us of grace, mercy, or redemption. It was interesting that the leader chose these three words, because it would have been much easier to find things about hope, or love, or healing. So our group started off. It was quite difficult to see anything at all that reminded us of God. As we were walking through one alley, we walked past a house that was fenced off. Leaning against the fence was an aluminum sheet with the word “Jesus” spray-painted onto it. Immediately we stopped to take a picture. What could better represent God than the word Jesus? It was pretty obvious. So we were fairy pleased that we had found one thing, and we continued to look for more. It was amazing to see some of the graffiti on the walls. The artists that drew these were amazing! People that live on the streets are gifted, and it is sad that the only way they are able to use their gifts is to draw depressing pictures and write hopeless poems. Here is one poem that I saw on a wall:

“The Gift”
RISING FROM WITHIN
THE MADNESS DOES BEGIN
THE VIOLENCE AND THE ANGER
THE PLEASURE THAT COMES FROM SIN
BEFORE YOU EVEN SEE IT
THE FUSE HAS REACHED ITS END
THE CHAOS AND THE TURMOIL
THEY SMILE LIKE THEY’RE YOUR FRIENDS
THE GIFT OF LIFE ABUSED, DENIED
IGNORED UNTIL THE END
THAT’S WHEN YOUR SOUL AWAKENS
AND SEES THAT THE GIFT WAS ITS BEST FRIEND
                                                            ----Lance (Chaos)

            We walked through a town square, and stopped to talk to a couple people sitting on a bench. A man in a wheelchair motioned for me to come over. He looked like he was in his sixties. I knelt down and talked to him. “My name’s George,” he said, “and this is my good buddy Fred,” he added, motioning to a man sitting beside him. “He’s real good at the guitar, ya know. He can get up, walk around, go wherever he wants to. Too bad I’m confined here in this wheelchair—can’t go anywhere or do anything useful.” I smiled. Through hearing his words, it reminded me of redemption. We all are born with sin and that sin traps us so that we can’t get out. But when Christ redeems us, we are set free of our sin and allowed to walk again. Like George was confined in his wheelchair we are bound by sin. George continued telling me stories about his life. “My wife died in 2001. It’s hard being apart, but I know that when it’s my time, the Big Man will take me up.” “Do you think your wife is in heaven?” I asked. “Oh I know she’s in heaven,” he replied, “she wouldn’t even spit on the ground she was so good!” God’s grace was shown in that George still had hope; he still saw “the light at the end of the tunnel” amidst the trouble and pain in his life. I asked if I could take a picture of him, and he said, “Only if I can take a picture of you!” I laughed.
            Through the rest of that afternoon, everywhere I went I saw God at work. Whether it was the smile of a man receiving a toque, a woman getting a stuffed bear to take home to her children, or an angel painted on a wall, I could see the fingerprints of God. Later that day I met the same woman who earlier had asked me what I was doing. She held a yellow tulip in her hands, and was smiling. Drastically different than when I had first met her. She even let me take a picture of her this time; she fixed up her hair and put this smile on her face and held the flower up to her cheek. It was a beautiful sight.
            As I mentioned, I had a plan for that week in Vancouver. I wanted to show God to people. But God ended up showing himself to me. I planned to take light into a dark place, but I came back realizing there is already a light there—it may not be as obvious as the darkness, but it is there. I learned that truly, as it says in Psalm 24:1, “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.” There is no place God isn’t. Nowhere his Spirit does not reside. God is at work everywhere—he is just waiting to be found.