Serve - Know - Announce
On the second day of ministry on the streets I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. A thought flashed through my head, “Why am I doing this?”. No, not why am I dialing 911, I know why, there is a man in front of me breathing shallow breaths, clutching his heart, face turning purple. Why am I doing this ministry? Why am I called here and what am I truly here to do?
The man in front of me goes by the name Joseph (alias). An older Mexican-American gentleman who I had just met a few hours before in his tent. In truth I knew very little about him. What I did know was his name and his hometown, basic street banter. After two minutes of small talk he told me that he was thirsty and wanted a Bible. Being unprepared (cut me some slack; it was only my second day) my street ministry partner, Julie, and I had to head back to St. Michael (HQ) to get Joseph his supplies. Our failure to carry the right supplies turned out to be providencial and life saving.
We returned back to Joseph with water and Bible and hand. His health had visibly deteriorated from when we first stopped by the tent hours before. On our knees in the mud outside his tent, with the permission of Joseph we began to pray with him. His health was slipping and mid prayer I made eye contact with my ministry partner, and without words we knew what to do. I stepped away and made the call. Joseph was having a heart attack.
The ambulance arrived with a team of paramedics. The team checked Joseph's vitals, positioned him into a stretcher, and - without a word to me and Julie - drove away. We had no idea where they took Joseph.
So there I stood, thinking: Is this the extent of my job? Do I serve by checking on people's health? Is this how the Lord has called me to serve?
Time went on: one week, two weeks, three weeks. We returned to his tent but no Joseph. Prayers for good health turned to prayers for his soul… until one Holy Spirit-led outing. “Let’s go check on Joseph’s tent.”
Approaching his tent we began our usual unanswered call, “Joseph are you home? Anyone here?” To our surprise the tent began to rustle, and soon enough we heard the sound of the zipper. Out pops the face that I have only seen once before but was carved into my memory right before the ambulance door closed.
Joseph, with a smile on his face, remembered us and thanked us for calling 911 that day.
There we were, back in the mud at Joseph’s camp. It was as if we were lifelong friends, we sat there for over an hour talking. We learned about Joseph’s story, how we ended up in Portland. Stories of hardships in his life and suffering. As the conversation came to a close we spoke about Christ, faith, and forgiveness. A barrier was broken; we are now friends.
I see Joseph at least twice a week now. I look forward to and enjoy all the time I get to spend with him. Joseph and I pray together and this is where I see the spirit moving in him. In these moments the Lord heals us and moves us and convicts us to ask for a better life with faith. Struggles come to light in prayer and our faith grows. It was actually in prayer where Joseph vocalized his desire to get housed.
As a missionary this is where I serve. I am not a medical expert or a social worker. I am not just someone who hands out meals. I am not an expert in housing the homeless. I am the hands and feet of Christ. I say this with all humility; I wake up every morning and empty myself out. One day Christ is handing out meatball subs under the Hawthorne Bridge, the next he is holding the phone dialing 911.
Diego Yañez