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For the last two nights, I’ve been staying at the New York City Rescue Mission just south of Chinatown. It’s been absolutely fascinating to see what goes on behind those doors when the volunteers go home, and what I’ve learned from them has completely re-oriented my perspective on homelessness…

Before checking in, I was nervous that they would ask me lots of questions. I didn’t want to lie about not truly being homeless, but I also didn’t want anyone to know. Thankfully, I kept mostly silent and they never pressed me for more information. I could remain an anonymous guest.

A strange new context

To get dinner, all of the guys have to arrive before 5pm and sit in the chapel until the food is served. To pass the time, the shelter staff projects The History Channel onto a screen.

For the last two nights, we’ve watched documentaries about how ancient civilizations like the Maya predicted that the world would come to an end in 2012.

It was all very apocalyptic and foreboding, but it didn’t seem to frighten the guys in the shelter very much. My favorite comment, which pretty much summed up the general sentiment in the room, came from a guy sitting behind me. “That’s bullsh**.”

At the time, I had to stifle a laugh. But thinking back on that comment, I realized something interesting. Looking at it from his perspective, perhaps only people who think they have their lives together are frightened by the end of the world. Hmmm…

What was really fascinating about watching TV with the guys, though, was sitting through the commercials. Listening to spokespeople trying to get us to buy their lawn care product or car insurance was ironic, to say the least.

Here was a room full of guys living with just the clothes on their back being told that if they were to just use this new kind of bodywash, they’d start picking up more girls in clubs! It’s amazing how your perspective on everyday things can change depending on who you are with…

The daily routine

Well, eventually it was time for dinner, so we all lined up to eat. The food was served in a small cafeteria in the basement. It wasn’t fantastic, but it was food! Believe me, I cleaned my plate.

After a short chapel service each night, we all lined up to go upstairs to our beds. The sleeping area is just a large, L-shaped room with 70 bunk beds set up every 2-3 feet. On top of each bed is a blanket, a pillow, a towel and a pillowcase with sheets inside.

At this point in the night, most guys bathe in the wide-open showers (with ice-cold water!), use the toilet in the wide-open bathroom (yes, sitting right next to each other), or make their beds, trying not to bump into their bunk-mates.

As everyone took off their shoes and outer layers of clothing each night, the room started to smell unbelievably nasty. I would have been disgusted if it wasn’t for the fact that my shoes smelled just as bad as everyone else’s (homeless people rarely have the luxury of fresh, clean socks each day)!

Finally, everyone settled into their beds for the night. Soon, the room was filled with the sound of many (and I do mean many) snoring men. With over 70 guys crammed into a pretty tight room, let’s just say that I had two very noisy nights.

After breakfast, everyone had to leave. At 6am both mornings, the doors were closed and we were all back on the streets…

Surprising revelations

It was a fantastic learning opportunity for me, and I walked away with some great new realizations.

The most unbelievable part of my time there was simply the diversity among the men. I’ve worked with the homeless quite a few times before, but I’ll admit that I still had a few preconceived notions about their true identities that have now been proved false. Now that I’ve spent two nights living among them, my earlier categories are crumbling.

Probably the most surprising thing I discovered is that a lot of the guys staying at in the mission actually have jobs! I had always equated homelessness with joblessness. But here in New York City, where a tiny two-bedroom apartment costs $1400 a month in the bad part of town, that isn’t always the case.

Even with consistent income from a daily job, these men still can’t make enough to get by.

Now, there were obviously many homeless and unemployed men at the shelter; men with long, dreadlocked hair, crazy beards and vacant looks in their eyes. But there were a surprisingly large number of well-groomed, intelligent, bright-eyed men as well.

Several of the guys even had cell phones! To say that I was surprised would be an understatement. After two nights, I realized the truth: there is a great diversity among the homeless in NYC, and not all of my notions about them were correct.

Conversations

The conversations I overheard echoed this diversity.

Standing in line for dinner one night, one man talked excitedly about how he was going to lock himself into a Starbucks bathroom to bathe. “I don’t care who wants in. I’ll bring a bar of soap and I’ll stay as long as I want. I’ll be smelling fresh!”

At this, a guy standing next to him said, “Man, don’t do that! Are you crazy? Have some respect for yourself.  We have showers here…”

Each man had a completely different understanding of dignity.

On my second night, I had my own choices called out. Wanting to avoid the cold water (and, let’s face it, the prospect of bathing naked in a room full of other men), I got into bed without showering. “I am living on the streets,” I figured. “What will it matter?”

As the guy in the bed below mine grabbed his towel, he said, “Well you sure went to bed pretty fast.”

“I’m really tired.” I said.

“Man, cold water or not, I shower every night,” he replied. “I go to work and there are women there. I don’t want to show up smelling like butt!”

Whether he was making a comment about the way I smelled or just sharing his opinion on the matter, his point was clear: being homeless does not give you the excuse to be filthy.

Wow. Talk about an eye-opening experience.

Changed

Without realizing the pre-conceived notions I was harboring, I went into the shelter thinking that most homeless people were unable to bathe, jobless and lacking a sense of personal dignity. What I discovered is that many of them are well-groomed, employed and eager to call out the dignity in others…

Are there still homeless people that fit into the categories I had before? Of course. Just read my account of sleeping in Penn Station to see how many of the homeless truly are at the bottom rung of our society.

But are there many who are hard-working, driven and eager to get their lives back in order?

There are. I spent two nights among them. And my perspective has been changed forever…

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On my first night living on the streets of Manhattan, I decided to sleep in a place where many homeless people lay their heads; Penn Station.  Located directly beneath Madison Square Garden, Penn Station is a large transit terminal with three levels. 

I knew the night would be uncomfortable and a bit nerve-wracking, but I had no idea just how eye-opening it would be… 

I first went down into Penn Station at around 11pm.  I walked around, looking for a place that would be out of the way for most traveling passengers, but not too remote for occasional police patrols. 

At first, I saw very few people sleeping on the floor.  For a moment, I was nervous, thinking that my plan for the night wasn’t going to work out.  Eventually, though, I found a section of wall between two sleeping men and lay down, using my backpack as a pillow. 

I curled up and got as comfortable as I could on the hard floor, but couldn’t seem to fall asleep.  Even though I was dead tired from a long day of walking, sleep just wouldn’t come. 

Part of it was the discomfort, sure.  But more than that was the stress of what I was doing.  I had no idea what was allowed.  I had no idea what to expect. 

Any time I heard people speaking behind me, my eyes jolted open.  Were they coming to kick me out?  Was it someone coming to rob me? 

How I look right now.

Of course, my fears proved unfounded, and after the fiftieth false alarm, I finally drifted off to a restless sleep. 

An hour or two after falling asleep, I was awakened by a cleaning lady wanting to mop the floor.  I sat up and began to leave.  Interruptions like that must be common, I realized, because the moment she said, “Wake up”, the other two guys near me immediately stood up, gathered their things and walked off as if they had been expecting it. 

Now that my “bed” was gone, I took the opportunity to walk around Penn Station and see if more people had come to sleep.  Groggy and bleary-eyed at 1am, I saw something that absolutely blew my mind.  There, throughout the terminal were literally hundreds of homeless people sleeping in every conceivable space. 

Some were leaning against pillars, others were lying on improvised cardboard “mattresses.”  Everywhere I looked, there were other lumps of humanity pressed against the wall, surrounded by their possessions and curled up into a ball. 

After a little while, I returned to my spot to sleep a bit more.  At 3am I was again kicked out of that section, this time by a different cleaning person.  When I had finally settled in somewhere else to get a few more minutes of sleep, I heard a banging sound on the wall.  A couple of policemen were walking around waking everyone up. 

“Rise and shine, guys. It’s time to get up.  Time to go…”  Apparently, since trains start up at 4:30am, all the homeless have to leave at 4. 

Like just about everyone else around me, I wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to shake the sleepiness from my head.  As I walked, I tried to really take in the sight of all the homeless people waking up around me. 

This time, however, I saw something that I hadn’t noticed when everyone was asleep.  There were a lot of mental and physical disabilities in that place.  People were talking to themselves, limping and leaning on canes, staring with distant expressions and mumbling softly… 

I even saw one man holding the top of his pants around mid-thigh without any underwear on.  The man was exposing himself in a public place without even realizing it. 

These were broken people.  Rejected people.  The hopeless and helpless of this city.  These were people who couldn’t get into shelters or who don’t want to be involved in recovery programs or who are scared to get the government involved.  I’m sure that many of them don’t even know what options are available to them. 

After walking through the terminal, I went across the street and bought a cup of coffee with some of my panhandled money.  I came back into Penn Station, sat up against a pillar and watched as the last sleepers were woken up by the police. 

As I sat there, I realized something interesting.  By the time most commuters would arrive, almost all of these people would be gone.  Nobody would know that at night their train station was home to a whole community of shattered lives. 

I saw one janitor kick a woman out of her spot to mop directly under where she had been sitting.  As far as the world was concerned, she was never even there. 

It makes me wonder.  How many other broken lives lie just beneath my own?  How often do I cross paths with invisible people in my world? 

Or I suppose the more difficult question to answer is this:  How often do I intentionally avoid crossing paths with the invisible?  Do I structure my day-to-day life in such a way that I never have to see disturbing brokenness? 

I mean, I live in a nice, comfortable suburban world most of the time.  People like those sleeping in Penn Station never even enter the picture. 

The Relief Bus, a symbol of hope for many in downtown New York City.

It brings into sharp focus for me why the work of organizations like New York City Relief is so important.  It’s not just that they give out soup to hungry people.  It’s not just that they help people find jobs or recovery programs.  It’s the fact that they help us to remember. 

So.  Four days and four nights on the streets of Manhattan.  Intimidating?  Yes.  Exciting?  Yes.  Scary?  Yes.  This is definitely beyond the realm of anything I’ve ever done before.  But one day in I can already say that I’m learning tons about homelessness in our country…

Yesterday, after hanging out with the Relief Bus in the Bronx for a few hours (and filling up with soup and bread!), I headed off alone for Manhattan.  My assets?  A book to read, a 7 day unlimited metro card, my old cell phone, my journal, a Bible, 25 cents and the clothes on my back.

For the next four days, this would be all I’d have to get by…

Most of my afternoon was spent working up the courage to start panhandling.  Every time I got close to starting, my subconscious would start yelling at me. “What will people think of me?  Will they be upset?  What if I get arrested or something?”  Unrealistic fears began to seep in to my heart.

But as dusk approached, my stomach started to growl.  It was then that I realized the truth of my situation.  If I didn’t start panhandling, I wouldn’t eat dinner.  Simple as that!

So, abandoning any sense of independence or self-sufficiency, I squatted down next to a wall, held out my hands and begged.

“Can you spare a dollar, sir?  Ma’am, can I have a quarter?”

As you might imagine, most people walked right by.  A few genuinely didn’t notice me, but most deliberately avoided eye contact.  Every now and then, someone would look down at me and quickly look away, as if I could somehow trap them with my mind.  One lady gave me a dollar, but otherwise I was coming up empty.

After 10 or 15 minutes, being ignored started to get to me.  I switched spots and tried again.  Same situation.  The vast majority of people simply walked right by.

From the moment I decided to try this experience, I knew it would happen.  I knew I would be treated as worthless.  But having it actually happen time and time again brought the reality of it all straight to my heart.

No wonder homeless people so often suffer from mental illnesses.  I panhandled for probably a grand total of 45 minutes and even I wanted to stand up and shout, “Hey!  At least acknowledge me as a person!”

Being ignored is a terrible, terrible feeling.

But there were a few bright spots through it all.  Occasionally, someone would look me in the eyes, reach into their pockets and genuinely say, “I’m sorry… I wish I could help you”, before moving on.  You’d think that I would have been frustrated by that, but I wasn’t.  In fact, simply being acknowledged at all was extraordinarily uplifting.  I couldn’t help but smile at them, even though my pockets were still empty.

Well, over the course of my time panhandling, I ended up making about $8.50 (due in large part to a $5 bill a man gave me in a subway stairwell).  Because I only needed enough money to buy dinner and breakfast, I quit.  I was feeling guilty enough taking other people’s money.

I walked out of the subway station and towards a hot-dog stand.  $2 for a hot dog with everything on it.  It wasn’t going to get much cheaper than that in Manhattan.

As I ate, tears welled up in my eyes.  I was overwhelmed with emotions.  In less than an hour, I had felt the bitterness of being ignored, the gratitude of simple eye contact and the humility that comes from being fully dependent on the good will of another.

Sure, the experience was over quickly.  Sure, I was never in a place of true desperation.  But I do know this… After being one myself, I will never look at panhandlers the same way again.

From now on I will definitely make an effort to make eye contact with the panhandlers I meet.  Even if I can’t give them any money, I can still offer them the gift of dignity…

I’ve met some fascinating people and learned a ton about the world.  These experiences have shaped who I am as a person and have totally reoriented my perspective on issues of social justice and the kingdom 0f God.

Well, now I am about to start a new experience that will undoubtedly affect me deeply.

The Plan

Starting tomorrow, I will be living on the streets of New York City for four days and four nights.  My goal is to experience, if only for a short while, what life is like for the many homeless men and women in our nation.

I will not bring any money with me.  Any food I eat will be from money I get panhandling or from visiting shelters.  I will be sleeping at least two nights with other homeless people on the streets (I have been told where to look) and will also be checking myself in to one of the many homeless shelters in Manhattan.

I have a feeling that the sight of The Relief Bus is going to be rather uplifting each day!

Each day I will be meeting up with the Relief Bus wherever it happens to be in the city and sending off short day-by-day accounts from my time on the streets.  I will include a few pictures, but I hope you understand that I will not be taking my nice camera with me this time.

A few caveats

Now, I want to make sure I clear a few things up before beginning this experience.  It would be easy to misinterpret what I am doing.  So, with that in mind, here are a few caveats…

#1 – This experience will not make me fully understand what it’s like being homeless. It just won’t.  For one thing, I know that my time on the streets will have an end. For another, I have a whole bunch of safety nets in place.

I’ll have my old cell phone in case of emergencies.  I’ll have a ton of people praying for me.  And I’ll always have the opti0n of just taking the subway back to New Jersey if I decide to give up.  Truly homeless people don’t have that choice.

A photo of me last week outside The Relief Bus.

The experience will undoubtedly open my eyes, but when I’m done there will still be so much more to learn.

#2 – I absolutely do not want to be exploitative in this. I could see how someone would look at what I’m doing and think of me as some reckless young guy out looking for adventure.  And I could see how that would appear to cheapen or degrade the experience for people who are truly suffering with homelessness.

But that is not my intention at all.  I am doing this to get a glimpse of a life that I don’t yet fully grasp and to share what I learn with you, our readers.  I will be doing this to learn and to serve… to bring awareness of the reality of life on the streets so that others (including myself) can more accurately love and care for people in that position nationwide.

#3 – I am doing this with the blessing of The Relief Bus staff. I have discussed my plan at length with them and they are aware of what I’ll be doing and where I’ll be going.  They have been extremely supportive, and many have even expressed jealousy that I get to have this learning opportunity!

So I am not going into this alone…

What I need from you

How I look right now. Hopefully a little less gentle!

The biggest thing I need from you right now is prayer.  There are plenty of unkn0wns heading into this and I am definitely a bit apprehensive about just what I’ll experience.  If you could remember to pray for me a few times this week, I would be very grateful.

The second thing I need from you is understanding.  I know that I won’t touch on every issue you care about here.  I may even come to some conclusions that you flat out disagree with.  But please bear with me through it all.  I am learning as I go along.

Finally, I need your attention!  For this experience to bear any fruit, I need you to stay tuned to World Next Door… to let the things I learn and experience mess you up and get you into the game.  Remember guys, I am not doing this for me.

I’ll be posting occasional updates via Twitter while I am on the streets, so feel free to follow me (www.twitter.com/barryrod) if you want to keep up with it all.

Off I go

And with that, I’ll say goodbye.  By this time tomorrow, I will be on the streets of Manhattan.  I can’t wait to see what God has in store!

Irving

It began with Irving.

Irving is a 53 year old man from the Bronx who is struggling to get by.  I met him as he entered The Relief Bus to talk with Steve Pastor, one of the staff of New York City Relief.  Outside the bus is a sign saying, in big bold letters, “WE CAN HELP YOU.”  Irving had come to inquire.

A sign on the side of The Relief Bus.

Irving’s story is a heartbreaking account of a man who has lost everything to his addictions. As a young adult, Irving began experimenting with drugs.  Although he had a good job as a talented handyman, the need for drugs soon overwhelmed him.

His job went first.  Then his wife of 27 years.  After battling throat cancer and consequently losing her voice, she had had enough of Irving’s addiction and lack of support.  She kicked him out of their home.

Irving telling us his story.

Homeless and alone, Irving delved deeper into his addictions.  Soon, alcohol and heroin were his only reasons for living.  He had reached rock bottom, and it was only a matter of time before overdose or violence would claim his life.

Thankfully, through the work of a local shelter, Irving was able to get help.  A drug rehab program set him up with daily doses of methadone, a legal drug that helps addicts stave off the severe symptoms of withdrawal.

Alcohol, Irving admitted, is still a problem.  “But,” he said, “I’ve been clean for three days!  And I started with 140 mg of meth… now I am down to 70…”  As he said this, Irving’s face was glowing with pride.

A Shattered Life

Watching this broken man talking excitedly about his progress, my heart ached for him.  Because of his addictions, Irving’s mind was clearly damaged.  His movements were slow.  His attention span was very short.

As he rummaged through the pockets of his vest to find a piece of paper, I got a glimpse of his driver’s license.  It was obviously several years old.  The picture on the card was one of a strong young man with piercing eyes.  A far cry from the tired and broken 53 year-old sitting in front of me.

Irving looking through his meticulously organized pockets.

In one of his pockets, Irving kept two small flashlights.  He flipped one on to show us.  “You never know when you’ll end up in a dark place” he said.  His words resonated with a deeper truth.  You see, Irving is still homeless.  He still can’t get a job.  Although he is emerging from the darkness of addiction, he must still face the long climb out of poverty.

Loved

As Irving told us his story on the bus, Steve went to work finding him a program and shelter in the area to help with his rehabilitation. At one point, we all gathered to pray for him.  Irving put his hands together in front of him and asked, “Is it OK to pray like this?”

“Yes,” I explained, “you can pray however you’d like.  Your hands just reflect the attitude of your heart.”  He kept his hands pressed together and closed his eyes.  As we laid hands on him and prayed, tears welled up in Irving’s eyes.  For the first time in a long while, Irving was being loved.

When he left, Irving was smiling and laughing, reminding us several times that he “has a good sense of humor.”  For a few minutes, at least, he was given dignity and respect, and I could tell that it affected him deeply.

Beyond Just Bad Decisions

Meeting Irving got me thinking a lot about drug addiction and its effects on people in impoverished communities like the ones we visit with The Relief Bus.  Obviously taking drugs is a personal choice, and in one sense it’s an addict’s own fault if he or she loses control.

In New York City, there are deeper, darker forces at work...

But in a place like the Bronx, it goes beyond just bad decision making.  Drugs are everywhere here.  And they touch just about everyone’s lives.

Drug kingpins and black-market narcotic rings profit from the addictions of others.  Their mission is to get people hooked as early as possible and as deeply as possible.  Steve said that a few years ago, he saw a 12 year old girl coming up to the bus with track marks down her arms (a sign of frequent drug use).

For those drug traffickers who want to control a neighborhood, there is no better drug than heroin.  It gets you hooked fast, and the first few days of withdrawal are absolutely agonizing.  Once they’ve injected heroin into the bloodstream of a community, the drug lords have control.

Something More Powerful

But even in the midst of a devastating problem like drug addiction in the Bronx, there is hope.

The other day I met a man named Matthew who was a heroin addict for 16 years, but is now celebrating his sixth month of sobriety.  When I first met him, he had just come from his rehab program to get a cup of soup from The Relief Bus.

Matthew, a man freed from his 16 year long addiction to heroin.

He talked about living day to day with the unbearable need for his next “fix”.  He marveled at the fact that he can still function properly after years of injecting toxins into his body.

At one point, I asked him, “What caused you to stop?  How did you kick your addiction?”

His answer was simple.  “Jesus.”  After sixteen years of addiction, Matthew had reached a breaking point.  As everything crumbled around him, he turned in desperation to a local Christian ministry where he finally decided to give his life over to one more powerful than his drug.

This is a story that I am starting to hear more and more around here.  Through The Relief Bus and other ministries in the city, addicts are finding freedom in the kingdom of God.  Their lives are taking on a new-found purpose and they are kicking the addictions that have enslaved them for years.

The story of Irving is far from over...

Driving back to New Jersey with the rest of The Relief Bus staff, smelling like soup and aching from hours standing in the chilly air, I fought back tears as I realized just what I have been caught up in here.

Freedom is coming to captives of addiction.  Sight is coming to the blind.  Broken outcasts are being loved.  And good news is reaching the ears of the poor.

Say what you will about the dark sins of drug addiction.  I know what I’ve seen in the Bronx.  Irving had a smile on his face.

The kingdom of God is at hand…

I stepped off of the bus and looked around.  Face after face.  Life after life.  I saw homeless people, immigrants, drug addicts and prostitutes.  I saw broken people, forgotten people… I saw the “least of these.”

As volunteers inside the bus started serving soup and hot chocolate, I smiled.  This was going to be a good trip!

One of the many children in NYC who struggle under intense poverty.

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My own culture

In a city filled with wealth, there are inevitably many who have nothing.

So… New York City.  Like many places I’ve been, it’s filled with deep disparity.  The very rich and very poor live right next door to each other.  But unlike the slums of Nairobi or the mountains of Panama, this community speaks my language.  This culture is my own.

And while I won’t need to worry about eating meals of goat brains and pig ankles, I am preparing myself for an experience that will hit very close to home.

For the next four weeks I’ll be living and working with a ministry doing some incredible things on the streets.  It’s called New York City Relief (www.nycr.org).

NYCR’s mission is “to respond to God’s heart for the poor and broken by going to the streets to offer food, compassion and connections to resources that lead to life transformation.”

Essentially, they have turned two old school buses into mobile soup kitchens.  They drive the buses out each morning from their headquarters in Elizabeth, New Jersey and set up shop in each of NYC’s boroughs throughout the week (North Bronx and Harlem on Tuesdays, Manhattan on Friday, etc.).

While they are there, volunteers with The Relief Bus distribute delicious vegetable and rice soup, freshly baked Portuguese bread and hot chocolate or iced tea, depending on the weather.  People come from all around to enjoy a tasty and nutritious meal and to talk and laugh with the team.

The Relief Bus set up in South Bronx.

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More than just food

But it doesn’t stop at just food.  Each Relief Bus is a fully equipped resource center for people needing jobs, shelter, clothing, drug rehab or prayer.  In their 21 years as an organization, NYCR has touched the lives of tens of thousands of people by directing them to their partner organizations all over the city and getting them connected with life-saving programs.

The Relief Bus, a symbol of hope for many in downtown New York City.

Get any of The Relief Bus staff talking and they’ll tell you story after story of life change and transformation that has come about simply by being available to the broken souls they have met on the street.  Because of the Relief Bus, people have turned their lives away from drug addiction, alcoholism, prostitution and crime to become fully functioning members of society.

But most importantly, The Relief Bus offers something that is in very short supply on the dark streets of New York City… compassion.

The light of the kingdom of God shines through each of these incredible Christ-followers, and their own stories of transformation are an amazing testimony to the hurting people that come to visit the bus.

Homeless men can find a listening ear to help them process the stress of their day-to-day lives.  Female prostitutes can talk about their choices without feeling judged and shamed.  Drug addicts can cry about their helplessness to a person that will not hesitate to offer hugs and prayer.

And along with all of this, despite being in a city filled with distrust, The Relief Bus is rock of consistency.  They operate rain or shine.  They head out on holidays.  People in North Bronx know that every Tuesday morning, the Relief Bus will be at 183rd and Grand Concourse… No matter what.

The Plan

In broken English, this Guatemalan immigrant said it best. "Full stomach, happy heart." Good work, Relief Bus!

This is the organization I will be “embedded” with for the next four weeks.  I’ll be gathering stories, learning about urban American social injustices and writing about the incredible work God is doing on the streets of New York.  I’ll be sleeping in homeless shelters, experiencing a night at a Department of Homeless Services (DHS) drop-in center and even living for a few nights on the street.

It’s going to be difficult on many levels, but I know that what I learn will give you and I a valuable new insight into the plight of the poor in our nation’s cities.

Oh, and without wanting to give away the ending, I have a feeling we’re going to see God at work in some powerful ways!

So stay tuned to World Next Door all this month for my latest stories from the street.  Follow me on Twitter (@barryrod) for regular updates on my experiences.  But most of all, prepare your heart for the stories that will begin in just a couple of days.  Who knows?  They might just change your life as well!