My Summer Among “the Least of These”

“I like your face. It’s kind.”

She had a thin frame and walked a little crookedly, but her gaze was steady and aimed directly at mine. Several open sores dotted the skin of her face and arms, but she was a pretty young woman.

“Usually I don’t take anything,” she said matter-of-factly, “but today, because of your face, I’ll look at what you’ve got.”

It was my first shift as a street outreach volunteer, and for most of the nearly three-hour stroll around the downtown core, I pulled my wagon dutifully and handed out items, but didn’t say much to those we served. The truth was, I was deeply uncomfortable. And, if I’m really being honest, a little afraid.

I had been heavily involved in church ministry for more than twenty years, in roles ranging from small group leadership to children’s ministry to being on staff as a youth director. I’d even been a pastor’s wife at one time. I knew church life inside and out and was very comfortable in it. After leaving my staff role of ten years, I decided to take a year-long sabbatical from the work I knew so well and let God guide me into something entirely new — something I knew nothing about and was way out of my comfort zone. Through a set of unusual circumstances that felt more random than they probably were, I connected with Ottawa Inner City Ministries (OIM).

At first, I eased into serving there, helping the resource coordinator behind the scenes for a few weeks. I was quite happy to keep filling hundreds of baggies with supplies in the basement of the OIM building; however, the volunteer coordinator had other plans for me.

Before long, I was upstairs handing out winter jackets, boots and other items and getting to know the souls who desperately needed them. Many of them were newcomers to Canada, some of whom spoke little to no English. French is my first language, so I was able to have full conversations with a few francophones. I was told by one that I was the first person they’d had a full conversation with since they’d arrived in the country months ago! It was slowly dawning on me that what these individuals needed most wasn’t actually clothing, but connection. This became even more apparent when I noticed we’d get ‘regulars’, those who came back frequently and took away nothing but coffee and conversation, and perhaps a lively game of UNO or two.

Then, as the weather grew warmer and there was no longer a need for jackets or sweaters, the only available role I hadn’t tried yet was that of street outreach worker. So, I donned one of OIM’s famous red vests, took a deep breath, prayed to Jesus for courage, and dove straight into a life-altering experience. I met the woman who liked my face near the end of that first shift. I also met, among a hundred others (in a single evening!), a group of rough-looking youth who greeted us with as much warmth and enthusiasm as my French-Canadian relatives during the holidays; identical twins with identical sunshiny grins; and a playful trio whose childlikeness could melt a cold heart faster than the Mr. Freezes we gave out during the heatwaves!

Afterwards, alone on the drive home, I wept. I’m not usually an emotional person, but everything I had just seen out there on the streets of Ottawa — my own city, the one I’d lived in for years and thought I knew — broke me. In their own individual ways, every person I encountered on the street that day made me see what I’d always been afraid to look at. Yes, I saw their suffering and hardship more closely than ever before, but as I looked beyond their rough exteriors and into their eyes, I also saw the precious human souls within. As it turns out, they weren’t as different from my own as I’d once feared.

Eventually, after the first couple of weeks, I stopped crying on the way home and started praising. The God I knew and worshipped was revealing to me His profound love for the “least of these,” and it was changing me. But this change was so much more than a simple shift in perspective.

About four weeks into doing street outreach, the Lord finally answered a prayer I’d prayed for nearly three decades, my entire Christian life, yet only had happened once right after my conversion. It was for me to have the right spiritual words to say to someone at exactly the right moment. I had a bad habit of being struck dumb just when I needed my voice the most. After a missed opportunity, I’d be filled with a sense of shame and discouragement at my failure to proclaim the truth I claimed to know. I often questioned whether the Holy Spirit was truly at work in me, or if I was just doing it all in my own strength.

This is why I will never, ever forget the day I opened my mouth and felt the power of God flow through me. We had just started our shift, and a woman who was well-known to our team came up to us, full of joy and said, “If it weren’t for you guys, I don’t know where I’d be! Probably dead, yep, I’d probably be dead.” She chattered on, telling us how great we were and giving us all the glory, and all I wanted to tell her was that it was really God who saved her, not us. But rather than just thinking it as I usually would, I SAID it — out loud! The dear woman immediately went silent. Seconds later, her entire face lit up like a firework, and she cried out, “YES! You’re so right! It’s the Lord who saved me. He was working through you guys all along for me!” And then she marched on, still praising her Lord, and I just stood there staring after her, gobsmacked.

Three more times that shift, the same thing happened. I was given exactly the right words to say when they needed to be said, and each time, the person receiving them looked at me with stunned eyes and responded with some version of “how did you know?” And each time, I would point them right back to the One who knew all things and who loved them so much that he gave himself up for them. We even had the privilege of praying for a few who requested it. I went home that day so amazed and full of joy, I thought my heart would burst open like a confetti canon.

These, of course, are among the happier moments on street outreach, but it can also be very hard. It’s not uncommon to encounter mental health issues, a drug overdose, alcohol addiction, severe illness, hunger, dehydration, or, on fewer occasions, to get hit with insults or foul language. The work may not be for everyone, but of this one thing I am now certain: the same Spirit that empowered Jesus and the apostles in similar situations lives on today in every single believer. Christ came down to meet us in our pain, and he suffered right alongside us until his very last breath. When he was raised from the dead, he gave us so much more than eternal life after we die. He empowered us to be his hands and feet while we are still on this earth, imperfectly living our lives.

Quite often this past summer, Matthew 5:3 came to my mind: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” What a tremendous privilege it is for me to serve those who, unlike their lives here on earth, may one day occupy such an esteemed position in the future kingdom of our Lord that no one will even remember the difficult life that preceded it. Praise be to God!

~ Jen, OIM Volunteer