It was one of those evenings when the streets of the city were in deep freeze. I arrived downtown and when I got out of the car, I instantly decided that this was an evening for four layers of clothing. It is nights like these that make me wonder sometimes if anyone will be around to chat. In fact, I thought to myself “It’s probably going to be a waste of time this evening.” 

Seldom does this happen, but it is in these few infrequent evenings that I recall the message I once received from a passing cyclist when he saw my gloom.  “Continue to remember you are becoming something that will astound you.” Yes, sometimes we all need a passing angel to bring us hope in the darkness of the night. 

With that, I saw ahead of me an elderly man sitting on the doorstep of a church which shelters many of the homeless and addicted. He looked up at me and said, “Be careful here on these streets.” I smiled and thanked him for his concern, suddenly he saw my clerical collar and said, “I see you are a street chaplain. My name is Michael and like you I am Catholic.” 

Then, pointing across the street he said, “I live over there.” We chatted for a while, and what impressed me about him was that while we chatted, several of those around us who are addicted came up to him and asked for a cigarette. Each of them offered to pay but he said, “I know what it’s like to be down on your luck, take it for free.”

Suddenly I heard my name being called and I turned around to find an old friend Jim standing behind me, a veteran of the streets who I first met early in his recovery. I introduced the two and soon they were chatting like long lost buddies about their ups and downs in life, and I became a silent listener. At one point though, Michael said that he plays classical guitar and loves playing the tune, “Romance”. “Hey, I used to be able to play that,” I said, and with that we both started playing “air guitar” and humming the melody in the midst of the chaos of the streets.  

Fortunately, there were no police officers around to witness this strange sight or I am sure we would have been arrested for disorderly conduct. The two of them continued catching up on their life stories, and I retreated to being a silent listener while Jim did most of the talking. Life had not been good for him. 

“I split up with my wife of 26 years,” he said, “and I have been shot, I have been stabbed, and now I am homeless again.” 

With that, from under his jacket he pulled out a large bottle of wine, which clearly indicated his addiction was back. 

“Please pray for me he said, I just can’t get focused. But I am proud that I brought up three children and set them on their way in life.” 

We prayed together, and as I left, I heard Michael say to Jim, “I have a closet across the road in my apartment, you can sleep there for the night if you want.”

I moved on to another part of the city and saw a small lady with a gentle and timid appearance, the type that “the street” often preys on. She is also a prostitute and was at her usual corner. I was on my way to see another lady who works in the same neighbourhood, and it was late into the evening so I thought to myself, “Maybe she will not remember me, and I will just keep walking.”  

At that moment my conscience got the better of me and I could not escape my guilt when it said: “This is Christ in one of his many disguises.” I crossed over and when she saw me her face lit up. I told her I thought she might not remember me and she said, “Of course I remember you.” 

Fr. Greg Boyle who works with street gang members in Los Angeles asked, “What do those on the street need the most?” “Gang members need hope,” he said. “They live with a lethal absence of hope.” In this jubilee year of hope we are all reminded, as I was reminded, that it is hard to bring hope if we do not show up.