The winter snow was still lying fresh on the ground as I made my way once again to the downtown streets. Fortunately, the new fall of snow had taken a bit of the chill out of the air and as I hit the streets there was a noticeable resurgence in the numbers who were out braving the cold. I always stop and wave to a man who owns the pizza shop downtown and who has been kind to many of the street people over the years. 

As I was about to wave a man came out of the shop with a small box in his hand. “Hey, buddy, do you want to buy this for $5?” he said.

I looked at the small box with a lid on it and declined the offer. Everyone has their own hustle on the street, mostly with stolen items. I passed a bus shelter and a faint voice asked, “Can you give me a cigarette?” I looked, and there was a lady in a wheelchair that I have met often but had not seen for a few months. 

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“I’m Michelle, we have met before,” she said. 

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She asked me to push her over to a little plaza, which was notorious for violence and shouting. As I have mentioned before in these articles, wheelchair pushing is not my strength, however, I took up the challenge and started to navigate the intersection which is the most dangerous in the downtown area primarily because of the darkness of the streetlights and the fact that passing traffic often take the traffic lights as only suggestions. 

It is this intersection where a remarkable man ply’s his trade. He is the only “Squeegee kid” still downtown and he runs out in front of traffic when the lights change and washes the car windscreen while demanding money. I am amazed that he has somehow survived the 20 years I have been downtown. Michelle managed to push her chair into a shop, and I took that opportunity to continue with my ministry. I crossed the street to the church where, even in the coldest weather, there are homeless people sitting on the ground and on the steps as they barter and squabble for drugs. They are the closest to what I would call, “a community” on the street, the type of group which I recently heard described in a talk as, “A group of people sharing survival.” 

Yes, survival is all you can really call it. I stopped to chat with the “regulars” and then continued on my way to meet with the two sisters I have mentioned often in these articles. They are from a foreign country and who have been regulars on the street for about six years. It has taken me a few years to be trusted by them, but they are regulars on the street now.  Even though I am trusted, they seldom offer any information about how they came to Toronto and how they support themselves apart from the obvious prostitution they are involved with. 

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What I really want to find out is if they are on the street voluntarily or if they are in fact being controlled by someone else. I fear that if I ask outright, and perhaps they are not ready to divulge that information, then I will lose their trust. So, as I usually do, I told them how concerned I am for them and asked them to let me know if there was anything I could do to help them. I also asked if they had done anything about calling my friend Tracey who I introduced them to and who offered to help them get housing, which they had not done anything about. 

As always, they bowed their heads and asked me to bless them and pray for them before I left. I prayed for what they had asked for several years before: that they would be safe on the streets, and that their father would have eternal rest. As I walked back to get my car and drive home, I was thinking of what the late Pope Francis said in the wonderful Exhortation, “The Joy of the Gospel”. “Evangelization consists mostly of patience. It cares for the grain and does not get impatient with the weeds.”