The street demands a patient ministry

I was on my way downtown when I stopped as I often do at Sacre Coeur Parish to chat with Dominican Friar Prakash Lohale. He has often accompanied me on the streets and together we have prepared street retreats for adults and schools. It was clear that he was not his usual self, and it was not long before he disclosed that he had lost his position at The Mary Ward Centre as social justice animator due to lack of funding for the position. 

He and I had often used the Mary Ward Centre for our retreats and taken the participants on the streets to give them a sense not only of the theory but of the realities of street ministry. One of the core elements of the Dominican spirituality is mendicant simplicity, relying on charitable donations and living a life of Gospel simplicity. It is unfortunate that the position of social justice animator can no longer be supported. 

When I left to go downtown, I started on my usual route and there, sitting on the ground, was a young man I had not seen before. 

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“Good evening,” I said, “I don’t think I have met you before.” 

“My name is Messiah” he said. 

“Wow”, I said, “just wait until I tell everyone I met the Messiah this evening.” 

He immediately started to ramble on and, to be honest, I would need to have been given the gift of tongues to even vaguely comprehend what he was saying. But his eyes were intent upon me, and he had a beautiful smile of welcoming. 

“Do you have a business card?” he asked. 

“Yes, I do in fact” I said as I handed him my card. 

His smile broadened as he read the card. 

“The Church on the Street” he said. “What a great name.” 

I left to join the inevitable group of addicts and homeless that congregate around one of the downtown churches, but this evening they were accompanied by an ambulance with its siren blaring. My namesake, “Robert Kinghorn,” as usual was not far from the chaos, and when he saw me, he greeted me with his usual banter, 

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“Are you still hanging around here? You might be a dumbass, but you know I respect you for coming on the streets to be with us.”

 “What happened here?" I asked, "was it an overdose?” 

“No, just a heart attack.” he said.

I continued along my way to meet the two sisters from an African country who are permanent fixtures as prostitutes on a side street not far from the downtown area. It is over two years since we first met, but only little by little am I gaining their trust, understanding their background, and what brings them to Toronto streets.

They were both out on the street together again, and in a chatty mood. I asked if they continue to call home on the weekends. Yes, they said, we have family there with children, and we send money home. Now this was a revelation to me. It was the first time that they had mentioned children so I asked, “Is that what you do with the money you earn on the streets?” 

“Yes, they said, “it’s what we do with it.” 

When I leave them, I always bless them, and this time I told them that I would pray that they can find a better and safer way to earn money. The Church on the Street is by necessity a patient ministry, one where trust must be earned from those who have been hurt in life, and one in which judgement must be withheld while their full story emerges.

I continued to my destination, which is always the doorway where my friend Chilly died of an overdose a few years ago. As I approached it, a man stopped me and said, “I have seen you around so often, what do you do here?” 

I told him I always come to the doorway where Chilly died, and I stand in the doorway to pray that Chilly will guide me on the streets to those who are in need of a friend. 

“Did you know Chilly?” I asked. 

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“Yes”, he said, “she was a good lady and did not deserve what happened to her.” 

I can certainly say “Amen” to that.

(Kinghorn is a deacon in the Archdiocese of Toronto.)

A version of this article appeared in the October 04, 2026 issue of The Catholic Register with the headline "The street demands a patient ministry".