“What you are doing will never amount to anything more than a drop in the ocean.”
“What is an ocean, but a multitude of drops?”
It’s easy for me to get overwhelmed by the massive scale of the work that needs to be done here in Medellin. Our group has been confronted with this every evening we go out to the streets to minister to the homeless in the places where they congregate. We go and we see only a small part of the overall problem. We see crowds with no bed to return to each night and with no family to welcome them in. We see people that have lost hope in anything but the life they have been resigned to. That is the only future many of them can see. And even in just the two places we go to minister in this city of millions, there are so many people that need the help that City of Refuge offers them.
For more context and insight into this work, head over here and read about how this ministry got started, and how they have grown over the last twenty-five years. In short, what we do two nights a week is this: Half of our group, along with several translators and ministry leaders, go to the places where the homeless gather and bring them bread and water. While a handful of us pass these out, the rest of us head into the crowd and talk with the people there. We get to know them as much as we are able, give them information about the Foundation where they can go and get real help, and pray over them if they let us.
If you’ve been following me up until now, or know me at all, you know that I have to question everything. I have a lot of skepticism I still need to work through about the effectiveness of the work we are doing, which I talked about in my last post as well. For this specific type of ministry, though, I have tangible results that I can look at. Every evening, I see the city’s homeless file into the bottom floor of the Foundation, where they can shower and sleep off the street for the night. I learned early on that a majority of them found out about City of Refuge as a direct result of this street ministry. I went out on the second night.
A group of twenty of us filed out of the Foundation and walked the half-mile or so to the park down the street. We brought the bread and water to hand out, tracts containing information about the Foundation, and instruments for a worship set, which would help draw people in to what we were doing. They came before we even got set up, though, because I guess a large group of white people suddenly appearing in territory usually only occupied by society’s outcast draws a bit of attention on its own.
During the walk down, I prayed about what I could possibly say to these people that wouldn’t sound condescending. What could I, a white, middle-class, twenty-something, say to people with addictions and histories I couldn’t even begin to understand? I imagined looking into someone’s eyes and praying, God, somehow, someway, speak into this person’s awful situation and help them to understand that you love them just as much as you love me, then returning to my bed and all my conveniences, going to sleep, and waking up to breakfast prepared for me the next morning. How could I minister to them with any sincerity at all? However good my intentions, I just couldn’t believe that anyone I talked to would take me seriously.
I’ve said this already, and I’ll probably continue to say it throughout the year: I need to get over myself and just let God work through me instead of second guessing everything I do.
We got to the park and set up everything to get the evening started. During the first song, one of my squad leaders tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. When I turned around, she pointed at a man towards the back of the crowd, standing by himself. He hadn’t gone to get bread and water, and he looked like he didn’t know if he should be there or not. She asked me to go talk with him, since all of our translators were occupied. I shrugged and walked over to him, only realizing after I said hello that she wasn’t coming with me. This was something I needed to do on my own, at least at the beginning.
I didn’t know what to say, but I started with an introduction. I told him a little about what we were doing, and he told me that Pastor Douglas, the man in charge of City of Refuge, already knew him. I asked whether he stayed at the shelter, and he said he didn’t. When I asked why, I got an answer I couldn’t fully understand. He was pretty far under the influence, and my Spanish comprehension is spotty at best from people who are fully sober. Not really knowing where else to take the conversation, I asked if I could pray for him. He accepted, and started sobbing.
I prayed in my broken Spanish that he would feel God’s comfort in his life. I prayed that he would come to realize he was God’s child, and that he was so loved by his Father. I prayed he would come to accept the help he had been offered through the Foundation, and that he could start moving in a better direction. He cried harder.
Right around then, another of my squad leaders and a translator came over and joined in. I stopped and let them take over, since that was about as far as my ability could take me. I stood by and listened to her continue the prayer, and saw the man continue to cry. I didn’t know how to respond other than to keep praying myself, in English. It went on for several more minutes, and when it eventually wrapped up, it was time to push deeper into the conversation than I had been able to.
My squad leader, through the translator she had brought with her, started asking some hard questions. Questions that, even had I been able to translate them on my own, I would have felt awkward asking. Evangelism really isn’t my thing. It probably will be by the end of all of this. She asked him if he knew Jesus. If he had a relationship with him. If he ever really had at all. At first, he was hesitant. He said he knew about Jesus, but didn’t really want anything else. He had heard of Jesus, but didn’t want to pursue it further.
They went back and forth for quite a while, and I honestly didn’t think it was going anywhere. But eventually the conversation shifted. He was crying again, and saying that he wanted to feel loved. He wanted to accept Christ. I watched as he was led in the prayer of salvation, and I watched as his expression changed in front of my eyes. He was a new man, just minutes after I had been ready to throw in the towel. Needless to say, I was blown away.
I didn’t actually do any more ministry that evening. Honestly, all I wanted to do was talk out what I had just witnessed. I spent the rest of the time talking with my squad leader about how she had gotten to this point. I asked her if she had been this bold at the beginning of her race last year, and she gave me the most encouraging answer that I needed to hear – that she had felt just as out of place as I had in that moment. Eventually, she said, it would start to feel less awkward. It would start to feel like a normal part of life, even beyond the Race. I will be holding onto those words, because even a week and a half later, after I’ve had time to process it all, I still feel like I could have done more.
I know that this is a process that is probably going to take several months. Changes like this don’t happen overnight, or on my own timing. God knew what He was doing when He chose me for this, and He knows the steps I need to take to become more and more aligned with His will for this season of my life. My role is to continue seeking Him in everything I do. My role is to keep saying yes, and to quit making excuses. Through this, I know I’ll have more encounters like this one, and I know I’ll learn how to follow it all the way through without needing to be bailed out. Eventually, I’ll start to feel like I actually have a role to play in all of this, because in my head, I know that what we are doing is making a difference, and I so desperately want to be a part of it.
As always, thank you so much for your prayers. Know that they are needed, and they are felt with every day of ministry I enter into. I love you all, so much.
Colby
