When I first came to Minneapolis for NCU, I decided to go homeless for a weekend. The following is an edited version of the article I wrote for the NCU newspaper while I was a student.

It’s five in the morning and my body is telling me to go back to sleep. Why in the world am I choosing to go homeless. There has to be a better way. I immediately dismiss the thought and roll out of bed.

It’s still dark as I make my way down Chicago Ave. A chill goes up my spine. What am I going to do now? I’m hoping to meet Michael, my homeless friend. He said he would show me the ropes.

As I approach the shelter were he stays, a crowd of people makes their way out, but Michael is not there. I run inside, but I can’t find him.

I become aware of how strange and alone I feel.

I recall a homeless woman I saw earlier, and I run back outside hoping she’s still there. I see her up the block. I catch up and ask if we can walk together.

“No I am a loner. I don’t make friends” she says.

I persist. Eventually she tells me her name is Melanie and she is a law student. I tell her “I’m Monica and I am a Bible Student.” Neither of us believed the other.

As we walk, some guys in a car start to bother me, but Melanie intervenes by calling them “grapefruits!” It is a touching gesture and I think we are going to hit it off.

At the next intersection, she dumps me.

I see another person walking downtown. He is like an old bear: growling, dirty, snot running down his beard. If it were not for my situation, I would never have approached him. However, right now I’m hungry and need guidance.

To my surprise, he talks coherently and is willing to help. He tells me about a church where they serve lunch. However, it is currently 7:30am and they open at 10:30am. We have some time to kill, so we walk and talk.

The more we talk; it becomes apparent he is mentally ill. We stop for water at Burger King and he takes some medication.

I ask, “Are you sick?”

He answers, “No, I’m crazy.”

It was the most honest thing he or anyone had told me all morning. We stay together a while longer until I part with him around 10:00.

I follow the old man’s advice and go to Wesley Church, well before the doors open. A line has already formed. People stand warily, their eyes darting back and forth. I try to stay focused and keep to myself.

Inside, I meet a deaf man named John. I also see Melanie again, only she’s become much friendlier towards me. She introduces herself, this time as Joni: the mother of a Mongoloid child. I guess Joni likes me more than Melanie did.

I precede to become acquainted with John by passing notes. I share the gospel on a napkin.

As we are communicating, Melanie (alias Joni) gets in my face and introduces herself a third time, “My name is Adolf Hitler, and that’s the song I am singing now.”

I think to myself, “If she gets in my face one more time, I am going to cast demons out of her!”

I meet a variety of people over this weekend:

Margarite, a sweet old woman who could be your grandmother.

Dennis, who could be anyone’s brother. His mother kicked out him and his sister when they turned 13. Now he rides the freight trains in search of life. What is he looking for? He says doesn’t know.

And, Bill, who teaches me how to rob parking lot boxes. I had to ask God to forgive us, but we were cold and wanted coffee.

As night approaches, I look for a place to sleep. I find a shelter. It’s cold and filled with drunks, druggies, crazies, and others. However, I am too tired to worry about it.

I make my mat and turn to face the wall, praying a simple prayer, “Lord, watch my back.”

When morning comes, I do my assigned job: take out the garbage.

My mind drifts back to my friend, Michael. What happened to him? I couldn’t find him and no one else seemed notice he was missing. I had seen him every day on the same street for months, and now he was gone.

I didn’t know this at the time, but I would never see him again.

With my weekend nearly complete, it has been a tremendous experience. I learned many new things about the relationship between the church and the homeless.

For instance, they don’t need people simply coming to save their souls. They have heard the gospel many times over, they could probably go through the steps and lead someone to the Lord themselves at this point. They are conditioned, they’ve been exchanging lunch for the gospel for too long.

God loves them as they are: homeless, crazy, vagrant, loud, silly, non-conformists, lonely. We need to do the same.

They need their own churches; it’s unrealistic to think they will clean themselves up every Sunday and come on their own. We are saved by faith, not by the clothes we wear. We need to stop trying to make them like us, but rather let the Holy Spirit deal with them through our love and example.

I heard stories of homeless people offered money to say the sinner’s prayer, or in order to eat. There is something really wrong out there.

How does my weekend end?

I told my friend Kent I’d call by 5pm. At this point though, I do not want to go home. I have to force myself out from the role of a homeless person with my whole heart.

I panhandled some change for the pay phone. I tell Kent, I’ll be back to NCU in a few hours. He simply says, “ok.”

As I walk away from the phone, his voice brings me back to reality. I realize, unlike many of the people I spent my weekend with, I have friends who care about me. Images of their faces run through my mind. I realize that I am blessed with a home. It may be a dorm, but it is mine.

I feel so excited that I get another quarter and call back to say “I’m coming home now!”

Father God, I thank you that I have a home and a safe place to sleep. However, I ask that you protect those walking the streets, waiting for the evening so they can go back to the shelter. Father, help me to see them as you do. Help us to see them as you do.

In Jesus name, Amen.