Later, Pastor Joshua Liljenstolpe is called to the pulpit to give the sermon. The reaction is often one of surprise, even anger, as he begins: "We were grateful that some of you stopped to talk, and that some of you gave money ... but not one person thought to invite us into your church." He has made his point, demonstrating how a simple gesture, more than anything, can break the emotional barriers separating those who possess from those who do not.
Educating the middle-class has become one of the main agendas of Operation Nightwatch, a downtown street ministry and referral service for the homeless. "We can't allow operations such as this one to enable the middle-class to simply go about their business, thinking that everything has been taken care of," Joshua explains. "I try to affirm that we are all made in God's image, we are all brothers and sisters, and we're all responsible for each other."
Operation Nightwatch was founded 27 years ago by the Reverend Bud Palmberg, a Mercer Island preacher who had come to Seattle looking for the runaway son of one of his parishioners. Surprised and confused by the scenes he found here, Reverend Palmberg kept coming back, and eventually he organized a group of ministers to walk Seattle's mean streets every night.
Operation Nightwatch has since evolved into what Joshua calls a "ministry of presence." Every night from 10 to 2, Nightwatch sends two volunteers out to roam the city's shelters, bars, parks and sidewalks, searching for the neglected who are slipping through the cracks in America's skeletal social-support network. Sometimes Nightwatch's task is as simple as taking someone to a shelter or telling them about services they might need. Other times they are called upon to act as father confessors, provide a shoulder to cry on, or try to prevent the homeless from being victimized.
"Our goal is not to give or take," Joshua says, "but just to be. To reach out to the people who need someone to listen to them. It is the gospel acted out, rather than spoken.
"When we succeed, we encounter someone, we have a good conversation, and their response is, 'This is good, where can I get more of this?' Then we steer them towards a group that can help them begin to work out their problems."
Working the Night Shift
I accompanied Joshua on his rounds one night recently. We visited D.E.S.C., the Downtown Emergency Service Center at the old Morrison Hotel near Pioneer Square, and the Belltown neighorhood some call "the Blade." We stopped at bars all over downtown, but it was far from a pub crawl.
At one bar, a Hispanic man with no knowledge of English simply cried on Joshua's shoulder and thanked him for being there. Despite the obvious contrast between the grittiness of Belltown bars and Joshua's lily-white collar, Nightwatch is a welcomed presence for both the managers and patrons. Joshua even carries a beeper and is sometimes summoned by bartenders who feel a particular patron could use the support.
About midnight, across the street from what some call "Needle Park" near 3rd and Bell, we met a woman wearing only the thin, striped gown of an institution. It had been a beautiful day, but the night was cold - a cold you only noticed if you were actually outside trying to fight it. She smiled at us and said she wanted us to take her home - to our home. We took her to the Nightwatch office and then to D.E.S.C. She could not remember her last name or much else
about herself. She accepted the sweater and bowl of soup we gave her without gratitude. She was pleasant and dreamy but had no idea who we were or what was happening to her at all. At least she was reasonably safe for one night, but she would be back on the streets bright and early the next day.
For Joshua, one of the hardest things about his job is having to turn away women suffering from mental health problems because shelters have blacklisted them for previous disruptive behavior. "You might as well paint a big target on them," he says. "Despite the outreach teams, there are more and more of them on the streets, and in their condition, they attract those who make it a sport to attack homeless people."
Overcoming Misunderstanding
Joshua has been the director of Nightwatch for a year and a half, coordinating a staff of about 110 people - 80 office volunteers and 30 in the street. Most members of street staff are in their 30s or older and more are always welcome to join. Nightwatch is a multidenominational agency with the support of various church and community groups, and many of the volunteers are laypeople.
Nightwatch is one of a small number of underfunded groups in Seattle advocating on behalf of those who cannot always advocate for themselves, defending the homeless against self-interested retail stores, city hall and the status quo. There is a growing concern that peoples' fear of the homeless is cutting back on downtown shopping and tourism, so the people who only have the street as a home are now under the eye of an ever more watchful police force.
According to Joshua, these fears are misguided. "The most dangerous thing about coming downtown is getting on the freeway. I believe it's avoidance - we are unwilling to deal with our own reality, and fear that we might become as they are."
There are no quick solutions to the problems of homelessness in American cities today, but the challenge to create a more humanely and democratically organized society is there for everyone. If you don't have any time you can give to an organization, or any food or clothes to donate, perhaps the most valuable thing you can do is acknowledge the homeless. Learn to say "no" without denigrating or offending. If you see someone regularly, introduce yourself. If it feels OK, ask them for coffee. Don't plan on solving any of their problems, but just talk to them, as you would a friend.
"If you have the guts to do that," says Joshua, "you'll find it one of your most rewarding experiences."