From Bowery Mission: Grit and Grace on Manhattan’s Oldest Street.

The first time a Mission worker is spat on, we call it the “Bowery baptism.” And we’ve all been punched, cursed, or threatened at some point. We are not fighting against people, however. We battle “against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil” (Eph. 6:12). We certainly experience defeats and setbacks. But our faith is in Christ, who already conquered the enemy, and we, too, experience victories.

Substance abuse is chief among our foes. Addiction propels too many women and men toward prison, destitution, or worse. Jane was seven months pregnant when she and her boyfriend, Jesse, began visiting the Mission. She was young and beautiful but hooked on cocaine and heroin. He had been tall and handsome before a gunfight crippled him, landing him in a wheelchair. After some weeks, the pair stopped coming. I wondered about them until, months later, Jesse dropped by. He was drunk and didn’t want to talk, telling me only that Jane had died of an overdose, in police custody, after giving birth to a daughter.

Danger, a Bloods gang member, was another dope fiend. One day I caught him peddling in front of the Mission. “What are you doing?” I challenged him. “You don’t crap where you eat! I don’t want you dealing drugs anywhere – but to do it here shows you don’t care two cents about this community. Or about yourself!”

Danger mostly stayed away after this confrontation, but occasionally he would be back on the corner – a safe enough distance, he argued – to ply his wares. He eventually succumbed to the dope he was slinging and became a full-on addict. After he attacked one of our volunteers, we had to restrict him from receiving Mission services.

The Bloods warred with a rival gang, Dominicans Don’t Play. After Danger attacked Tito, a DDP member with a broken leg – beating Tito with his own crutch and stealing the dope hidden in his cast – fear of Danger spread on the street.

Then one spring day, after lunch cleanup, a colleague and I walked to a local coffee spot on Mott Street to enjoy a drink and pick up a coffee bean donation. As we returned toward the Mission with our load, Danger suddenly appeared, with one of his cronies.

Yelling, “I’m going to kill you,” he attacked me. I turned the other cheek, as Jesus commanded his followers, but I soon ran out of cheeks and realized I had better defend myself – no easy choice for a pacifist Mennonite. I hit Danger hard, three times, and he fell to the ground. Police arrived to arrest him and his buddy.

Danger was back at the Mission a few days later, this time with two pit bulls and a cohort claiming to belong to the Bloods. Thankfully Miles, a former Bloods gang member, knew about the fight – everyone knew about the fight – and he told Danger and the others they had no cause to attack a pastor, especially one who had helped each of them with anything from clothes to prayer requests. Ashamed, the group dispersed – fortunately for me.

Matthew’s problem was alcohol. As soon as he was released after six months in jail – for threatening our deskman with a screwdriver – he went straight to the liquor store and then to the Bowery, where he smashed a bottle against the Mission door and then broke his way in, cutting his hand in the process. Once inside, he tried to attack two staff members. I arrived just then, and we managed to calm him down. Someone had called the cops as soon as Matthew appeared. By the time they reached the scene and took Matthew to Beth Israel Hospital, my arms were red with blood, most of it Matthew’s.

This spiritual battle has been waged at the Mission for one hundred and forty years, and the Bible is our inspiration. Despite disappointments and defeats, we repeatedly see captives set free, the oppressed liberated, the sick healed, and those considered intransigent saved by God’s grace. Just as a soldier learns to keep low in the trenches, however, so too must Christians remain humble. If we stand up to struggle or strategize in our own strength, all our efforts will fail.

But the Bible is more than a manual for spiritual warfare. Jesus said, “I have come to bring good news to the poor.” Therefore, we who proclaim the gospel must address people’s physical as well as spiritual needs. All the Bowery Mission’s endeavors, from Hallimond’s Brotherhood and Winner’s Club to our current recovery program, have been guided by Jesus’ words: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me…. Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25)

I was hungry and thirsty …

“Serve like you’re serving a king” is the motto displayed in our serving line. It’s a good reminder, because conflicts tend to erupt while guests are waiting in line for food. The Mission prepares an average of two hundred free meals, three times a day. Our guests do not have to sign in, nor must they attend the chapel service preceding each meal.

As we dish up breakfast, lunch, or dinner, we build relationships with regulars like Ron and Rosa, who are in their second stint on the street. They have been married twenty years and have no drug or alcohol issues – just bad luck, no work, and no health insurance for their medical challenges.

I was a stranger …

The Bowery community consists of strangers, including those who are mentally ill, prostitutes, immigrants (documented and undocumented), abusers and abused, alcoholics and addicts. Most feel rejected wherever they go. Many live with guilt. But all are welcome at the Mission.

Yuri and Anna hailed from Greenpoint, a hub of Russian and Polish immigrants. They clearly loved each other but seemed unable to straighten out their lives. Anna, the more dominant one, instigated fights in the chapel, while Yuri followed her around, seemingly disoriented. Then Anna was arrested for shoplifting. While she was in jail, Yuri went to detox to resolve his drug problem. Soon after, though, he was found dead in a Chinatown restaurant bathroom, a heroin needle still stuck in his arm. Anna heard the news in jail. She grieved Yuri’s death. Yet after her release, she walked off with another young man whose eyes were drowsy with dope.

Just as a soldier learns to keep low in the trenches, so too must Christians remain humble.

Delon Ali was raised in Trinidad by a Muslim father and Hindu mother. After immigrating to the United States, Ali landed a good job at an upscale Soho retail store, got his own place, and bought a car. But when he began shooting dope, his life spun out of control. Always seeking that next high, he lost his job and apartment and started sleeping on rooftops or in abandoned buildings and subway trains. In his dejection, he isolated himself, seldom bathed, and slashed his wrists numerous times.

Ali heard about the Mission from someone he got high with, and he arrived one frigid winter night seeking emergency shelter. After sleeping on a floor mat, he attended the morning chapel service and joined the recovery program. Dealing with his addictions – and letting go of anger, bitterness, and pride – were challenging for Ali, and he left us after relapsing into drug use. He was ashamed of his failure, but he couldn’t seem to cut loose.

Some months later, however, Ali returned for a fresh try, and in 2008 he successfully completed the program. His experience positioned him to help new residents. “Some days they will feel like they cannot keep walking, and that’s when you lift them up and encourage them,” he says. “Healing is a process. I may have been on my way for several years, but I still don’t have it all figured out.”

After serving at the Mission, Ali earned an associate degree, followed by a bachelor’s, and he is now in seminary. He has shared his testimony with news agencies from NY Press to the Katie Couric Show, where he reached over a million viewers. Although he spoke throughout the country – in megachurches, small storefront churches, and everything in between – he continued to lead many a morning chapel service at the Mission until he left the United States in 2018.

I was naked …

In the dead of winter, we may find a barefoot man or woman at the door. Some people have left the hospital wearing only a flimsy gown. Others soil themselves and arrive reeking. In such instances, we sidestep our schedule of clothing give-out and shower days to meet the need. In addition, once a week we provide interview suits for men referred to us by other agencies. (We send any women needing clothes or showers to McAuley Center on Lafayette Street.)

Jerry, the guest with Tourette Syndrome I mentioned earlier, compulsively rips his clothes and footwear, and he depends on the Mission to provide replacements. This can be difficult, as he is a big man. Fortunately, wives of professional basketball players (New York Knicks and Brooklyn Nets) donate top-of-the-line sneakers every couple of months. Mission staff hold any size 15 or larger for Jerry.

I was sick …

There is a saying that the Bowery is where you go to die, so perhaps it is unsurprising that we call an ambulance about once a day. But I never get used to it. The homeless are prone to tuberculosis, HIV, diabetes, seizures, and more. Some have swollen legs, due to poor diet and bad circulation. Then there are all the complications connected with substance abuse. Yet at the Mission, many people gain a new lease on life through faith and proper medical care. In the clinics that we run throughout the week, volunteer doctors, nurses, and social workers adapt advancements in wellness and mental health to meet our clients’ needs.

Although I had often witnessed spiritual healing at the Mission – souls freed from addiction, marriages restored, the dispossessed finding homes – I had never seen miraculous physical healing, until one day Lori danced into the chapel. A year earlier, under the influence of alcohol, she had stepped into traffic and been hit by a car. She was unable to walk for months. When she finally did, she had a bad limp. One morning I came across Lori on a side street in Alphabet City. Passed out drunk, she was filthy and smelled like feces. I woke her, offered to call an ambulance (which she refused), and prayed for her. When she danced into the Mission weeks later, she told me that after our prayer in Alphabet City, she lost any desire for drink and found she could walk normally. I was awed by God’s power.

I was in prison …

Red tells me that even in jail he is called a bum, by inmates who recognize him from the streets. The Mission often gets letters from Bowery men serving time, some of them creating positive plans for their release. Staff members visit them at The Tombs, Riker’s Island, Sing Sing, or other prisons in the metropolitan area.

Men in prison uniform have turned up at the door since the Mission first opened. Back when Charles St. John was superintendent, he described “one who came to me in a suit of prison-made clothes. I can spot those prison suits a mile away. They stick out like a neon sign, and to the man who wears one, it is a sign; he knows it is a ‘jailbird suit,’ and he thinks everybody else knows it, so the first thing we do with him is to get him out of it and into a ‘civilian’ garment.”

I too have welcomed men in prison garb. One such ex-offender is now a graduate student at Hunter College. He’s pursuing a social work degree, to enable him to help others.

Just as we who work at the Mission take inspiration from the Bible, so do our guests. In a world that excludes them, many are thrilled to read, “Do not exploit the poor because they are poor and do not crush the needy in court, for the Lord will take up their case and will exact life for life.” (Proverbs 22:22) Jesus’ mother also exclaimed, “He has brought down the high and mighty from their thrones but has lifted up the poor and those of a humble estate. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.” (Luke 1) These are encouraging words when you’re at the bottom.

Biblical prophets grappled with rejection and despair. Jeremiah wished he had never been born. (Jeremiah 20:14) Moses wanted to die at one point, (Numbers 11:15) as did Elijah. (1 Kings 19:4) Amos roared God’s rage. Scripture also describes mighty men and women who fell far but found their footing again. Hagar, rejected by her child’s father, is cast into the wilderness where she meets and names God, “The one who sees me.” (Genesis 16) And King David’s cry, “A broken and contrite heart God will not despise,” (Psalm 51:17) was wrung from his soul after shameful failure. Such expressions of remorse are cathartic on the Bowery.

Recidivism is a constant danger. But as long as they live, I never give up hope for any of my brothers and sisters on the street.