Open your eyes to the growing number of homeless

Having just received my annual donation pitch from two favorite local charities, both which work with the homeless populaton, it seems like a good time to run a story I wrote a few years ago to raise awareness. I have never forgotten the people I met on that cold night in January 2006. The ranks of the homeless population is growing as the economic downturn remains persistent. During the holiday season, donate to local charities.

Bus stop ministry heals body and soul
By ANN PIASECKI
Posted Wednesday, January 11, 2006
CHICAGO—A misty rain made a cold January night drab, while a team of volunteers and staff members from the Night Ministry loaded a 38-foot-long bus with supplies. Three-foot-tall drums of water were positioned in the mini-kitchen in anticipation of the 20-25 gallons of coffee and 10 gallons of hot chocolate that would be passed out to the poor and vulnerable along the route routinely traveled by the Night Ministry, a nonprofit organization established in 1976 to provide a godly presence in places where desperation finds an oasis.

The Rev. Dave Wywialowski of the United Church of Christ boards the bus at ministry headquarters in the Ravenswood District. He doubles as the outreach minister and driver for the Tuesday trip through the Humboldt Park and Wicker Park neighborhoods, where the mobile ministry team unveils its combination health and community outreach effort. After the arrival of nurse practitioner Barbara Sexton and public health worker Arika Latimer, Rev. Wywialowski turns in his seat and adds a faith perspective to the endeavor, which operates six nights a week, 52 weeks a year in seven neighborhoods on Chicago’s South and West sides.

Accustomed to the harsh realities of urban missionary service, the 40-year-old preacher will never proselytize on the job, but asks for God’s guidance on an excursion that engages the homeless, mentally ill, runaway teens and impoverished. Calling to mind the model of service established in the slums of Calcutta by Mother Teresa, the reverend recites a prayer from the nun’s Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech in 1979: “When I pick up a person from the street hungry, I give that person a plate of rice, a piece of bread; I have satisfied. I have removed that hunger. But a person who is shut out, who feels unwanted, unloved, terrified, the person who has been thrown out from society—that poverty is so full of hurt and so unbearable, and I find that very difficult. …”

On the evening of Jan. 3 the Night Ministry team heads into the frigid cold to encounter Chicago's marginalized, many of whom suffer from mental illness and substance abuse. In anticipation of the gift of hope provided by the Night Ministry team, the marginalized abandon their hovels—boxes and make-shift shelters tucked between gentrified brownstones, vacant buildings and dilapidated houses—to partake in a bit of camaraderie and conversation. For those of whom life is literally lived-out on the street, it's different to be treated like a guest. The mobile ministers welcome them with cookies, hot coffee and occasionally supper when a church group provides it.

Genuine smiles and cheerful voices greet the regular crowd that gathers at three different stops for an hour to 90 minutes, offering medical check-ups and dispensing medication to low-income adults, conducting confidential HIV tests and providing access to a network of free social services. The premium gift, of course, is unconditional acceptance and friendship. Pulling up along Division Street the bus becomes more than just a vehicle; it is a regular fixture for the neighbors—whose trust is a commodity that’s tough to earn and an honor to achieve.

A $1 million annual budget for the health outreach program, including the operation of the bus and its staff along with a handful of street-based ministers and administrative costs, is funded by a variety of individuals and groups, including Loyola University Chicago, Our Lady of the Wayside Parish in Arlington Heights, Ill., and The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to name a few. A committed staff and empathetic team of volunteers lean on the tenets preached in the Gospel of Matthew as it directs believers to serve the lowly: “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me…”

In the rear section of the bus, a nurse practitioner heals wounds in the privacy of an examination room; the ailments come in all shapes and sizes—both physical and emotional. While strictly guarding confidentiality standards, Sexton spoke in general terms about the plight of a young woman she had just treated at the stop in front of an abandoned Illinois National Guard Armory building on North and Kedzie avenues. A woman Sexton described as “fragile” was beaten up the other day by co-workers at a carwash. She was still “a bit weepy” and mostly scared. She can’t go back there, explained the medical aide, whose compassion spills out in a voice that is every bit as gentle as the manner in which she touches her patients.

A 13-year veteran of the Night Ministry, Sexton said she sees as many as 1,200 patients a year on the bus. She makes a point to treat everyone as an individual. In the case of this night’s traumatized battery victim, the nurse took control of the situation by recommending a move to Uptown, which boasts of a women’s shelter within reach of a variety of social service organizations.

“At the Night Ministry, we don’t just treat ‘em and street ‘em. I like the spiritual aspect. We’re not about hurrying people. We’re helping people to deal with their own situation in their own way,” Sexton said.

The shrill sound of a siren from a speeding police squad caused barely a stir among the folks standing outside the bus in small groups, sharing coffee and experiences. A perky 21-year-old Margaret Axen sports a brown ponytail and sits on a marble stoop alongside her boyfriend, Junior Oliver. Gray hair stripes Oliver’s beard, revealing that he’s at least 20 years her senior. The pair manages to eke out a living, but they depend on the mobile ministry for basic health care.

Chatting as casually as a college student at an upscale coffee shop, Axen rattles off a litany of reasons why she makes visits to the bus a priority. “It’s some place to go. I’ve gotten to know the volunteers, and I like the people. You can talk to someone about your problems,” said Axen, who views volunteer Mary Smoley of Wilmette and staff member Kari McClean as “role models, teachers.” She recently completed a pregnancy test on the bus and got a referral for prenatal care. “I’m two months along,” Axen said with a cheeky grin. “Actually, I’ve gotten a lot of other tests and I got a radio for Christmas from here.”

While visitors like 12-year-old Sergio Oquendo, his brother Pinot, and buddy Sean Brumley come for the cookies and a place to play and interact with willing adults, others like Freddie Ortiz and Vanessa Hatcher meet each other at the bus. “I like to see my neighbors,” said Hatcher, glancing at a mother with four children, who stood at the door of the bus, checking to see if there were anymore free hygiene kits, which consist of toothpaste, soap, shampoo and deodorant.

For Heather Shlemon, a born-again Christian who suffers from a debilitating form of epilepsy, the bus serves as a place to talk about the difficulties of existing in a cell-like room and the fear of finding a new place to live.

“It’s really bad living there. It’s dormitory-style. There’s no privacy,” she said, but at least it’s available and affordable for a woman living on disability funding. She was notified recently that in a few months her complex would no longer offer housing for her. “I have to get another place to live. But I have to be on a waiting list. I’m petrified because I can’t live on the street with epilepsy…I have four or five episodes a month.”

Still the rhythm of life changes little for Sylvia, who declined to reveal her last name, but who shouted angrily about advantages that men have over women. Her struggle to survive on the streets with bipolar disorder and severe paranoia is mitigated slightly by the acceptance she finds twice a week at the final stop for the Tuesday night run at the intersection of Damen Avenue and LeMoyne Street. Despite her confrontational demeanor, she finds a semblance of peace in the calming interaction with Night Ministry associates. No one here walks briskly away to avoid the nonsensical outbursts from a woman who refuses medication. While it’s fairly certain that Sylvia will return to a cardboard box to keep the wind at bay when finally she lies down this night and dreams of peaceful security, she knows that in reality she is safe here and now. She welcomes the splash of hot chocolate to warm up a cold cup of coffee, and the accepting smile by Rev. Wywialowski cheers her up.

Respect is a key concept at Night Ministry, and the staff accepts the idea that not everyone is willing or capable of making the kinds of changes society deems acceptable. Robert Stanford, an intern from Loyola University’s pastoral counseling program, keeps his focus on “doing a ministry of presence. I normally go around and introduce myself. If people want to talk about God or pray, I’ll do that. I wanted urban ministry because this is where service is. Jesus’ ministry was on the streets. He was on the street counseling and healing and doing that kind of thing. This is gratifying work for me.”