WORKING WITH THE POOR

TO SEE HOW THIS WORK WITH THE POOR BEGAN ITS IS WORTH CLICKING HERE FIRST WHICH GIVES YOU THE ACCOUNT OF THE FIRST CHRISTMAS, THEN IF YOU RETURN TO THIS PAGE YOU CAN EITHER READ THE DIFFERENT COLOURED TEXTS STARTING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE AND WORKING UPWARDS AS THIS IS THE CORRECT CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER  OR READ FROM THE TOP WHICH GIVES YOU THE MOST RECENT ACCOUNT FIRST.

CHRISTMAS 2004

This year Heidi Blake, my 18 year old daughter, taking a gap year before reading English and Politics at York had been employed as the Co-ordinator of the Quaker Homeless Action provision over Christmas called 'Open Christmas'. Their shelter is run from ChristChurch Southwark and caters for about 150 people during the day and about 80 at night.

Unlike Crisis it is a wet shelter accepting those who are under the influence of drugs or drink, to ensure they have somewhere to go, but it makes for a somewhat unpredictable environment which at times becomes threatening. However, volunteers staff it and the ethos is gentle, respectful, well meaning and sincere.

I had arranged to do two 8 hour shifts at the shelter, one before and one after Christmas Day. This proved very useful when on the streets on Christmas Eve as I had more knowledge about the shelter resources on offer.

This year I decided not to wear a cassock but my 'On call Clergy/Emergency yellow jacket' and clerical collar. This clearly identified me from the crowds and appeared to convey more effectively with the homeless.

It was the most 'successful' Christmas Outreach yet.

I met many people and was able to offer very relevant help. Were they planning to stay out over Christmas or were they interested in going to a shelter. If a shelter had they considered which one they would prefer. Having chosen did they need help in transportation, if so I arranged a taxi or accompanied them there myself.

Others didn't want the shelter option but wanted to talk instead and I had a number of long, in-depth chats sat on the pavement.

Some needed money, some advice some accommodation. Each person's situation inevitably different as was there attitude towards their predicament.

I met a number of clearly mentally ill or vulnerable people during the evening, whose chances of surviving safely were remote. One was soaked after repeatedly urinating, another wandered dangerously into the road, another covered in festering sores, another aggressive and threatening to kill.

The saddest part of the evening was meeting a young girl of approximately 17 who I had met last year. She had the same concocted story, trying to pull the same scam for money and lost, so lost. I implored her to reflect on what she was choosing for her life. A whole year wasted. She could choose a different life. I invited her home for Christmas, said we would help her back to a normal stable life. Tears ran down her face. I could feel the internal struggle and waited but she just couldn't break free, couldn't bring herself to let go.

At around 4.00 a.m. Christmas morning I was making my way along the Strand when I saw an elderly black lady tucked into a door way sheltering from the biting wind. She was propped up against the door of the shop surrounded by bags of various kinds. She spoke constantly and her words contained such a volume of information, relating to numerous present and past incidents, that it was hard to make sense of everything she said. It was clear she had no where to go, was absolutely not going to a shelter, and I asked if she wanted to spend Christmas with my family. She accepted. In fact we arrived home at around 5 a.m and she slept that first day until 9.30 p.m.

As I write this report with January turning to February she is still with us. Not wanting to break her confidence I cannot write more, save to say we are trying to secure her future safety but coming up against innumerable obstacles which means, for the moment at least, she has become a member of our family.

CHRISTMAS 2003.

Christmas Eve had already been a very busy day and linked happily to the previous year.

In the morning I had visited the tenants of our three flats. Let me remind you that in December 2002 we had left one of the flats vacant to see if we could accommodate a homeless person; the other two flats being privately rented.

Last Christmas Eve I had met Malcolm ( I change all names for privacy purposes ). He had been on the streets for about 7 months, a man in his fifties who had worked all his life but had fallen on bad times. I spoke with him about the flat and a few days into January last year he phoned. He was delighted to move in a few days later. We supported him financially until all his benefits were sorted out but he remained adamant that he didn't want us to buy him a bed etc. He wanted to build his home slowly and carefully.

It has been a joy over this year during my weekly visits to watch him establish himself, put down roots and become a happy secure man.

On Christmas Eve when I saw him his flat was well furnished, decorated and cosy. Around were bowls of fruit and nuts and Christmas fare. He was preparing to cook Christmas lunch the next day for his neighbour and a friend he had made during the year. He was brimming full of contentment. His words were, ' I cannot thank you enough, from the bottom of my heart.' No words were needed though, the outcome was fulfilment enough.

Completing the picture, having safely accommodated Malcolm, the Lord had plans for the other flats. Both in turn became vacant and we withheld them from private tenancies which in one case proved something of a financial cliff hanger as it wasn't filled for about eight weeks.

Malcolm had contacts with a Housing Officer at St Martins Social Care Centre, Trafalgar Square, so when the other two flats became vacant I contacted him and we have worked well together in accommodating two further homeless people. This has been equally successful. Not only has it opened new chapters in the people's lives by housing them but it has provided them with a safe and settled community with support.

Another unexpected and wonderful gift out of all of this is that the first two tenants ( I refer to them because they have been accommodated the longest ) have been gems. Not only have they valued the opportunities provided and  have worked well to make the best of  the chance given them but in  addition they have been  very generous in offering practical help whenever they have been able, to me and their neighbours  and quite beyond the call of anything that might have been anticipated.

So the morning of Christmas Eve I had called in to see each of them and take them Christmas gifts and cards. By evening time, a Mass, a wedding and other services later I managed to get to London by 10 p.m. It was a clement night and I was at first beguiled into thinking it would be quiet. Not many homeless around and Trafalgar Square having only a scattering of people.

For a moment I thought I might take a Mass in front of the St Martin's Crib Scene but security said I would have had to have applied beforehand. Anyway I knew I was trying to get away with a safe option. It had to be Leicester Square.

I made my way there.

Despite the previous years I wasn't expecting the chaos, noise, lights, swarming people and the shouting, drunken antics and  smashing bottles  which chilled me and intimidated me. Peaceful Bishop's Haven seemed a long way away.

During the next 90 minutes or so I wandered the streets talking to the homeless I found, offering them help, leaving them with money but always conscious that midnight was approaching and I had to celebrate Mass.

I kept circling the Square trying to decide upon a spot  but none appealed to me. I found numerous reasons why this year was different from the ones previously and why I should not do it and go home instead. I saw some police and decided I would have to ask them if they would object. Three times I approached them, three times I chickened out. At least four times I left the square altogether walking back to my car having decided I couldn't do it. I wanted to crawl away inconspicuously. The thought that I would begin to prepare for the Mass and make myself a target of attention  made me feel terrified.

Each time however I had to return. I became angry with myself. I thought of what Jesus had suffered, the early Christians, other Christians in other countries. I knew that my cowardice had no place before the immensity of Love and Grace available from God. I felt pathetic being called Christ's Bishop but unable to celebrate his birth. My arguments against were in vain. This was a totally unacceptable place to celebrate a Mass I told myself, amidst revellers and the brazen scenes of  the secular celebrations which had lost touch with the cause of joy. But I knew that Christ was born in the stable, behind the pub, in the everyday out of touchness with the sacred and divine. Christ born for us,  made real for us upon a pavement in Leicester Square seemed the most appropriate place, but could I?

Under divine command and in obedience I asked permission from  the patrolling police who consented and then I knelt down under some lights and not daring to look up I began to set out my white cloth and the sacred vessels and the Mass book.

People began to gather.

A woman amidst a group of friends asked what was going on. 'Oh' she exclaimed, 'I must receive Midnight Mass.' Her friends groaned and barracked and urged her away but she was not for moving. A homeless man came near. Slowly a variety of people from different backgrounds, races, even faiths became the congregation and I began.

It was intensely moving. I consecrated many hosts so that I could distribute the Mass during the night to the street dwellers and others who I met for whom Christ was born.

I asked the  homeless man who had sat throughout the ceremony whether I could help him in any other way, whether he needed some money or whether I could accommodate him that night. He met my eyes with his and said, 'No, no thank you. All I needed was this…'

The Mass became the watershed, the turning point. Grace began to flow. Suddenly I felt as though I were being led from person to person and the streets were filling up with the needy. I would no sooner turn from one to find another.

I can't record all of the encounters but here are a few.

There was a homeless man lying face down on top of a pile of refuse sacks on Charing Cross Road. The ultimate symbol of destruction. One of God's children thrown out with the garbage. I bent down and shook him. He rasped that he was a diabetic and needed an ambulance. I called one. He was taken off to hospital.

I met a young 16 year old girl who had been on the streets for 3 months. Her wrist was bandaged and her hand cut. She presented as quite rationale and together. She said that her step father had thrown her out but that she was getting by although it was dangerous at nights. I offered her help with becoming rehabilitated and gave her my numbers telling her to reverse the charges. I then arranged for her to be accommodated during the following week.

It wasn't long after that I found another 16 year old girl although she looked more like 14. She was slight and timid and, I feared, easy pickings for anyone so inclined. She had been on the streets for two weeks having finally had enough of her drug addict mother and the abuse which she suffered at home. I arranged her accommodation.

There was a young man who couldn't quite believe that I was going to sort out a hotel room for him; that he was going to be able to sleep unmolested and secure, have a shower and breakfast. He literally jumped up and down in the foyer.

So many different people and  varying stories of human struggle. Men and women clutching at the straws of help, clinging onto each other, their pets, beer cans, cigarettes, whatever might offer the tiniest of comforts in a cold faceless world in which so much was rushing by. Somehow the backdrop of  teeming depersonalised London only added greater poignancy to their words often charged with a breathtaking understanding. Wisdom from the dust and the gutter. God's Word hovering over the surface of the deep.

Working my way through the streets as the hours of night were spent,  I was overwhelmed by the number of  doorways providing bed space for the homeless. As I passed by, although I knew this would be criticised by traditionalists I felt compelled to leave the body of Jesus beside the sleepers. For to their hearts and lost lives the Christ was born; he was to lie beside them that holy night; they were to awaken to behold the babe of Bethlehem,  the crucified saviour and resurrected Lord.

It was past 3.30 a.m. by the time I finished.

As I came back through the square, somewhat foot sore and  weary worn I passed by the place where I had celebrated the Mass. I had not realised before. It was outside the Odeon Cinema and the gigantic hording above declared THE RETURN OF THE KING and the sub text THE LORD OF THE RINGS.

My eyes filled.

Yes the King of Kings and Lord of Lords had returned.

Christmas 2002

I had sung carols, read Christmas stories to the children and tucked them up in bed before heading up to London. It was a mild and calm night and the streets of the capital were eerily quiet.

The first homeless man I met was Dave,  a man in his forties. He seemed in poor health with sores scattered across his arms and face. He told me of his life on the streets for the last 14 years, intermittently seeing his family, and accompanied by his beloved dog. While I was there, his brother came up who only recently had joined him on the streets having split up from his wife. Dave received the mass and I left him with £10.

During the evening that followed I saw about 30 people but I will only write about some of them.

Further on I stopped by two men, Malcolm and Ian. Both in their fifties, both of whom had been married and had children and one grandchildren and both of whom had ended up on the streets due to drink.

Ian had worked all of his life up to the last 8 months when he ended up on the streets. Malcolm had started work as a young man at the Strand Palace Hotel as a porter, then as a kitchen assistant and then as a chef. From that he had gone on to be publican of two public houses before domestic difficulties had  robbed him of everything. He had been on the streets for about 7 months now and seemed quite wistful about his lot and positive about his desire to restore himself.

At this stage I should write about an idea that had come to me some weeks ago. Over the last few years I have managed to build three flats within the property that my wife had worked in as a beautician and which we had decided to buy on mortgage when it was offered to us. We rent out the three flats and have always been keen to offer them to people in need.

They are in a good area and are quickly rented out.

One of these became vacant just before Christmas and instead of  advertising it in the local press we decided it might be a good idea to try and use the flats as a means by which those on the streets could  get back on the first rung of the social ladder.

Many of the homeless find it hard to claim benefits because they have no address and even if they stay in one place and use the social as an address it is almost impossible for them to find work without an address.

What is more, private landlords will not usually entertain renting their properties to the homeless, mainly because there is a delay in sorting out their housing benefit. Council accommodation inevitably goes to the most vulnerable, like single mums, so there is a wide proportion of people who stay trapped incapable of finding housing.

The idea was to make our flats available, so that a homeless person could be accommodated and could either find work or sort out housing benefit and restore their lives to the point that they could move on to another property with references from us, thus freeing up the flat for someone else. This way the flats would be being used as a gateway back into a more traditional secure way of living for those who wanted that.

In addition another family member, Nicky, my brother in law, runs a well respected training and employment company for 18-25 year olds and he has agreed to help any young person get set up on a training course and with an employer, and any older person outside the 18-25 bracket, to try and help them get a job.

We intend either to find the homeless ourselves or to work with a charity already in the field of  rehabilitating the homeless.

Anyway Malcolm was very interested in the possibility of being housed but also cautious. He said that he had been offered such things before and they were tricks or scams. He didn't want to be disappointed again.

He said he and Ian  would think about it.

I then asked if they wanted to stay the night in a hotel. They were both shy of taking up the offer. Ian felt so untidy and Malcolm that he  didn't want to impose upon me. I said that if they didn't want to because it would be too much of a shock or that it would be too hard to re enter the street life the next day, I quite understood, but if it was because of just not wanting to bother me etc, but inside they wanted to, then they should say yes.

It became clear that they really wanted to, but it was just adjusting to the idea. When they had made the decision to do it they were elated. It was deeply humbling watching Ian trying to tidy himself up, brushing his hair, expressing his  sense of pride.

I decided to see if the Strand Palace had any rooms, as Malcolm had worked there for so long. Entering it both their eyes went wide, and Malcolm began a running commentary about how it had all changed and what used to be where and when we booked in he was enlightening the reception staff with his memories.

In the rooms, the heat was too much and they threw open the windows, but they collapsed hungrily onto their beds with eyes dancing, ' a clean bed, clean sheets, its been so long'  entering the bathroom, ' this is incredible… a warm and clean shower'

I gave them some money to enjoy the evening and made sure that breakfast was included for them the next day. They were all thanks, and promised to be in touch.

(In fact I can now write that Ian went back up to his home town after Christmas and Malcolm did get in touch. It was very hard to begin with for him to actually catch me in, because of course he had no number I could call him back on, but then he thought of going into an internet café and sent me an email!

When we met, Christmas cold had taken its toll and he had contracted a virus and was gasping somewhat for breath. He had been into St Martins in the Fields  and the social worker had told him he could get a resettlement grant if he managed to find a flat. He came and met Annette and the children, saw the flat and two days later moved in. On his first day he went to sleep at 4 p.m. and did not wake until the following morning at 10 a.m. He said that to  know that you were safe was incredible. On the streets you have to sleep in snatches, always on your guard.

So, such joy, that he has emerged from all the difficulties and has created a new beginning for himself. The next few months will be critical. God be with him.)

Back on the street, I hadn't gone far when a young man came up asking for help. I asked if he wanted to receive the mass, but he didn't. I gave him £10 which made his eyes pop out of his head. He said good bye, but I hadn't gone far when he came running back, ' I will have the mass after all'.

Round the corner a man was hunched up in a sorry state. When he lifted his head he had a large gaping wound across his cheek. Tony was an articulate man, originally from Canada. He was on medication but said his tablets had been stolen  and was wanting to get enough money to get back to the hospital. I set him up with accomodation and money to get to the hospital.

As I was talking to him another man came up, I gave him money and touched his arm as a gesture of friendship but he recoiled in pain at the touch. He then lifted up his sleeve and the whole of his arm was swollen, infected, with the stench of rotting flesh rising up. He too had been to the hospital, but I doubted whether he would see the New Year in and if he did, it would be without an arm. I was shaken.

Amidst the bedlam of London's crazy streets, no one would ever have imagined that the walking dying rubbed shoulders with the rest. That taking time to stop and turn moving shapes into people uncovers the dark secrets that gives a whole  new perspective to our society.

I had often sat on the street with the homeless during the evening but on one such occasion, talking to a man called Stuart, a passer by came up to me making the sign of the cross and grabbing my hand, began to crush it violently. He spat out abuse about priests and the church and I feared worse but thankfully he moved on

Further on I met two men who had only recently met on the streets but who had forged a fierce street loyalty. They were trying to comfort each other, but one of the men broke down in tears when I arrived. He was desperate about being separated from his children at Christmas and was seriously contemplating suicide. I spoke with him  at length and tried to bring whatever comfort I could.

I spoke also with a  man who had been on the streets for 28 years. He was with a woman who had formerly worked as a librarian at the BBC who had had various stints of living on the streets over the past few years and who had was out again, having separated from her boyfriend. She was articulate and analytical about the lot of the street dwellers and should be on any government committee or charity panel considering homeless issues, but the likes of her are probably never asked!

While I was talking to them a man tried to steal from her bags and got a rude awakening when she produced a 6 inch screw  and threatened to stab him with it. Later another drunk came by hurling abuse at them.

I finally arrived home at about 2.30 a.m. on Christmas morning. It had an evening of realising that we are all just a moment away from living on the streets ourselves, of tumbling out of the neat parameters within which we live into an unexpected and alternative existence. On the streets you meet every type of person, every type of situation. The resilience of the human spirit and the extremes of devastation which we  and others can inflict upon ourselves is unnerving. Equally the qualities and life enhancing insights that can be found within street culture are there to inform us and inspire us.

No engagement with the street dwellers should ever arise from a patronising sense of doing charity or giving handouts. You enter a world where there is a mutual rewarding and immense amounts to be gained from both sides in a mutually uplifting set of relationships.

Not least, at Christmas I followed the stars and found upon the streets what no church and no Midnight Mass could ever offer, the birth of the Christ, in 2002, and I, the poorest of shepherds had come to worship.

----------------------------------------------------------

IF YOU FEEL YOU WOULD LIKE TO SUPPORT THIS WORK THEN PLEASE DO SEND ME ANY CONTRIBUTIONS.

ANY DONATIONS I RECEIVE TOWARDS THIS WORK WILL BE GIVEN TO THOSE I MEET NEXT TIME I WALK THE STREETS OF LONDON OFFERING THE LOVE OF GOD IN THIS WAY.