Last night the downtown Portland Mission chapel opened up for the first time in nearly two years, and I, joined by Sarah, a graduate of the Mission, were there to give the message. As we walked to the mission doors we saw a few familiar faces and one woman in particular looked up at me and smiled and waved. I remember talking with her about two years ago, and I remembered her bright aqua eyes, one cloudy, but the other shone bright. A woman near sixty, although street life ages one terribly. We connected two years ago, as she shared her story of sorrow with me. I was heartened she remembered me from one short encounter. I invited her to chapel and after meeting some of the guys in the program, and the Executive Director, the time to begin arrived.

I preached on "the precious and magnificent promises of God", and the faithfulness of God revealed itself as the Holy Spirit descended with almost a palpable presence.

When we finished and exited the door to the streets, there were many people outside. All ages, all conditions, brimming with street life activity. One person shouting at the air, people lying on the street against the building, and the air was absolutely filled with desperate need. Midway to the car I asked Sarah to stop, my heart gushed with emotion. I wanted to pray, and then I wanted to cry. The atmosphere is so thick one can almost feel the heart cries of the homeless and addicted in every atom. At that moment I felt there was nowhere else on earth I would rather be.

My meager little contribution to the few souls I spoke to was amplified and magnified in my soul to almost bursting! I felt like all of heaven was watching us with heartfelt approval; shouting into my soul, "Yes, your contribution was small and the needs are great, but trust God to multiply and send it where it needs to go!"

It occurred to me as I tried to understand what it is I feel when I'm down in the midst of such need and apparent sorrow; I realized where I live it is very rare to see someone in desperate need. I can go a week and not see one person that looks poor. The area I live in has a slightly above average household income and all the cars driving along look new or near new, the stores are filled with people that look prosperous, so, when I walk Downtown Portland by the mission, where the streets have little tents set up, or people are huddled in doorways, others sleeping on the sidewalk, it is such a dramatic difference that I'm immediately swept up into a state of pity and compassion.

As we walked back to the car we saw probably thirty people in two blocks. Two fortyish women passed us to the car and both were obviously high on Meth, and the one trailing was showing symptoms of what is called "tweaking" where their body is flailing and contorting from the drug, and she was walking in her underwear. As odd as that seems, it's not unusual there. But from the moment my feet hit the sidewalk and my eyes surveyed all the needs, I felt such a whelming flood of heavenly mercy and compassion, best described as a surreal experience, words fail to explain it, but it is drenched in the Holy Spirit.

Photos by Cedric Hayes on the streets of Portland.