I was struck by a number of things- first, the real diversity in the crowd. Everyone from the mentally ill all the way to a couple of guys that looked like they could have been eating at the Nike Cafeteria rather than the Rescue Mission. There were older folks and a few teen skate punks. There were Hispanic men that I'm pretty sure didn't speak a word of English and guys you could tell were hobos in the traditional sense- rail riders who preferred the life and the freedom it offered. 

Something else I was struck by was (at least in those I interacted with) something of a lack thankfulness. It's not like I went to serve just to be thanked... And it's not like I don't get some of the dynamics of being perpetually down and out and having to rely on others for sustenance. I know that can create resentment- I can make room for that.

No- it was more that I've known from other conversations that Portland has an incredible reputation among the homeless- word on the street is that if you are on the streets, PDX is the place to be- multiple meals served daily in different locations, lots of services- for all its shortcomings, Portland still seems to be miles ahead of many cities, at least in the minds of those who rely on those services. 

Anyway- we all know that some people are on the streets because of tough luck, or mental illness, or other unavoidable circumstances. Many end up there as a result of drug use. We all know as well that some choose to be there- that for them, life on the streets is a way to avoid a lot of the responsibility that comes with jobs, apartments and the life of a "citizen." 

I may be wrong, but I think it's that last group, the ones who take advantage of the big hearts of those around them who sometime give off a definite air of playing the system, working it for all it's worth... a sense of entitlement. 

Anyway, they were thankfully a minority, but enough of one to leave an impression. 

The biggest impression of the night, though, was Roslyn. 

I first noticed her walking towards the Mission as I was looking for parking. You can't miss her, actually- she looks to be in her late 60's and is the spitting image of the Amy Winehouse's Ghost of Christmas Future. She's short, stout, wrinkled, has a massive beehive wig piled haphazardly on top of her head, and thick, thick eyeliner drawn all the way out to her temples.

She's a sight. 

More than a sight, though- throughout the evening, she consistently sat by herself and talked non-stop to anyone and no one in particular. Just a constant stream of verbiage.

After dinner I went to sit by her in the chapel while we waited for the service to begin. She looked at me, and without skipping a beat, continued on with the story she had been telling for the last who-knows-how-long. 

Here's what I learned: Roslyn had been a happy, productive member of society who worked on Wall Street and enjoyed life in New York where she grew up. That all ended after a night of drinking when, according to her, she jokingly told a bartender that his patrons were "low class." Apparently, a New York City cop was sitting in the bar, and he vowed revenge. Days later, two NYC policemen visited Roslyn's son and shot him dead. 

Since that day, she's been running from place to place, always once step ahead of the "po-lice" who've been chasing her. Everyone is in on it. 

While I don't believe that tall tale, I have no doubt that something tragic happened to Roslyn- maybe she did lose her son and that began a long descent towards where she's at now. She has a government-subsidized apartment, some social security to take care of food and eyeliner, but she still worries that the police are trying to get her landlord to evict her so she'll be more vulnerable. 

I listened to the whole story (though technically, it never ended- we just ran out of time to talk) and tried to ask some appropriate questions. To be honest, I was completely expendable in the conversation- Roslyn could have been talking to a tree and the conversation would have sounded pretty much the same. She was looking through me the whole time we spoke, her eyes focused through my head, some ten feet behind me. There was an absence in her stare...

At least until we touched. 

As I was getting ready to leave, I took her hand and gave her the pastor handshake (did you know we had a pastor handshake? It's true... right hand gripping right hand firmly, left hand placed lightly on elbow of person being greeted. Great to see two pastors meet and both shake hands and touch elbows... anyway...).

As I shook her hand and touched her on the arm, I said "It was good talking with you Roslyn. God bless you and take care of you."

At that moment, her eyes cleared and she looked at me for the first time. Her voice changed, and she seemed to become present. "And God bless you too," she said. We stood there like that, just holding each other's hand, looking at each other for maybe ten seconds and I knew that at least for that brief window, I was actually seeing Roslyn and she was seeing me. 

As we stepped away from each other, the veil descended again, that unfocused stare returned, and Roslyn turned away, already launching back into her story of being chased by the police, and how Mayor Tom Potter (who's no longer in office) was her only friend and advocate in the city...

She has a place to stay and food to eat. I didn't really see her talking to anyone else. I'm not sure why Roslyn comes to the Mission.

Maybe it's just so that someone will touch her.
Or be touched by her.

---

Bob Hyatt is the lead pastor of the evergreen community, an emerging church community in Portland, OR. More importantly he is the husband of Amy and the father of Jack and Jane... and any day now, Josie!
He's also the editor of Next Wave