A Good Thursday… Until It Became Something Else Entirely
Last Thursday started out like a good night at the table.
Not “perfect,” because perfect doesn’t exist on the streets — but solid.
Guests showed up.
Volunteers showed up.
And the tables were full:
soup, hotdogs, hot chocolate, candy, and holiday cookies — everything needed to bring a little warmth to a freezing December night.
We were thankful for the turnout.
Thankful for the calm.
Thankful that — for once — there were no incidents.
At least, not until the very end.
The Disruption Begins
About twenty minutes before closing, a familiar face arrived — the same guest who has been disruptive before. Normally, we manage by engaging her, distracting her, or walking with her to help keep the peace.
But this time was different.
She locked onto one of our regulars — a kind man from Israel — and something about that set her off.
She launched into a loud, profanity-laced tirade while we were trying to gather for closing prayer.
Again… not pleasant, but not unfamiliar.
But then came something we did not expect.
As we closed the table and circled up for prayer — something we always do — she screamed, “NO RITUALS! NO RITUALS!” while trying to break into the circle.
Still unpleasant, still disruptive, but unfortunately not unheard of.
What happened next, however, is something I will remember for the rest of my life.
What Happened After Prayer
We packed up.
Two of our young volunteers needed to be picked up, so we stayed with them until their parents came.
The disruptive guest stayed close, pacing, shouting, rambling.
Because I didn’t want the kids exposed to the behavior, I asked them to wait in the car.
I stayed outside, trying to de-escalate.
Her ranting continued — loud, incoherent, chaotic.
I’ve heard it before:
threats, bizarre statements, profanity, disjointed thoughts.
After months on the streets, very little surprises you.
Until something does.
Her posture changed — instantly.
Her head lifted slowly and deliberately.
Her eyes locked onto mine with complete clarity.
And in a calm, steady, articulate voice — a voice that did not match anything she had said before — she told me:
“You should not feed these people.
It’s a waste of time.
They get money and throw away the food you give them.
You are not helping.
And your kids should leave.”
The moment she finished,
her shoulders slumped,
her head dropped,
and she went right back to chaotic, incoherent screaming.
As if nothing had happened.
This Was Not Mental Illness
I’ve dealt with:
- schizophrenia,
- psychotic breaks,
- threats,
- violence,
- addiction-fueled episodes,
- and intimidation.
None of it rattled me.
I’m used to it.
But this?
This felt different — unmistakably different.
For about twenty seconds:
- the voice changed,
- the posture changed,
- the focus changed,
- and the words were intentional… targeted… piercing.
She didn’t speak general insults.
She spoke the exact doubts that every servant wrestles with privately:
Are we helping?
Are we enabling?
Is this pointless?
Should the kids be here?
Are we wasting our time?
These weren’t random accusations.
They were the precise thoughts that hit every one of us at some point in this ministry.
And hearing them come from someone who had been incoherent seconds earlier?
It shook me.
This wasn’t confusion.
This wasn’t instability.
This wasn’t a chemical imbalance.
This felt spiritual.
When the Battle Stops Being Theoretical
As believers, we read about:
- heaven and hell,
- angels and demons,
- spiritual warfare,
- the battle between good and evil.
But let’s be honest —
most of us don’t expect to encounter any of it directly.
We know it’s real…
but we assume it stays “behind the scenes.”
Yet that moment reminded me — forcefully — that the battle is not just real,
but active.
The enemy doesn’t manifest where nothing is happening.
He resists where the kingdom is advancing.
And for those twenty seconds,
it felt like the curtain was pulled back just long enough for me to see the reality:
darkness notices when light enters its territory.
As frightening as it was,
my instinct — maybe my only instinct — was to pray.
Nothing fancy.
No long speech.
Just an urgent, quiet plea:
“Lord, cover us.”
And He did.
Christ Is Still Our Shield
I won’t pretend it wasn’t scary — it was.
It shook me more than anything I’ve encountered on the streets.
But here is the truth I held onto then,
and hold onto now:
Christ is our shield.
Christ is our rock.
Christ is our fortress.
Christ is our protection.
Psalm 27:1 says:
“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”
That moment wasn’t meant to scare us away.
It was meant to remind us:
We are pushing into territory the enemy wants to keep.
And he hates losing ground.
But he is losing ground.
Every conversation.
Every prayer.
Every act of kindness.
Every cold night spent with our guests.
By God’s grace,
we are exactly where we are supposed to be.
A Final Word
I share this not to dramatize,
not to frighten,
not to sensationalize,
but to testify.
What happened was real.
And it opened my eyes wider to the reality that this ministry is not just physical service.
It is spiritual work.
And spiritual work invites spiritual resistance.
But Jesus is stronger.
Jesus is present.
Jesus is victorious.
And Jesus is with us on every street corner,
every night,
in every battle — seen and unseen.
We will keep showing up.
Because the One who sends us keeps showing up too.
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