Setting Prisoners Free

In late 1996, I hopped on a plane in Aotearoa New Zealand and ended up in Chicago. I was scared, anxious and excited. I didn't know where it would lead, but I knew it was the beginning of a new adventure. I had decided to travel to Chicago the year before while studying at the Bible College of NZ (Laidlaw College). I'd read about an intentional community called  Jesus People USA  and their work with those experiencing homelessness. After graduating and driving taxicabs for a stint, I got a visa for a year and took a leap of faith into the unknown. My original intention was to go and learn, and then return to Aotearoa to start a similar ministry here in Tāmaki (Auckland). I arrived in JPUSA in November 1996 and began working for JPUSA's homeless shelter Cornerstone Community Outreach  (CCO) in January 1997. I felt at home. I felt I was using my gifts and talents. I made lifelong friends. I felt I was discovering who I was. I remained there until August 1997. The following ye

One of the simplest and plainest messages of Jesus for his followers is "When you see someone in need, don't walk on by, help the distressed." Sadly, this message is often ignored, reinterpreted, or ridiculed, despite Jesus making it abundantly clear that those who help others in need find comfort and those who walk on by find discomfort. We see this when Jesus told us about a victim lying on the road after a brutal attack. Two righteous godly leaders approached him, they didn't want to get their hands dirty, and they didn't want to disrupt their journeys, they were possibly scared, so they both passed on by on the other side. Then Jesus, with his unique ability to shock his audience, brings up a Samaritan, someone who would have been an enemy of the dying man, someone whom the listening crowd would have despised. The Samaritan walked down the same road and did the right thing by stopping. He allowed his hands to get dirty. He disrupted his journey. He sacrificed

I remember when I heard Fred had been arrested. I couldn't believe it! I was in shock! This man was still recovering from an almost fatal, brutal baseball bat attack. My journey with him started long before the attack, but in this story, I'm starting there... We'd heard he died, only to find out a month later, he survived and was in the ICU. We visited him. Due to all the damage done, they had to remove part of his skull to reduce the immense swelling. He was hooked up to machines. He looked helpless. He was helpless. We were told that survival would be a miracle, let alone walking, talking or functioning. He faced months of surgeries, hospitalisations and rehabilitation, and in the end, he defied all odds. He walked again, but with limited mobility, very slowly, wobblily, and a walker. He spoke again, but every word took immense effort and his words barely made any sense. He had lost his memory, so remembering what he once knew took its toll. He didn't know who I was w

They stood together in their particular spots day after day, not having much to do, not able to do much, as they both were suffering and struggling with chronic illnesses.  They lay together on loading docks and their other particular spots night after night, trying to stay warm and dry and safe, trying to contend with their confusion and pain.  They ate together in soup kitchens that adhered to the shelter’s or church’s schedules, not theirs, eating meals that filled their empty stomachs and were satisfying but weren’t the healthiest for their particular needs. They sat together in bus shelters, resting their weary bodies day after day, rarely taking a bus, but always confused by the times and dates because they all seemed to blend into one long continuous moment.  They lived together day after day, missing vital appointments and inconsistently taking their medications that called for consistency and special dietary requirements.  This was a couple I knew years ago. This was their liv

He was curled up under a bridge in the depths of winter, hypothermia had set in, even though he was wrapped in blankets, had on several hats and was wearing a few pairs of socks. He was curled up under a bridge in the depths of winter, the cold was biting, causing him to no longer feel his toes or fingers, and the relentless chill had caused him to lose the ability to think logically. He was curled up under a bridge in the depths of winter, his torn-up tent and the whiskey did little to protect him from the savage arctic winds coming off the lake. He was curled up under a bridge in the depths of winter, his neighbours (from the tent city) had found warm places to relocate for the night, so he was lying there alone. He was curled up under a bridge in the depths of winter, and on this particular night the temperature was well below zero Fahrenheit (at least -20C) and the wind chill made it even more unbearable and deadly. On these frigid nights, a few of us would drive around the neighbo

He sat there day after day, in the same spot on the cold concrete, puffing his "roll-your-own" cigarettes with his ash-stained fingers and sipping his "corner-store" coffee. He sat there day after day, in the same spot on the cold concrete, wearing the same clothes gradually getting dirtier and dirtier. He sat there day after day, in the same spot on the cold concrete, greeting passers-by with a smile as the weather was quickly moving into the cold months of winter. He sat there day after day, in the same spot on the cold concrete, causing concern to many locals because we were witnessing this petite man becoming visibly more fragile and smaller. He sat there day after day, in the same spot on the cold concrete, telling me that he was fine, wasn't homeless and had a friend's couch to sleep on at night. This was Frenchie—an Uptown gem loved by most of the neighbourhood. I struggled to believe he was telling me the truth. He wasn’t lying to pull a fast one on