It’s mid-morning and we just returned from ministry to the homeless camps. A young lady emerged from a camp in sock feet and I wondered how she made it through a night when the temps dropped into the twenties. A homeless man was found dead somewhere in Jackson early this morning. He apparently froze to death in the night. 

I’ve noticed one interesting aspect of life in the homeless camps. They have pets. On any given morning, the dogs will usually be happier to see us than the people and the cats will rub against your britches. On this morning, a kitty sits perched outside Mike’s vehicle. Mike lives in a dilapidated SUV that exudes a foul smell. Mike accepts our hygiene supplies, but declines our offer of black coffee because we didn’t bring sugar. The cat seemed oblivious to it all.

At another camp, Ginger walks up to our van, screaming obscenities in a schizophrenic state. She becomes human for a moment and thanks us for the coffee in a calm voice before walking away and resuming her loud obscenities. Another resident in the camp talks in a low voice  about trying to help Ginger by taking her to a local mental health facility. 

James, one of our regulars, isn’t in the camp on this morning. Word is he spent the previous night in a shelter. Most folks in the camps don’t like to stay in shelters, but the frozen-over mud puddles on this morning attest to the life threatening conditions of sleeping outside in the winter.

One poignant question on a morning like this doesn’t get asked, and it always blows my mind. Nobody asks “can I come to Gateway Rescue Mission and spend tonight?” They have their reasons that I’ll save for another article. I pet one of the dogs and am told that this particular dog would have bitten me a month ago. A still-human resident in the camp said he takes care of the dog and has nursed it back from health after a bout with mange. I ask the dog’s name only to be told “why would I name the dog? He may be gone tomorrow.”

After a few minutes, we load up, move out, and head back to Gateway Rescue Mission. One of our New Life Program residents once lived on the streets and reflected on cold nights spent at the bus station when he would be so cold he wouldn’t want to unwrap from his blankets to accept the food from good samaritans feeding the homeless. Today this resident is drug free and thankful he got another chance to come off the streets.

Such is the insanity of homeless life. In homeless camps where dogs and cats and people all live together, the dogs and cats can in a way appear the most normal. The pups wag their tales and rush out to greet us, jumping on our britches legs with their muddy paws. The people wander out from crude huts, one at a time, many appearing to be awakened from a stupor of sorts. 

Each camp has that one or two people who care, who show some sensitivity to their surroundings. Others appear tortured by mental illness that leaves you wondering which came first, the drugs or the insanity. I pray that something we do may touch a nerve that says “someone cares for you.” We don’t make emotional pleas or try to conduct in-depth ministry in the camps. We just take some hot coffee on a cold morning and some gloves and ask Jeff, Leroy, Gwen, and those we’ve gotten to know how they are doing. 

Though I can’t see Him, my faith tells me that God above watches over these folks in the camps. And the same One of whom we sing “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so” also loves the disheveled, desperate, people living in the homeless encampments scattered throughout Jackson, Mississippi. He is the reason we do what we do. For all of us in our sin are like the people in the camps, dirty, wretched, and insane. There but for the grace of God go I.