In 16 years and over 700 posts, I’ve never asked for a dime. Today, I’m asking. (Names marked with an asterisk* have been changed to protect privacy.)
Every Saturday night at 5:00 pm, I open up the doors of a place down on South Broadway. It’s called Centerpoint, and it’s a church of sorts, specifically for homeless (and homeless-adjacent) folks. Every week, my friend Shawn* and a few other people will be outside waiting when we open; more will filter in as the evening progresses. The room is well-lit and comfortable enough: warm in winter and cool in summer. There’s tables and chairs and music. A few steps from the door, the smell of supper hits you. We’ve had everything from chili and fry bread to spaghetti to grilled chicken to falafel and Lebanese food. Our volunteers are amazing cooks.
For the next couple hours, this place will be our guests’ refuge from the weather, but honestly, that’s the least of it. “Tim, I haven’t talked with another human since last week when I was sitting in this same chair talking to you,” Roger* told me one evening back in 2020. “People don’t make eye contact,” he said. “They pretend you’re invisible.” I’ve never forgotten that. The most important thing we do here is treat people made in the image of God like they’re the image of God, no matter how they show up.
Some are barefoot, clothed in tatters. Some are high or drunk. “I have three simple rules,” I tell them. “Don’t come in drunk, don’t start a fight, and if you don’t start a fight, we’ll pretend you didn’t come in drunk.” As long as it’s safe for everybody, we’re here for it. We mean it when we tell you to come as you are. Even stone cold sober, some of our folks are so mentally ill they have a hard time staying in touch with reality.
Those conversations can get really wild. I’ve been told about how Martin Luther King won the Revolutionary War, how the city council is trying to sell all the parks, how all the churches and judges and cops in this town are conspiring to squeeze the homeless (it’s all about money, somehow), how the Council of Nicaea set up a satanic communion ritual in place of the Passover. Some of these we let pass; others we discuss in more detail. We also get a surprising amount of cult nonsense, both from the usual suspects and some that are new to me. Most recently, I was informed that the existence of God the Father implies God the Mother, who is apparently a Korean woman. “Jesus said He’d come back from the East,” Jack* said. “You can’t get any further east of Jerusalem than Korea.”
“You are welcome here any time,” I told him. “That stuff is not.” He ate his supper and left. On the way out the door, he looked back at me. “I’m trying to help you,” he said. I wasn’t sure he’d be back, but he drifts in about once a month. (He still believes that cult has a corner on the truth. We’re working on it.)
Some folks barely say a word to us. They’ll bolt down their food and leave as fast as they can. Or they’ll eat, then lay their head on the table and fall asleep. Our new volunteers sometimes ask if that bothers me (to middle-class people, it feels disrespectful). No, I tell them. Where else can these folks sleep safely, even for an hour? Here, you’re safe. Nobody will hurt you, nobody will steal your stuff. It’s an honor to be trusted that way; we’ve earned that trust, and I’m proud of it.
Some will ask about resources: a tarp, a sleeping bag, food, housing, jobs, socks, a place to get mail. We have strategic partnerships with organizations that do all those things, and we direct them to the right place. For the last few years, we’ve been blessed to have Micah–my daughter in the faith–work with me on Saturday nights and with one of our partner organizations, a day program that’s open Tuesdays and Thursdays. She furnishes a bridge from us to a lot of those services, and invites people from the day programs to come join us. (And we’re paying her so little that honestly, it’s embarrassing. I’d love to be able to pay her better.) Micah’s also a serious church history nerd, and it’s been great to have her bring facts and logic to the weirder conversations about church history.
Not all the conversations are weird. Some of it’s just ordinary life: romantic difficulties, friendship troubles, difficulties at work. (Not-so-fun fact: quite a number of our homeless folks have some sort of job. They just can’t afford rent anywhere.) Often a Bible study will break out as we talk about one thing and another. I’ve delivered sermons down here, but the best things I’ve ever said have probably been in the impromptu Bible studies, dealing directly with someone’s immediate concerns. Sometimes the questions are more theological, and we can do that too. I’ve been telling people for years that we only do three things: good food, good company–hey, here you are!–and a little bit of church. The Bible studies are part of that.
Around 6:30, we’ll have a brief communion service. We preach the gospel: “…we proclaim the Lord’s death til He comes, and that means we look back to the day that Jesus was nailed to the cross, and every sin, every character flaw, every weakness, every sickness, every dark thing that stands between you and God–all of it was nailed to the cross with Jesus. Died on the cross with Jesus. Was buried in the earth with Jesus. And when God raised Him from the grave three days later, He did not come out dragging a Hefty bag of your crap. It’s gone; He took care of it all. We look forward to the day when Jesus brings His resurrected people to a resurrected earth, and we live with our God forever, apart from sin and sickness, the way we were always meant to.” We commission our people: “You are blessed with the presence of Christ here so that you can go out into the world and be the presence of Christ there. So go, and be a blessing!”
Some do. Long-term, being a blessing usually means finding fruitful work and getting off the streets, but there are a lot of short-term ways to bless. I’ve seen Jesus-following homeless people share food, shelter, life-saving information. One 10-degree night, I saw Bob* give up his spot in a shelter to help a newly homeless kid who literally didn’t even have a coat. He may have saved that kid’s life.
When 7:00 rolls around, we close. After our guests leave, we clean up and debrief as necessary. We fight for every quarter-inch of growth with our guests, but our volunteers grow like weeds. It’s a challenging ministry, and it quickly and deeply teaches the value of human connection in a way that very few ministries do. Over the years, many of our volunteers have moved on to other ministries, seasoned by their time with us. It’s an honor to be part of their journeys. (A couple of them even ended up getting married! I got to do the wedding, and that was really sweet.)
A few years ago, I started a periodic study group. After Centerpoint closes, we work through a book of the Bible in Greek. It was always a very niche market, and in the end, only Micah stuck with it. Her exegetical skills have grown by leaps and bounds, and I’m proud of her progress. We’ve worked through Jude, 1 and 2 John, and we just finished Philemon. She’s been interested in tackling a longer book, so we’re starting 1 Timothy. I’d love to recruit more people into that study. (If you’re in Denver, you’ve had first-year Greek, and you’re willing to come help feed folks a couple Saturdays a month, give me a shout!)
That’s it. That’s what we do.
Look, I’ve never been good at fundraising, and I’m still not. But we get all this done for under $3,000 a month, and we need help. In the past a handful of organizations have been very generous with good-sized one-time gifts, but that money will run out in March, and as far as I can see, there’s no more where it came from.
I think this work is worth doing, and if y’all will help us fund it, we’ll keep doing it. Like I said, we can sustain everything we’re doing right now for less than $3,000 a month.
If we can’t continue, well, we can’t. Most ministries die eventually. If Centerpoint’s time has come, that’s in the hands of God. But although March is our snowiest month, April and May can be pretty rough, and I’d hate to stop when the weather’s still nasty. So the very least I’d like is $6,000 to get us through the end of May.
If you’d like to help us out, instructions are below. As my friends with the cardboard signs say, “Anything helps!”
The easiest way to donate is through our online campaign with Zeffy. Click that link, and follow the instructions.
If you prefer Paypal, the associated email address is rcvrchurchonline@gmail.com. Put “Centerpoint” in the comment box, and the funds will make their way to us. (You’ll see the church’s legal name as Englewood First Assembly of God. That’s us.)
Posted by Tim Nichols 
Full Contact Christianity 