Wednesday, 6:30 a.m. at Springs Rescue Mission in Colorado Springs
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- Homelessness
My columns over the next few weeks will become part of an eventual book, but before too long goes by, it’s time to describe how I spent part of my summer vacation in 2024. The summer prior, I had enjoyed the great beauty of the Colorado Springs area, including the Garden of the Gods, with its beautifully soaring red rock sandstone formations at 6,400 feet above sea level. It’s the number one park in the United States, according to Trip Advisor, but my Colorado Springs sojourn this past summer was on run-down Las Vegas Street.
If the Garden hints at the glory of God, that street on a Wednesday at 6:30 a.m. proclaimed the wreckage of man. A grizzled wearer of a Mountain Dew T-shirt was slumped over. A man and a woman slept under a blanket next to needles, Budweiser cans, a Ramen bowl, and a crumpled bag of barbecued chips. Attendants loaded into an ambulance a white-haired man on a stretcher. Chalked words on the wall of a cheap motel and the sidewalk in front of it advertised its chief selling proposition: CUMS.
But that’s outside the gates of the 15-acre Springs Rescue Mission (SRM) at 5 W. Las Vegas Street. Inside is a four-story welcome center and administrative building with a tall cross on it. Behind that are a resource center with case workers and a Next Step shelter for men hoping for homes. Across from the welcome center are the women’s Next Step shelter and the addiction recovery program. Behind them are the dining hall and the barracks-like building for the night-by-night transients, furthest away from Las Vegas Street.
At 7:00 a.m. on June 26, the dining hall served a hot breakfast, including bacon and eggs, for those enrolled in the Hope Program, Springs’ pathway out of homelessness. At 7:15 am, those not in the program rummaged through the 195 numbered trash bins sitting next to the barracks, one for each sleeper with stuff (such as sleeping bags) to store. They had access for half an hour in the morning and similarly brief access in the afternoon.
At 8:00 a.m., the transients shuffled into the dining hall for a cold breakfast. While they ate, staff members moved the beds and substituted the chairs in which 100-plus men and women would spend their day, slumped before two big screen televisions showing crime dramas.
The scene in the addiction recovery building at 8:30 a.m. was much more active. Two dozen staff members and program alumni were there for Brian Gilliam’s graduation from the program. He welcomed them with, “Thank you God for your peace and your joy. You loved me even when I was at my worst. I want to continue to live for God, to be light to somebody instead of a vessel for disobedience.”
Gilliam added, “A couple of times I got kicked out of here, but more and more I see God’s kingdom and the broken people whom he’s raising up. God gave me another chance to be a man, and not what I was.” Alumni then took turns hugging him and speaking. One said, “Brian, you’ve been crucified with Christ. He put to death that old version of you. He chose death so you could have life. Stay away from the cemetery.” Another alumnus said that Gilliam, before he entered the program, was “in a dark, foul place. You’ve stayed the course, but it’s not easy. You’re in for a fight.”
Gilliam then explained his history: “I was running to meth because it accepted me. It’s from when I was real little. … My mom left me when I was seven. At nine I was in a psych ward. … He let me understand what I was doing in all the years since then. … It stems from all the bad things that happened. I’m not looking for a pity party, but I never got it until this past year.”
Tonio Calhoun, at age 68 the head of the addiction recovery program, then responded with tears in his eyes: “I get emotional. … This house is so special. Somehow God planted this little place in Colorado Springs.” Calhoun emphasized that we are sinful by nature and only Christ changes sinners: “This whole roomful of people has experienced that. Jesus will never leave you or forsake you.”
I could stop the story right at that true and tearful conclusion, but the larger SRM story — wonder, but also warts — is worth telling. I hope you’ll stay with me this month and next as I point out complexities and controversy.