Over the past several months, I’ve had the privilege of visiting and delivering food to G., a gentleman who has been sleeping under a bridge. Alongside fellow volunteers, I’ve tried to offer him some practical support, but these visits have also reminded me how much people in his situation need more than just food or a place to sleep—they need companionship, spiritual care, and a reminder of their inherent dignity.

After a recent hospital stay, G. relocated to a new spot, and I learned from a retired outreach worker, who still actively supports our community, that he wanted to see me. I went to find him, and after some time searching, I spotted him wrapped in a worn, tattered blanket on a busy street corner, his wheelchair beside him. It took me a few moments to realize someone was actually there, hidden from view, as people passed by him without a glance. When I finally saw him, I went over, greeted him warmly, and sat beside him on the bench, ready to listen and be present with him.

During our conversation, I offered him a coffee for warmth and comfort, a small wooden cross to carry as a reminder of God’s presence, and we prayed together. I asked if he needed anything, thinking he might ask for food or water. But his reply stunned me: “I need friendship. I need someone willing to talk to me.” Friendship—a simple, profound human need. I turned to him and said, “G., I am here to talk to you, listen, and pray with you.” His face softened, and I could see how much these small acts of companionship meant to him. Like so many others experiencing homelessness, G. longs for connection, for someone who sees him not just as a person in need, but as someone with a story, a voice, and a heart.

We began talking about faith, and I was humbled by the depth of his belief. Even with the many struggles he faces—including his mental health—there is a light in his eyes when we speak of God. His eyes spark with a quiet, profound assurance. He shared with me that his faith in God is unshakable, that he believes fully in God’s love and salvation, even amidst his pain. It’s incredible how strong his faith remains, despite his hardships—a faith that perhaps even deepens through the struggles he endures. Many assume that people who are homeless might lose faith due to their suffering, but G. and others like him often have a resilient, abiding trust in God’s presence.

Too often, society offers lip service, empty promises, or politically correct statements that say, “We care about those in need, but…” Yet these words alone do nothing to change lives. Real compassion requires stepping beyond words and into action—engaging with people, offering tangible help, and being present. It means not just speaking about the value of supporting those in need but truly valuing them enough to show up, to listen, and to act. The vulnerable among us don’t need polished statements; they need hands, hearts, and resources that will make a meaningful difference in their lives.

People like G. don’t just need food, shelter, or clothing. They need spiritual care, friendship, and the dignity of being seen and valued. The cross I gave him was a small token, but I hoped it would be a source of comfort, a reminder that he is never alone, and that God’s presence is with him, even in his trials. Faith isn’t always measured by outward circumstances—it can shine brightest in those who have very little yet hold an inner peace and trust in God’s love.

We can all do something to help. Providing safe and clean housing is essential, but so is simply stopping, listening, and being with those who are often overlooked. Let’s remember that everyone deserves to be known, to be heard, and to feel they are part of a larger community. Let us be that reminder to the vulnerable among us that they are worthy of love, respect, and companionship.