I’m Still Here

Sacred Chaos and Enduring Presence at 16 and Mission

by Michael P. Evans, MDiv, PhD

It was a chilly mid-April evening—Holy Thursday—when I arrived at the corner of 16 and Mission. I had just finished a full day at Stanford Hospital and driven straight from Palo Alto. As I stepped out of my car, the wind cut through my sweater, and I wondered for a moment if I’d even find the gathering. The Mission was alive, bustling with movement, noise, color, and clamor. But before long, I spotted my colleagues setting up for San Francisco Night Ministry’s 6 PM bilingual Open Cathedral service.

This was my first time attending the Thursday night service. Compared to the quieter feel of Sunday’s Open Cathedral at UN Plaza in the Tenderloin, the scene at 16th and Mission felt like sacred chaos. The city didn’t pause for us: buses groaned, conversations in Spanish spilled into the square, a police cruiser idled close by. At one point, someone attempted to walk off with part of the Night Ministry setup, only to be gently but firmly stopped by members of the congregation. And then the service began, as it always does: unshaken, rooted, open.

Pastor Monique Ortiz presided, supported by Pastors Liz Muñoz and Katie Laurence. The service unfolded in both English and Spanish. Communion was shared. Scripture was read. Songs were sung. A holy presence stirred, even as the city chugged relentlessly around us.

It was in this sacred space that I met Richard.

Richard is a gay white man in his early 60s, with sharp blue eyes and a white goatee. He spent nearly two decades unhoused in San Francisco, though he now lives in stable housing near the Mission with his partner Jimmie and their senior rat terrier Toodles. Jimmie, a social worker, sometimes joins Richard at Open Cathedral. “This is my church,” Richard told me. “Even after I got housing, I’m still here.”

Richard has been attending Open Cathedral for fifteen years. He’s now a lay leader and usher, roles that ground him and give him purpose. He spoke about Night Ministry not only as a place of spiritual support, but as a lifeline. “San Francisco Night Ministry has been there for me. It’s saved my life.”

But what struck me most was the phrase he kept repeating throughout our conversation: “I’m still here.”

He said it as a matter of fact. As defiance. As wonder. As gratitude.

Richard carries many scars—years on the street, past struggles with addiction, the stigma of living with HIV, and most recently, heart failure. He’s experienced judgment from those close to him. And still, he’s here. “Some of the people who looked down on me are gone now,” he said quietly. “I don’t wish that on anyone. It’s tragic. But I also know there’s a reason I’m still here.”

In the swirl of traffic and tension, in a corner of the city that too many pass by, Richard bears witness to grace. His presence, his story, and his commitment are a reminder that church is not defined by walls. It’s not made smaller by noise or hardship. It blooms in places of sacred chaos.

And as Richard says—so simply, so powerfully—he’s still here.

Help Us Keep Showing Up—So More People Like Richard Can Say, “I’m Still Here.”

Every Thursday night at 16 and Mission, amidst buses and sirens and streetlights, church happens. People like Richard gather not because it’s quiet or polished, but because it’s real. Because someone is there to say, “You belong.”

Richard has weathered more than most of us can imagine. He says Night Ministry saved his life. And even now—housed, healing, still hurting—he keeps showing up. For others. For community. For the grace he found in a folding chair on a busy corner.

When you become a monthly donor, you help us keep showing up too. You make it possible for sacred chaos to hold space for sacred healing. For communion to be served on concrete. For hope to remain within reach.

Let’s keep this ministry steady, rooted, and open.

Give today—and if you can, give monthly.

Because you’re still here, too. And we need each other.