(This interview with Ken Loyd was written in 2008 for
The Porpoise Diving Life, an ezine created by innovative thinker and writer, Bill Dahl. In case you missed it, I got it for you right here. Enjoy, Ken is an amazing person.)

How did Ken Loyd, who’s old enough to order off the honored citizen menu at Denny’s, end up on the streets of Portland, Oregon every Thursday night? And how did this turn him into a local legend?

On a cloudy Portland day I hooked up with Ken at a small urban coffee shop to talk about these things. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, flame tattoos blazing off his arms, Ken doesn’t look like a 60-something-year old pastor. His white hair might have hinted at his senior citizenship, but his Mohawk made him appear more youthful.

Originally from Washington, Ken and his wife Deborah moved to Portland about a decade ago. Together they founded The Bridge, a Christian church known for its rowdy worship and unpolished approach to the Sunday morning gig. Many disenfranchised people have found their way to The Bridge over the years.

Five years ago Ken and a few others started going to Portland’s Pioneer Square, a plaza in the heart of the downtown business district. It is a popular place for homeless folks and road warrior travelers to hang out as well as tourists and Portlanders. Ken and his friends show up each week with large bags filled with snacks, pastries, new hoodies and white crew socks.

In the fall of 2006 Ken announced to his wife and church family that it was time for him to leave The Bridge. It was time to do what had been smoldering inside of him: start a church for people who live outside. (This is how Ken refers to homeless people. He won’t call them the H word which infers that a person is a failure or a loser.) And so, Home PDX was born.
Called Home because one of Ken’s friends who lives outside suggested it, “Everyone needs a home to go to,” he said. (PDX because that is Portland’s airport code and local shorthand.)

Home PDX met outside under a bridge on the downtown side of the Willamette River for several months. Eventually, an indoor space was found. The church now gathers in a rented fellowship hall each Sunday afternoon. A meal is served, provided by volunteers from area churches who come along side Home PDX. The place fills up each week with destitute men, women and young people. Some are mentally ill, some addicted. Some are just passing through.

‘Everybody deserves to be loved,” says Ken. This is the mission statement of the church, and also his life.

Ken has been relentless in his pursuit of loving the most invisible people of the city. “We do magic tricks,” he says, “we make invisible people appear by doing nothing special.”

I heard Ken describe his ministry at a workshop a few months ago. He announced to the entire room, “I do nothing spectacular. I’m just ordinary.” Handing out socks in the cold, pouring rain to people that he might never see again. Spending time with career alcoholics. Yeah, there’s nothing spectacular about that. (And that’s the beauty of it.)

“Someone said to me, ‘You’re a legend.’ This completely freaked me out,” said Ken. “I don’t do anything. I became a legend by doing nothing special.”

It’s a point we discuss at length, this idea that great things are accomplished through ordinary efforts. “Some people are destined for greatness that nobody will notice,” said Ken.

Christians from the suburbs like to go downtown and do outreach. Youth groups do, too. It’s a great idea, right? But Ken has observed that this kind of drive-by evangelism isn’t very effective at gaining trust with Portland’s downtown homeless. “When Christians come downtown it’s all about them, about their goal. They’re purpose-driven. It’s not about the people. When I go downtown I have no purpose except to love people. I do it by a lot of listening. I’m saying, ‘I see you.’”

“I’m not Bono. I don’t get to save the world,” Ken says with a trace of resignation in his voice. “But I do get to love on some people downtown, though I’m disappointed in myself because I’m not saving the world.” (I can relate. I’d love to be Oprah and save the world, but I’m too busy raising my kids.)

I asked Ken about this idea that American Christians seem to have bought into. Do we have to succeed to matter? Is bigger better?

“The conquering male in me wants to conquer and be the best. The Church has been run by people like me for 2,000 years. We are Type A males. We are all about big movement.”

This thought hangs in the air as we hold our nearly empty mugs of house roasted coffee. Ken’s church is small. His salary is below poverty. Instead of thinking about getting an RV and cruising around America in his golden years, he instead is planning a free legal clinic for his friends who live outside.

“I love the people in downtown Portland,” he says. “And when I’m gone, I’ll be forgotten, but Danny is indoors now and he’s on his way. John and his wife are clean from heroin and he got a job.” I lean in closer, paying attention to where he’s going with this. “Did I have anything to do with this?” he asks. “I don’t know… and it doesn’t matter.”

This brings me to the question of celebrity. I’m interested in Ken’s thoughts about this. After all, he’s a bit of a celebrity, a legend on the streets in these parts.

“If you are given the celebrity card, play it for the benefit of others. With my celebrity status I can help Leo (who lives outside) feel good about his drawings when I give him my attention. Who’s the most influential person in your life? It’s usually not a pastor or big name person. It’s someone who says, ‘I see you.’ We need to realize our own celebrity.”

Ken’s wisdom made sense to me. Who am I a celebrity to? “Everybody is a celebrity to someone,” he continued. ‘If you can work that room, whether it’s a small room or a big room, then work it. There’s a human soul in that room. See them.”

This is Ken’s secret to becoming a legend by doing nothing special. He just sees people. Then, the magic happens, the invisible become visible.