A few weeks ago, we decided as a small group to change things up a bit. Instead of doing the meetings in strict, standardized, ordained to speak of the Sunday message fashion, we opted for a more organic approach. This was met with a great meeting last week in which a hang out time before we met was enacted. It was a chance to decompress from the week, enjoy Ben and Kelly's coffee, and just be with people. I had forgotten how amazing and fulfilling the family of God really was. Another principle we had developed is the idea of serving together. Being that the church is where teaching happens, but our group is where the reality of church occurs, we elected the hope of joining together to work in the community.
We put this into action today. The Union Rescue Mission organized their annual Thanksgiving meal for the local population. Located on San Pedro Street in the downtown section known as Skid Row, this organization has been around for over 100 years. This event, known this year as the "Horton Hears a Who" Thanksgiving meal, serves an average of 3500 people every year.
Ben, Kelly, Jack, and I trekked downtown this morning, ready to work the moment we walked out of the parking lot just off Wall Street. It was the downtown I remembered: covered in a layer of rust, government colored-antigraffitti paint, and rolls of razor wire; a concrete conglomeration of cubic stacks and a wireframe maze of stores, homes, and alleyways that led to dozens of cell-phone, t-shirt, souvenir, and smoke shops, none of which seemed that they could pass an inspection of any kind. Thousands of homeless people lined the streets we walked, crowded around in small groups in huddled conversations and pushing stringy smoke clouds from amidst their cliques. The light diffused oddly around these streets, the buildings were monoliths blocking out the brightness of the morning.
Ben, Kelly, Jack, and I walked along those dirty streets, often being confronted for change, or simply by a confused look of someone who wasn't quite home. As we climbed the steps into the building, hundreds of people lined the benches within, waiting for a bed, hot meal, or a chance to get a job. As we relayed our info to try to figure out where we were to work, only confusion took over. Soon, it became apparent that these people had no idea who we were, where we were working, or what we were even doing there. Fortunately, moments later, the man in charge of this mission, named Anthony, and told us we were at the wrong mission.
Though the Union Rescue is one of the oldest, it is, by no means, the only. In fact, there are about 6 missions in less than 5 square miles of Skid Row. From what I saw in the LA Mission, I had never been more thankful that these had been founded and are in action now.
Anthony led us down the street, talking with the waiting people on the sides of the walk as he went. The community of the homeless, despite the rigidly rough and scary exterior, is filled with hurt and loss like I have never seen. These prickly and unkempt people, most of which looked 10 years older, sleep deprived, and frustrated, feel to me like the biggest group of overlooked sub-cultures LA has ever known. They have every race, language, and culture of the city of LA within them, yet most, including me, still walk by on the other side. We came to the end of the street, Anthony waved us on, and we headed to the "Horton Hears a Who" celebration.
Within a few hours, donned in orange volunteer shirts, we headed to the food line and started our serving. The guests would sit at the tables nearby while the volunteers near them would signal those in line to bring food to them. This simple system enabled volunteers to serve thousands of impoverished guests a warm, and quite amazing, Thanksgiving meal.
Though slightly inefficient, volunteers gathered their Styrofoam plates and sporks, walked hurriedly to the hungry, waiting guests, and deposit food before them. This started out quite frantic: one woman was so adamant about receiving her food sooner than others, that I nearly got my arm taken off in a barrage of hands and profanity. But soon, within an hour, the food supply was obviously not lacking. The guests relaxed, the volunteers chilled a little, and things got done rather well.
As the entertainment blasted away mid-level hearing through turntables and Christian hip-hop, I entered the line, time after time. One photographer came to me with a smile and said, "Either this line is really long, or you've been here more than once."
It was interesting to think about the day. As Ben, Kelly, Jack, and I sat at a table in the Mission's cafeteria, eating half-warmed but still delicious Thanksgiving dinner, I reflected on what I had seen that day.
The people, the kids, the food, the conversation, and the countless "thank-you"s that came flying across the air in the dirty San Julian street. It comes once a year. Too often, the attitude regarding this time of year comes just as often. Though the people in need are still there, the gratitude and service fade when the weather becomes warmer. LA's Skid Row is filled with tens-of-thousands of hurting, broken, damaged, lovely, beautiful, and worn people who want nothing more than love in this world.
I felt Jesus today, but not from the chow line I stood in for hours. I felt it in the hands of the women who would touch my shoulder as I handed them their plate, deep eyes looking into mine as they said thank you. I felt it when I heard kids laughing, climbing rock walls, and eating enough cotton candy to kill a diabetic. While some celebrities showed up for an hour or so with cameras in tow to document their good deeds, I felt Jesus in the other volunteers as they handed out, dished out, gave out, and served these broken people.
When I think of my volunteer time this afternoon, I am reminded of a quote which was first seen in regards to forgiveness. Instead, I feel like it meant more in the terms of volunteering: "You don't volunteer to help others. You volunteer to get help." I didn't want to volunteer because it was a good thing to have on a resume or a nice pin to put in the lapel. I volunteered so that for one brief moment in my life, I can be absolutely sure that I display Jesus Christ to at least one other person; for one shining moment, the glory of the Will of God through Christ Jesus was completely aligned with my desires; for this one time in my life, I am absolutely sure that I have loved others as Christ has loved them.
The Enemy was in subtle form today, probably sickened by all the love shown by God's children. As we walked back to the car, a man asking Ben for money took a swing at him when he realized he wasn't going to get anything. Since our serving time earlier in the morning, Wall Street had come back to life: we were one of a hundred ants snaking along the all-too-thing sidewalk lined with "legal" street vendors selling peppers and tamales, toys, shirts, songs, and a chance to win through a fair-looking shell game. It wasn't actually fair, but it looked like it. I heard at least nine languages as I walked, mingling together with the smells and sights of the city.
This is where Jesus lives today. The hearts of the world, striving to fulfill a meaningless existence in a crowded city with little opportunity, cry out for salvation from the mundane and din filled lives. The white noise of traffic can not dampen their pleas, the buildings' walls can not block out the needs of these in the city. So many broken, so many in need, and so many that have yet to hear what Jesus really means to them.
"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'
"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'
"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'"
Matt. 25:34-40
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