Losing That Religion - Part 3
“At times, despite the layers, the cold goes through you and you wonder if you will ever get warm again.”
The vastness of the expanse is foreboding without light. Within the darkness, the Dominguez Channel flows through the middle of the concrete waterway, straight lined within the boundaries of the manmade river. Popup tents, tarps, blankets, cardboard, plywood, strung together with nylon and natural rope, all past the point of well-worn, but still with enough life to be repurposed to create a transient community. Alondra Park in Gardena is separated from El Camino Junior College by the Dominguez Channel. An asphalt covered concrete parking lot acts as the roof for the channel creating a large tunnel area with a narrow entrance and exit for the waterway itself, dooming the confines to perpetual night. The moniker, “The Cave”, has been given to this confluence of concrete, water, and humanity.
Every Friday morning, I bring two traveler boxes of Starbucks coffee and my partner, RJ, brings two boxes of donuts. With breakfast in hand, RJ and I make our way down to “The Cave.” Capone, a tall, sturdy man, is the unofficial “Mayor” of the community. Capone once told me that I had nothing to fear in going down there because everyone knew we were there for good and not stooges for the sheriffs who regularly roust the locals from these confines. RJ and I are always welcome, but despite reassurances from both locals and myself, no other volunteer ventures into the subterranean world.
On this particular Friday morning in early September, two of the local residents of “The Cave” meet us at the north entrance. Marc and Dan stop us before we get to the channel.
“It’s cold down there, we want to stay up here where it’s warm,” Dan explains. While Dan volunteers to carry the goods to a nearby picnic table, Marc heads back down the concrete ramp leading into the cold darkness. As we set up, Marc reemerges with others in tow, all of them waving to us, squinting in the sunlight, hurrying to the donut and coffee table.
RJ has been spending time with the homeless long before I arrived on the scene. Even though he lives off of Social Security, RJ has shared his meager resources with this particular community for years. RJ is in his 70s but tirelessly drives people to medical and dental appointments, to government assistance meetings, to the bank, to buy groceries, to church, and all the other dozens of places people need rides.
When I first started relieving our homeless friend, Josè, of shouldering the burden of feeding these people dinner once a week on his own, RJ was the first one to help me with the logistics of providing an open air meal in the park. Josè, he of zero income, was happy to turn the reins of the Wednesday afternoon meals over to me.
With a bit more resources than José and RJ, I was able to provide a pretty decent meal for our friends. I am not a gourmet chef, but I do know my way around a kitchen. I’m not accustomed to cooking for large numbers of people, but I reason that it’s just math to sufficiently provide enough for everyone.
Both José and RJ were pleasantly surprised when I started to present a variety of culturally and ethnically varied cuisines. At one of our meals, Marc gave his affirmation of approval. “All of us here really appreciate the time and effort you go through to cook this, Pastor Steve. It sure beats chili and hot dogs which is what most people bring us.”
As our partnership became friendship, RJ had the courage one day to ask me a question. “Why is it that you go through so much trouble to cook a great meal like this every week?”
I thought about his question for a while, then answered. “I’ve had a lot of things in my life and I watched those things slip through my fingers just as easily as when I first acquired them. So it’s not things that are important anymore, it’s people, and how can I show people I really care about them? Jesus once said, “What you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me.” Well, each of these people here are Jesus to me and I’m not about to serve a can of chili to Jesus.”
We laughed together, and my very tender-hearted friend choked through a tearful response. “Well, that’s exactly how I feel, so I guess we make a good team together.”
“Yes. Yes we do.”
RJ and I started kicking around the idea of bringing morning coffee and donuts and it didn’t surprise him when I bristled at the thought of just brewing up a big jug of coffee and getting packages of Hostess donuts. He didn’t blink when I said I would provide Starbucks and donuts from a real bakery, not store-bought. I would get the Starbucks and I gave RJ the funds for the donuts so we were all set for our ongoing Friday morning date with our friends.
On this particular September morning, there is a slight hint of a chill in the air, the kind of chill that portends the inevitable coming of fall and winter. Marc has not only participated in our Wednesday evening park meals, but has also attended services at Community of Hope, the church I serve from.
“I don’t come just for the meals, I like what you talk about. You’re not boring like a lot of preachers I know,” Marc laughs.
I laugh with Marc, “Thanks, glad I don’t put you to sleep. Some people do fall asleep, you know.”
Marc nods as if to say, “Yup, that happens.”
“Marc, how long have you been out here?”
“At least 7 years.”
With a little bit of courage I ask, “What’s the hardest part of living out here?”
Marc reaches into his pocket and pulls out a very worn piece of paper that has the fragments of a calendar written on it. The particular dates are too worn to make out, but Sunday through Saturday are still legible. The names of different places are printed on each day, and a name is circled on each day. “I can get a free meal everyday from a different place. If you go hungry around here, it’s your own fault,” Marc notes with emphasis. “But when it rains and when it gets cold, if your clothes are wet and everything else is wet, it’s kind of miserable. But I’m good, that tent I have is waterproof so I can come and go and stay dry.”
In the briefest moment I think about myself. When it rains I hurry from car to door, or door to door and when it’s cold I add layers and turn the thermostat up. Such is the life of privilege.
I lower my voice and look into Marc’s eyes. “But when it’s cold, you stay cold.”
He nods. I stare into Marc’s warm blue eyes and he looks back at me with a cold stare. Suddenly, a chill runs through my arms, my chest, and through my core.
Still staring at me, Marc adds, “At times, despite the layers, the cold goes through you and you wonder if you will ever get warm again.”
So many nuggets of wisdom but this is my favorite, “s once said, “What you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me.” Well, each of these people here are Jesus to me and I’m not about to serve a can of chili to Jesus.”
Amazing story and outreach - it is this type of news that warms the heart and restores faith in humanity’s potential. My heart longs to do something similar in my own community. I have worked at renovating houses for the homeless but recently lost that opportunity. I’m praying for a new direction, a new open door to walk through to serve others who aren’t as fortunate as myself. Thank you so much for your example. 🙏🏼♥️