Losing That Religion - Part 5

Tossing Starfish

In a popular story written by Loren Eisley, a boy is walking along the seashore. The beach is covered with starfish that have washed ashore during high tide and now are stranded. The boy begins picking up the starfish one by one, randomly, then flinging them back into the ocean. An old man watches this scene for a while then says to the boy, “ You’re wasting your time doing that. You’re not making a difference.”

The boy tossed a starfish as far as he could throw it into the water then responded, “It made a difference to that one.”

RJ and I met with Marc, Donny, and some of the other locals over coffee and donuts in the park. “We have a lot of people who need coats but not enough coats to go around.” I opened the discussion with this fact. The locals shook their heads, murmuring amongst themselves. Finally, Marc offered, “Maybe you could make it like the Big Spin and get yourself a big wheel to do it. Yeah, just like the lottery!” There were a few chuckles but I looked at Marc without smiling and said, ”A lottery, that’s not a bad idea.”

I received notice from The Empowerment Plan that my order for the special winter coats that converted into sleeping bags would be delivered in a week. Word quickly spread amongst the local unhoused community that lottery tickets would be handed out at a Wednesday dinner night in the park and those present with a winning ticket would receive a coat.

In a not so subtle act of passive aggression, I had the coats delivered to our little storefront church without first alerting Pastor Dick who had nixed the idea of our church helping with the Coats for Christmas project. Derek, our sound tech and all-around do-everything guy, was at the church when the delivery was made. Derek also helped serve food on Wednesdays in the park with RJ and me, so he was well aware what the pallet of coats that showed up at the church’s front door was all about. Derek called me later on delivery day saying that Pastor Dick looked quite surprised but never asked why the coats were there.

I usually cooked the entree for the Wednesday dinner myself and RJ and Derek usually brought side dishes. Samantha, a volunteer from another church, usually brought dessert. Our usual headcount was never more than 30 but on the designated Wednesday for the coat lottery, I figured I needed to provide for over 120 hungry people. Abraham, a local store owner, who opened his parking lot once a month to hold an outreach luncheon, clothing giveaway, and worship concert for the community, said he could get catered food for the lottery event via Los Angeles Lakers practice day leftovers. Abraham told me not to worry about the huge turnout for the free lottery dinner and that everything would be taken care of. I had a winning ticket that I never knew I had.

When lottery day came, RJ, Derek, and I loaded up our respective cars with the full-length puffy coats and food and then set up at our usual spot in the park. It was quite the spectacle. My younger daughter and her boyfriend were there to film the whole event. Curious park patrons came by to watch the show and a couple of student reporters from the neighboring junior college came to report on the day’s events.

It took quite a while for us to serve the over 100 people that had shown up for the lottery and when we were finished serving, there were no leftovers. Everyone who came for dinner received a ticket with their food; I handed out the tickets personally. Like the food, there were no leftovers; I knew that I had dispensed all 120 tickets.

Fittingly, one of the locals had saved an empty donut box from the previous week’s coffee and donuts gathering, so we used that special donut box as the ticket bin. Samantha, a gentle soul that everyone loved, was picked to draw tickets from the box. One by one, as numbers were called, the winning ticket holder came up to receive their coat. RJ and Derek checked the ticket number and I exchanged a ticket for a coat. Every winner was greeted with loud applause and shouts of congratulations. There were numerous tearful thank you’s and I gave out numerous tearful hugs along with the coats.

But as the number of coats dwindled down to the last few, a remarkable, unexpected sequence of events occurred, to be remembered with the other remarkable events that have happened whenever I was with these people.

Previous winners were coming back with their coats, handing them back to us.

“Pastor Steve, I have plenty of blankets, I really don’t need this. Give it to somebody else.”

Coat after coat kept coming back. RJ, my very tender hearted friend, sat at the end of one of the tables by himself. Even though he had his back to us, we all could see his shoulders heaving with sobs. After a short while, Samantha, in a very surprised but hushed tone said, “We have more coats than tickets left in the box.”

“Keep calling out numbers,” I told her.

We only had 100 coats, yet every one of the 120 who had received a ticket that day received  a coat. When the donut box was empty of uncalled numbers, we saw two coats sitting on the table beside us. RJ, Derek, Samantha, and I said nothing to one another as we stared at the two coats. There is a story in the bible where Jesus multiplied a few loaves of bread and a few fish and fed thousands. The gospel writer included the detail that the disciples were able to gather baskets full of leftovers. As a kid, I couldn’t understand why this detail was included in the story. As I looked at the two leftover coats, I began to understand why. Samantha had baked dessert and she was delivering leftover cookies to willing hands. RJ and Derek made sure our end of the park was in good condition and I accompanied everyone to the parking lot carrying the empty donut box.

When I reached my car, I tossed the box onto the passenger seat next to me. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I grabbed a hold of the steering wheel and now, it was my turn to sob. Maybe it was a bit of shame or maybe guilt, knowing how under appreciative I am of my privileged life. I knew I had witnessed something beyond human, stepping into the realm reserved for the divine. Of all the things I had learned spending time with my homeless friends, they had taught me lessons in a new economy, an economy I needed more lessons on. I never really received a satisfactory answer for this question: How can anyone who has nothing be so willing to give to someone else who has less? In my competitive world of finance this didn’t make sense. But in the divine economy, the economy of love, this is the only thing that makes sense.

Over the next few days, I found out that about 50 of the coats had exchanged hands. Initially having been handed out in a random lottery, the coats were now reaching their predestined owners. During the years I was privileged to work with the unhoused community, an unsettling truth loomed like a dark specter in the future. We helped on average maybe one out of ten people to get off the streets but twenty more took their place. Perhaps from a numbers standpoint what I was doing was not making a difference in the global issue of homelessness. But to those we were able to extend love and grace to, maybe we made a difference to them.