friends hanging out together on a Sunday evening before the rain

Always just a tad overbearing… at least it was with smiles, hugs and a weekly cry for extra attention.  “Aren’t you going to take MY picture.”  I have so many pictures from across the years that I took just because she refused to move until I got out the phone.

Arms folded, again stopping the line, frowning, angry… she said it was her first night in the line since she didn’t get a Christmas backpack.  “How could you not have a backpack for ME!?!”  Apologizing again, I reminded her that HUNDREDS had gone without a pack.  Assaulting my emotions, eyes flaring, she asked: “How could you do that?  How could you send us away at Christmas?’

All I could think of was the nights she was bright, smiling, demanding a photo with friends… no smiles a month after Christmas… the pain wouldn’t go away.  The weather had been cold all week.  She had a heavy sweatshirt- but it was starting to drizzle -a cold drizzle that became a solid rainstorm lasting into Monday evening.  Everyone knew it was coming.  The bright spark in her eyes was gone.  The unforgiving step-children of urban poverty: anger and frustration had taken residence and were unmistakable as she turned and walked away.

“Hurting people hurt people.”  Folks living in poverty, anywhere in the world, are hurting.  People living in the shadow of the overwhelming wealth of Los Angeles- neglected, overlooked, invisible to those of us who can enjoy the rain in comfort -carry the extra social burden, whether they’ve earned it or not, of rejection and failure…  Just for being poor.

We do our best to listen.  Most Sunday nights people are so incredibly friendly and thankful, much kinder than we deserve as strangers and aliens who wander into their darkness as visitors.  Last week two different men were on a rampage: they’re part of our routine and they know it- one usually drunk -both battling mental illness.  They get as close to the food tables as possible and begin to loudly rant… sometimes it’s political, other times about social concerns and often just the very loud, foul-mouthed cry for attention.  They’re hurting and have yet to find a way to express it that seems effective and so they yell.

Evelyn, leading the food table this week with Jodi taking time with her husband Chuck, had been next to a shouting man all evening.  I approached him when he was shouting in the middle of the street, imploring him to step out of harms way.  Jumping deeper into traffic, throwing down his plate of food, he glared at me and the fount of anger only grew.  Evelyn had the answer.  After listening to another night of garbage from our sick friend- she approached him, told him how much she cared and asked for a hug -dumbstruck, he wandered silently into the night.

Jackets for Jesus – every article of clothing, each meal served, even the cup of cold water (or tea or hot chocolate), we do our best to serve as if we were serving Jesus.  Not just to meet their need… but to address our desire to serve, to share, to grow beyond the strict confines of our comfort and somehow, in an act of living worship, serve Him. We laugh, see old friends, have fun… but from deep within we know we’re being transformed, our minds renewed, our hearts and eyes opened and we are blessed… so we do our best to listen, especially when people are hurting, the weather’s cold or wet and it’s evident that good people feel left out or left behind.  We may not be able to ensure that everyone’s fed or that each person gets a Christmas present – but until they do – we can be there, we can listen.

“Do you know what was in that backpack” he asked.  I did.  I’d packed it.  It had broken my heart to watch this old friend go without at Christmas.  We talked about the items he was enjoying most.  He thanked me.  All I could say, especially after being confronted in line just 30 or 40 minutes earlier, was: “Wish I could have made a pack for every person who went without at Christmas.”  His veil of cynicism dropping for a moment, he said: “I know… but I just wanted to say ‘thanks.'”

Little miracles… that God would let us be “Light” in dark places… that He’d help us learn how to listen… that we could somehow begin to meet so great a need… He’s too Good.  He’s God.  He’s Love.  You’re invited to join us this Sunday evening.  You’re needed in places you’ve never been.  God wants to use Sunday nights and a group of friends of the streets to change your heart like He’s changed and continues to change ours.  Now, more than ever.

for changing lives,

Pastor Eric

Eric M. Denton, pastor

Central Community

Our Line was a Windy Walk

Huge group of workers on the street last night… amazing people each one… we filled the van, Lara drove and I drove… we even sent a few folks home before we left Riverside.  Fitting that on a weekend celebrating the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, that so many would choose to share themselves in service.  When people ask why we keep going back, week in and week out, so often I wish I could just introduce them to some of the amazing workers we serve with.  We’re blessed to have the opportunity to share so many lives.  God is too good.

Jodi and her team made chili dogs with all the trimmings and cooked potatoes.  Perfect carbo loading food against the cold evening.  We escaped the rain- for the most part -while on the streets and there was so much food Jodi was serving bowls of chili nearly to the point of saturation!  We had jackets, new socks and a collection of great clothes to help protect against elements as they closed in on us.

My day had started well before 5am when a headache woke me… read some, had a bowl of oatmeal and then church… turned into a 20+ hour day… God filled it with 2 wonderful services at Central Community.  Unexpected lunch with David and Connie Shrout- who preceded us in our work in Riverside -a really nice time together.  Football and Olympic Trial Marathon replay on tv… then, it seemed as if it happened so suddenly, I was sitting on a skidrow sidewalk, as a couple living in a tent explained in great detail their employment in the “medical” marijuana industry.

Both of them younger than my adult children- their story began with lost jobs followed by a lost home in another state.  They’d always heard the California Dream- so they headed west -they have a tent, backpacks, more clothes than will last on the streets and do their best to sleep in a different area each night.  A night in a public park, last night- skidrow -so they could be near us for dinner.  They ate with gusto- as if hot dogs, smothered in chili, were prime rib and baked potatoes.

On the sidewalk, in the threshold of their simple tent, I listened with interest as they explained their weekly schedules.  I was enthralled to hear the details of hydroponic, indoor farming of dope, to be sold legally around the city for those with prescriptions. (at least that was their story… and I’m sticking to it!) Making no apologies, he said it was much harder work than it sounded, still, not anywhere enough money to get them off the streets.

Caught up in their plight– I was oblivious to our “circle of prayer” gathering on the corner until I heard my name being called repeatedly.  Making my apologies, I hurried over to the circle, we prayed, wandered down to Vibiana to snap a group photo, started the long drive home… all the while the faces, the stories of two kids in their 20’s, who’s lives had been radically changed by the loss of jobs, the loss of a home were written across my heart.

This wasn’t the life they had planned.  Bad things happened.  They made decisions that only directed them into a deeper dilemma… they realize not many people would cut them much slack.  Then there’s the part of the story they didn’t tell me… it’s there in every conversation- the stuff we leave out- we’d give anything to leave it behind… but it’s played a part… too often the secrets follow us for a lifetime.  Praying for this young couple, I’ve wondered how they’ll incorporate their time on skidrow, their current “occupations,” their evenings with us into a family history?  If they’ll live long enough to celebrate the joy of children, “real” work, a house they can make a home?

Sunday Night's Team

Cold, windy, even a little rain… but still so very wonderful.  A group of college students from the Greek Orthodox church in San Bernardino joined us and worked hard, made friends and were blessed.  (Watch a few of them help Jodi and Beatrice cleaning the kitchen in the middle of the night!) One was a foreign exchange student from the nation of Cyprus.  Wondered what it must have looked like through his eyes.  A dad and daughter team who’ve shared our work across the years, she’s a student at California Baptist University, were with us… hugging old friends… making contact… Maybe it’s what we do best: let people know that in the middle of their nightmare- people remember, people care, God’s not forgotten them and neither have we.  Pretty wonderful to have the opportunity to open our hearts in the darkness in love.  Unbelievably, you’re invited.  Amazingly, most won’t accept the invitation.

Snapping our final photo on the steps of Vibiana– partiers, dressed to the nines, made their way through the scene.  One man- nice looking guy in his 40’s -appeared to be very affluent, surrounded by friends or family of his own- decided to clown around in front of me -taunting me, begging me to get him in the picture… Doubt he remembers it today… I’m certain his friends will remind him!  Reminded me that no one wants to be forgotten.  And when people find themselves on skidrow, hitting rock bottom, they’ll do nearly anything to survive, to make sure someone still “see’s” them… God does.  God knows.  God sees.  Incredibly He’s invited you and me to make sure they know they’re not forgotten.  We’re going this Sunday night.  Who knows what new stories will be told, who might need to share… it’s supposed rain all weekend… come out and get wet with us.  You’re needed.  Now, more than ever.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton

Eric M. Denton

small comfort against the night

He grew up in one of our neighborhoods, went to school with friends, possibly played team sports… he’s not so very different from you or me.  Looking at people who fight poverty we have to label them: addicts, crazy, lazy, homeless, failures… without the labels, they look too familiar, too much like our children, grandchildren… too much like you and me…

Most of us know how to say: “There but for the

Grace of God.”  Some of us have harrowing stories of nights on the road, years of financial distress or battles with drugs or drink that we nearly lost… even still… we need the label- it gives us permission to blame someone else and let ourselves off the hook.

Without the label how could we justify spending hundreds if not thousands of dollars on comforts like a new bed while our brothers and sisters are sleeping on the concrete, without shelter, in the cold.  So we pull the blankets a little closer, snuggle our heads a little more deeply into our pillows and tell ourselves: “It’s their fault.  They’re lazy, addicted, homeless, failures…”

It’s easy to forget that everyone comes from a family, a neighborhood and in our great nation- most of us -a public school.  My big job on Sunday night’s is to shoot the breeze with people while the rest of our team does all the hard work of feeding, clothing and caring for the immediate needs at hand.

I banter away– checking in on friends and trying to connect with new people with new conversations.  Last week two men in line- separated by dozens of others -both ended up revealing that they graduated (not sure of the diplomas 🙂 from my high school “fairest high school in our land…” Woodrow Wilson H.S., Long Beach, CA.

Wilson was a fun place filled with wonderful people – and it was good to know they remembered their years in much the same way I remembered mine: good friends, some real highlights and a few deep regrets.  Suddenly, while listening to their stories, prodding them for more- doing my best to drag the three of us together for a group photo- (they refused -they’d never met one another) -it hit me again: There but for The Grace of God.  This could have been me…

Wilson was cool because it was probably a lot like the best parts of your high school.  Today, our alumnae are seasoned beautifully into every area of society- from the “upper crust,” to the middle class and sadly out on the streets- homeless, cold and alone… probably a lot like your high school.  That’s the deal, everyone comes from somewhere… and it’s probably not that far from where you grew up, if not geographically, metaphorically.

Jackets for Jesus tries to build a bridge.  First we do our best to make friends by meeting a need: a jacket, a meal, a cup of hot chocolate.  Then we do our best to keep a promise: we’ll be back- next Sunday night, 10pm -you can count on us.  Finally, we try our best to remember that not only is every person in line not that much different from you or me- adults who once had hopes and dreams -that more importantly, they’re our opportunity to serve Jesus.  He said: “Whenever you do it for the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you’re doing it for me.”

We don’t have to be afraid of the way people look or act… we probably went to high school with some of them… stand on the corner long enough and you’ll meet old classmates- once good friends you spent summer days with, now fighting for survival in the heart of poverty -I have… but even if you don’t have 23 years of Sunday nights to give- remember the man or woman pushing the shopping cart sat next to someone in first grade, struggled to find their way in junior high and the joy and trauma of high school was probably there’s as well.  You know them… they’re us- out on the streets -and There but for The Grace of God…

Thanks for loving and supporting our work together.  We’re headed down this Sunday night.  You could meet Barbara- who answered the question last week -watch her video here -and make a new friend.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton

Eric Denton

We celebrated 23 years of service on the streets of Los Angeles last Sunday night, January 1, 2012.  Pulling up to the street New Years Day, couldn’t help but feel a bit nostagic… thinking back over so many hundreds and hundreds of nights together, never imagined it.  Jodi and I had talked through the names of so many people who’d served alongside us.  Jodi’s been at it for 16 years -16 years of planning, shopping and cooking a meal for hundreds. The team she works with; Evelyn, Beatrice, Bart, Carroll, Phoebe, Katie, Robert- over 17 years of work for Robert – represent so many more across the years.  Cooking, serving, driving, cleaning up and telling the story- it’s something we all do -as best we can, try to be a voice for those who, for whatever reason, are no longer listened to- are ignored and overlooked in a world where wealth “wins.”

“Answering The Question’s” becoming a fun video tradition – Theo shared briefly this week- just follow this link to my youtube channel or you can always catch it at Jackets for Jesus on facebook. It’s a cool way to listen… and we could all do a little more of that in 2012.   So much has been made of giving a generation a title.  Teens, ignored in poverty, are just lost… and they sound like it.  They don’t usually want to share- this young woman -raging with a skateboard and frustrated with my inability to follow with my phone -gladly shared.  Don’t know either of these kids stories but I’m certain heartbreak’s involved… and so much more… listen… watch… They’ve been overlooked too long and are crying out to be heard.  You may not have time or passion to add them to your daily prayers- but could you say a small prayer for them today?  God knows.  God sees.

You’re Invited!  We’re looking forward to discovering what God has in store for the next 23 years.  Guys on the street all pointed to the bags, the trailer, the van that all prominently state: “Serving the heart of Los Angeles since January 1, 1989.”  Doing the math- many had a good laugh pointing out how old I’ll be in another 23 years… we did the same in the van on the way home… we don’t know if we have another 23… God promises today – and somehow, all those “today’s” added up to 23.  We’ll leave the future in His Hands.  He’s in charge.  We’re here to serve.  He’s too good.  We’re going this Sunday night.  You’re Invited!

Happy New Year!

Eric

Eric M. Denton