everyone comes from somewhere…

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