Livin' on a Prayer

As the months pass, more Southwood residents venture out of their rooms and cruise the donation tables. Angela and I are pretty sure the food is a big draw, but we also think the residents are starting to trust us. As they approach the table, most strike up a conversation that quickly moves to the topic of the “cost” of the food. The ghosts of ministries past can be seen in their questions; most residents, when told the food is free, then inquire about what’s required to get it—prayer, listening to a Bible story, what? Their amazement when they learn that the food is truly free betrays their experiences with ministries that require prayer or listening to a gospel pitch prior to eating. Quite a few of them self-identify as Christian, and it seems really important to them that we know they are Christians and that we accept them as our brothers and sisters. Even after we’ve explained that being a Christian isn’t a prerequisite for getting food, that it’s God’s food and it’s free to everyone, people still want to connect, to talk about where they went to church growing up, what they were taught, what they believe, where they worship now. They tell us their stories; stories of lives touched by Christ, but stories, also, of lives that don’t fit the stereotypical, “Jesus took my troubles all away.” Their stories are of lives of struggle, of hardship, of repeated grappling with familiar problems.

Karen

When I first meet Karen, she has already been coordinating with Angela for a couple of months; Karen is operating a casual community center out of her motel room. Angela has been able to hook Karen up with some local community resources, and with the motel management’s support, Karen has planned a couple of community barbecues and is hosting an evening Bible study, run by another church group, in her motel room.

Karen is the daughter of a local minister whose conservative church is known for helping the poor. Karen has been disowned by her family because of her struggles with depression and substance abuse; banned from Eden, she surfaces from bouts of what she describes as “not doing so well” to carry on the family’s work in exile. Right now, Karen is doing pretty well. She’s clean and sober, planning a luau to welcome spring. Angela works with Karen to set up borrowing some tables from the church. Karen assures her she knows from helping at her father’s church what a loss it would be if the tables were damaged, and vows to take good care of them. Karen tells Angela about some new families in the motel to whom she has extended a greeting and conducted an assessment of their needs: diapers, baby formula, sanitary napkins, baby and toddler clothing, socks. Angela is a fount of blessings; she has the items stockpiled in the church donation center, and takes off to get them right away.

While we’re waiting for Angela, Karen talks a bit about her family. She understands why she’s been exiled from the family; she’s hurt and embarrassed them many times, and, more importantly, has not lived according to God’s law. In her family’s eyes, and in the eyes of their church, she has fallen from grace and needs to be re-saved. To her family, her continued struggles with depression and substance abuse indicate that she wasn’t truly saved any of the multiple times she has “been doing well” and responded to an altar call to accept Jesus as her savior. Karen has been moving away from the idea that God leaves her when she’s “not doing well,” and resists her family’s insistence that she’s somehow lost her salvation.

Kirk

Kirk is a bit of a mystery. He lives alone and doesn’t volunteer more than a few sentences at a time about his life. Kirk appears to be anywhere from 25-35 years old, is rail thin, and has some of the facial changes that could indicate methamphetamine use. He’s frequently without a shirt, and has some prison tattoos. Kirk has trouble finding work. He always apologizes profusely for taking food, explaining it should all be left for the kids, but he’s very hungry. He takes very little, and refuses to take milk, saying it definitely should be left for the kids. Kirk was raised Holiness Pentecostal. He’s taken down our church address several times, and asked about the dress code for services, but if he’s come, I’ve missed him. He asks for the address, goes over the dress code, and asks the service times today. Angela and I keep encouraging him to come. Maybe one day, he will.

Dave and Don

"Hey, have you got anything for a couple of working men?” Don and Dave approach the table. Both are African-American. Dave is tall and snaggletoothed, Don is short and muscular. They ride bicycles to which they have rigged baby strollers converted into makeshift trailers. I’d seen these parked at the motel bike rack and wondered whose they were and what they were used for. Today, the trailers are filled with garbage bags stuffed with bottles and cans. They both carry lunch boxes and it’s clear they are professional recyclers. As we talk, Dave shares that he gets occasional casual construction jobs, as well, but times are tough lately. Construction is down and there are a lot more people competing for the cans and bottles that Don and Dave pick up off the street to recycle, especially in the motel district. Sometimes they end up riding pretty far from Southwood in the pursuit of recyclables. Dave and Don attend our church’s Wednesday homeless meal project, and they compliment Angela, who bears most of the credit for the project, on the quality and dependability of the meals.

Amelia

Amelia is frail and elderly, walks with a cane, and her speech betrays a history of stroke. She, too, is firmly Christian. She’s also on a limited and fixed income, not mobile, and a victim of cuts to programs that bring food to senior citizens.

Rebecca

Rebecca is a beautiful, bright African-American girl. She, Marisol, and Shoshanna are friends and playmates, and make up the core of the motel program. Unlike her friends, Rebecca is lucky because her mother has a steady job, one that pays at least well enough that Rebecca and her mother don’t have to worry about scraping up the weekly rent for their room, and they rarely need donated food. In Southwood terms, Rebecca and her mother are rich. It’s obvious someone has spent a lot of time with Rebecca; she stands out from the other Southwood kids. She’s an ace at jump rope, knows how to roller skate, is familiar with popular children’s games, and can catch a ball. She knows the Bible well and fights Angela for control of the Bible story, interrupting Angela with, “I know! I know what happened next!” Rebecca and her mother attend a local megachurch.

Southwood is full of many other indicators of Christianity: the small number of crosses made of horseshoe nails that were snapped up and are still worn, a year later, by the recipients; the quoting of Scripture, attendance at Bible study, and mention of church affiliation or attendance; the good works, putting others first and treating others as one wishes to be treated.

I think a lot of people think of ministries like the Southwood ministry as ways to preach the gospel with the intent of saving souls. What’s surprising at Southwood, though, are the number of people who have received part of the gospel. They’ve received the good news of salvation through Jesus Christ. What’s lacking for them, though, is the part of the gospel that Jesus himself called, “good news for the poor.” The things in life that help people get a leg up, that ease the rough spots, are missing. Even so, many Southwood residents cling to faith even when so little of it is left that they are mistaken for those who have never heard the gospel. They are the bruised reeds and smoldering wicks that Jesus spoke of, that he said he would not break or put out. They are the ones he promised never to give up on. Nor should we.