"Say Hi" on Skid Row

[Part 1]

I live in Los Angeles county for nine out of twelve months. In mild traffic, it takes forty-five minutes for me to drive to Skid Row.

Tonight, I accompanied my RD and my five fellow RAs to Skid Row and served meals to the homeless there by helping a group called Monday Night Mission. The closest I'd ever come to the homeless was a few day trips into the inner city of Phoenix, giving out Christmas presents and doing light landscaping for a nonprofit organization. The contrast between those trips and this trip to LA is difficult to describe; suffice it to say that my comfort zone is located far away from the dimly lit alleys of Skid Row, where trash and rainwater decorate the sidewalks and you get the feeling that you're always being watched because you are so out of place.

The group of volunteers we helped tonight is composed of both "regulars" and new volunteers, and the success of each night literally depends upon the number of volunteers that show up each night, Monday through Friday. We meet at a Burger King a few streets away from Skid Row (incidentally, a decent part of town) and consolidate our food and our workers; then we drive to the corner of San Pedro and 6th St, set up the folding tables and the food, and serve the line of people waiting. The "regular" men stand around the group in a sort of perimeter, and the volunteers inside of the perimeter rotate so everyone helps serve in some one of the tasks.

I learned a lot tonight. Although I cannot articulate much of it at present, below are a few thoughts.

A person is not human because he possesses things, has an education, or sleeps in a bed. There is actually a lot of debate about what makes a person human: productivity, cognitive ability, quality of life, fulfillment of a certain role or purpose.
I know that every human is made in the image of God. As one of my team members so eloquently said, "we are all image-bearers. We gawk at God's creation of mountains, but we forget to recognize that every person is a creation." I saw a lot of faces tonight that saddened me or-at times- made me uncomfortable, but the fact that they made me uncomfortable does not make them inhuman. The fact that they sleep on the street also does not make them inhuman. While we were serving food to the people, a volunteer at the front of the line was constantly yelling "Say hi to Joey. Say hi to Frankie. Say hi to Gomez. Say hi to Gabriela." People asked us why we'd shout names in unison; one man look concerned and asked if we were a cult. We had been told by the founder of Monday Night Mission that the residents of Skid Row do not often hear their names spoken to them. Lack of interaction does not make someone inhuman either.

According to the founder of MNM, Skid Row has existed for the past eighty years because the homeless and mentally ill of LA are deposited there, for various reasons. When a police officer is called to pick up a homeless person, he does not arrest the person but drives him or her to Skid Row, where unimaginable perils await. Also, hospitals, after treating the mentally ill and keeping them for the required seventy-two hours, deposit them in front of Union Rescue Mission (located on San Pedro). A smaller group of us walked half a block to this mission, where we were told that it has six hundred beds. I glanced to both sides of me and saw more homeless people on the sidewalks, presumably the "leftovers" who hadn't come in time to get a bed at the mission. Around the corner was the Midnight Mission, which also gives beds daily to those on Skid Row. I hadn't been under any illusions that every homeless person magically ended up with a bed each night, but I had no idea that so many had to be turned away.

All of this, despite its complexities, boils down to the simple truth that Skid Row doesn’t have to exist. This is the most heartbreaking thing. It’s easy to think that places like these are inevitable and can never change. I’ve often rationalized their existence with the basic idea of human sin—that their bad decisions landed them there. What I hadn’t considered was that human beings are deposited to Skid Row, sometimes from a hospital where they were battling a mental illness, and left there with no friend to call, no family member to ask for help, no idea of how to survive in that dark place, and the threat (and reality) of violence permeating the air.

After wards, I came back to Biola (an island of peace in a sea of insanity, it seemed now), put on a sweater, pajama pants, and warm fuzzy socks. I poured myself a tall glass of ice cold water and used a restroom with perfectly functioning plumbing, running water, and soap. One of the paper towel dispensers didn’t work—an inconvenience at which I frowned.

Do not mistake me. I do not believe in validating the reality of hard situations by lamenting the comfort of good ones. God does not hate me for my comfort. Satan, on the other hand, knows that he can use my comfortable life to cause me paralyzing guilt and even despair. God tells me that as I have been given much, of me much more will be required, and as I have been entrusted with much, more will be demanded of me (paraphrased from Luke 12:48). God does not want to guilt us into doing good things. He wants us to be thankful for all we have, and from that place to offer it back to him by sharing with others. I daresay God is above “guilting us.” I don’t think he will settle for that. What we can give to God is ourselves, our souls and bodies, in obedience to Him. And while we’re doing that, we can love our neighbors.

I hope to offer more ways, in subsequent posts, that we can love our neighbors in LA. For now, we must spread awareness about the tragedy that is Skid Row and the fact that it is not necessary. While we do this, we should pray.

O GOD, Almighty and merciful, who healest those that are broken in heart, and turnest the sadness of the sorrowful to joy; Let thy fatherly goodness be upon all that thou hast made. Remember in pity such as are this day destitute, homeless, or forgotten of their fellow-men. Bless the congregation of thy poor. Uplift those who are cast down. Mightily befriend innocent sufferers, and sanctify to them the endurance of their wrongs. Cheer with hope all discouraged and unhappy people, and by thy heavenly grace preserve from falling those whose penury tempteth them to sin; though they be troubled on every side, suffer them not to be distressed; though they be perplexed, save them from despair. Grant this, O Lord, for the love of him, who for our sakes became poor, thy Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

Ducks + Graham Crackers - The Recipe for Happiness

I spent one day last week in the company of a very animated two year-old boy, and our morning mainly consisted of feeding an entire package of graham crackers to some very grateful ducks swimming in a pond. Having gone quite a few years without feeding ducks, I had forgotten the inherent happiness in it. When you've surpassed your early years, you begin to recognize some drawbacks- the gooey, soggy graham crackers floating in the murky pond, the uncomfortable position of kneeling in the wet, muddy grass beside the pond, and the chill in the air as you work to disperse each cracker in the water; and yet, the little boy's enthusiasm fueled me despite my complaints. Perhaps he believed that without our help, the ducks wouldn't have eaten all morning- or perhaps he merely enjoyed watching the ducks race each other to get the cracker pieces. Regardless, I realized that sometimes, age clouds our ideas about happiness. We forget that there is contentment in simple things; indeed, we look to insufficient- and sometimes wrong- means for our happiness. Or, most gravely, we mistake happiness for joy. I do not maintain that there was joy in feeding the ducks; because as pleasant as that experience was, I think more highly of joy than to limit it in that way. However, little pockets of happiness, among which lies this sweet memory, seem to somehow create a joyful life. The laughter that bubbled up from this little boy as he hurled the crackers toward the ducks was a happy moment, and I am thankful for it because it added to the joy I have in spending time in the company of children.

I am obliged to this little boy for teaching me something I had lost and am very glad to have found. I am hardly surprised at the lesson I learned from this child so much my junior- for what else greater gift do children give us, than that of re-discovering the meaningful things in life?