brimstone and bologna sandwiches

My father's brother ran a homeless ministry. He was a fire breathing preacher, full of faith and gospel and god and he commanded the same of everyone around him. He was larger than life, my Uncle, when he walked into a room people gathered around him. He took that pulpit and made it scream. People loved him. Feared him, too. I always felt like he was God On Earth. His words WERE the holy commandments, and you better listen up.

He lived in the church office with his wife and kids. They lived onsite because they kept their doors open 24/7 to anyone needing a place to stay. Anyone could sleep on one of the pews. The only rule was you'd better be upright at 6am to get your fill of Jesus. Praying, bible study, church...you abided by all of it if you wanted a place to stay.

I cut my homeless baby teeth inside those walls. We'd visit regularly, we'd help cook meals, make sandwiches, go to church. It was unavoidable - my grandmother lived in the back of the church by then, and the rest of the family came and went as well. Running the church and the various programs was a true family affair.

They ran a summer camp for inner city kids. The camp was spartan - tents and outhouses, a lot of white bread and oatmeal. They'd round up hundreds of kids from deep inside L.A. and get them breathing mountains for a week at a time. My parents would send me, and truth be told, I hated it. Camp was hard. We were roughing it. And the kids, well, the kids were tough. There was so little money to spare that the evening activities mostly consisted of chasing one of the counselors around while he held a hershey bar in his teeth. Whoever finally caught him got the candy. I never won, not once.

My uncle ran things with an iron fist wrapped around a bible. From time to time city workers would hassle him - people were being housed illegally, overcrowding, pews were not meant to be used as beds. Nothing was up to code, food was bartered and begged. Folks did drugs. One guy from the Health Inspectors office tried hard to shut the place down. I remember threats of litigation and of closing our doors. I remember my uncle fighting with him and bringing it up in church, bible raised and voice thundering, asking God to intervene. The guy dropped dead of a heart attack the next week. I kid you not. This was how my uncle rolled.

All of that combined meant I had a healthy fear of my uncle. He commanded and I responded. He told me what to do, what to read, and I did. I loved him very much. I also was just a little girl, and easily impressionable.

While I certainly learned about humanity, I struggled with the religiousity of it all. As I grew older, I disagreed that someone should have to augment their belief system in order to receive help. While I appreciate his passion, I don't agree with the approach. To be honest, I don't know how many folks were truly helped...did they end their homelessness, or was it just passing time? I know some people seemed to make miraculous recoveries...pimps became pastors, that sort of thing. Perhaps salvation IS the goal, eternal life certainly trumps this world if one is a believer of that sort, but at the same time, I think helping is helping, and it shouldn't come chained to the bible.

My uncle died quite a few years ago. He was out at dinner, looked at his wife, said it's time to go home, and died on the spot. We always felt it was a blessing that he died away from the church, because people saw salvation in him, and seeing him wheeled out in a bag might have been too much to bear. I recall his funeral - the church was filled to the brim and there were 200 or so more people gathered outside in the street. I remember a lot of wailing and crying. One woman threw herself on his coffin. I cried for a week. My aunt, though - she was a rock. She never did leave that church office, not for many years to come.

Without knowing, he gave me my start. I had no idea I'd end up doing what I do now way back then, but those experiences taught me a lot about perseverance and hope. About dedication and compassion.

But mostly, it taught me but there for the grace of god, go I.