UNDER THE BRIDGE: "Al Dente!"

Stosh's primary residence by the bay

 Sunday, June 20, 2014  

     The police officer pulled up shortly after the homeless offloaded food, gas burners and cooking pots from my truck.  Today is Sunday and I had planned to hold services under the park pavilion after which I would fix a home cooked spaghetti dinner for the homeless in attendance.  Most of the officers in this town are tolerant of the homeless – some are even compassionate.  However, I am told by all the homeless that this particular officer who pulled up “has it out for the homeless.”

     The stout officer climbed out of his patrol SUV, got out a little note pad and pen, looked towards us and called over one of the homeless by name.  Stosh walked over to the officer who asked him some questions and then wrote something in his note pad.  It seems Stosh had been a witness to a possible crime in the street.

     Then the officer called Chris over; more questions; more note writing.  A well-meaning man had let Chris stay at his place overnight.  However, that man was now accusing Chris of stealing his BB gun!  Chris had no knowledge of a BB gun. End of conversation for now.

     Still standing by his SUV, the officer looked around our area.  He then walked a couple of steps, grunting a time or two as he bent over to pick up something under my truck. I walked over to see what he was doing.

     “How are you doing, officer?”  He was holding an aluminum can.

     “I thought this was a beer can,” he replied disappointingly.

     “This is one of the sodas we dropped out of the box.”  I reached over and he gave it to me.  I continued, “They’re not drinking now.”

     “Oh, there’s drinking here!  You just don’t see them,” he said assuredly.

     Again I repeated that they were all dry this morning.”  It was ten in the morning.

     “They’ll be drinking by eleven; you’ll see,” he said with fire in his eyes!

     I could see it was useless to go any further with this conversation with him.

     He continued to speak about drinking, booze, alcohol, bums.  His face was turning red as he spit out words that made him sound like an old fashion “fire and brimstone” preacher.

     I just nodded my head.

     I finally reached out my hand to shake his, “Glad to meet you, officer.”  This seemed to have taken him by surprise.

     We parted and as he got in his SUV, he continued, “You’ll see; they’ll be drunk before you know it.”

     I nodded my head again.

     As I got back to the pavilion and the six pic-nic tables under it, Stosh looked up at me with sad puppy eyes, “Yea, he caught me yesterday and had me open and pour out a pint of liquor and a six-pack.  He made me pour it out right there on the ground.  I didn’t have any money to buy any more (booze not allowed in the park).”  He sadly shook his head.  Looking to be comforted, he leaned over to his right and kissed his girlfriend, Mari, on the lips.

     There were about fourteen homeless people here this morning.  Mari was the only women here, today.  Having witnessed this before, I can fully attest that all of her five foot, ninety pound frame can handle any man here.  In fact, this little organizational dynamo can keep all of them in line at any given time – even when drunk (her or the guys)!  The men show her respect by watching over her and protecting her. 

     It’s extra hard for a woman out here in the street.

     Yes, Stosh is her person of interest, though she can’t handle being with the same person for over ten days at a time.  In fact, she can’t be in the same place for over ten days!  She is getting sheet rock work, these days.  She’ll stay with the sheet rock crew while working, so at least she has a roof above her head.  But we know that from the day she leaves to work, she’ll be back in - at the most - ten days!

     Stosh is about six feet tall, handsome, strong and about thirty-five years old.  They make a sweet couple in a sometimes challenging, rocky relationship.  But then, who isn’t challenged in any “relationship.”  Though Mari is about ten years older than Stosh, her dynamic personality makes her appear much younger.

Mari at last Summer's hamburger grillin'

    

     Though I minister to the homeless in our town every week, I might not see some of these children of God for the whole month.  But on the last Sunday of the month, they remember to show up here under this park pavilion by the bay.

     It’s 93 degrees, today, with 70% humidity.  A gentle sea breeze cools us off as we delight in the shade of the open pavilion.

     I thought they only came here for the free meal.  Perhaps they did when we first started these services a couple of years ago.  Most of them now let me know that they come also because they enjoy the service and the Word of God.  I keep the sermon short at about fifteen minutes.  At twenty minutes, I start to lose some of them.  Fifteen minutes is good.

     Today, the sermon is about worshipping God, as found in John 9:38.

     My preaching is interactive; they are free to stop me if they have a question or comment.  Some will happily chime in the rest of a scripture I start to quote.  Sometimes, one of them has a guitar and will sing Amazing Grace.  Sometimes they’re drunk, sometimes they’re not.  Today, the end of the month, they’re all flat broke.  They’re now sober!

     Either way, it’s church.  It gives them a sense of belonging; a sense of family.  Sometimes, there are young people, families, children and even a dog or two.

Music Man!

     Jack got here just before the service started.  This thin, bearded intellectual and avid reader was thirsty, hot and sweaty.

     I handed him a bottle of cold water, as I reminded him, “Jack, I could have picked you up.  I drive right by your camp on the way here.”  His camp is about three miles away.  But he was steadfast in his refusal.

     “Can’t pick up cans at 55 miles an hour!”  He collects aluminum cans for extra cash.

     He sat beside Mari, who was reading the book I had just given her - The Spark in the Street - which I wrote about this street ministry.  She was excited about the book and wanted to read it.

     Jack looked at me, “Where’s my copy?”  The book had just been published a couple weeks earlier.

     “I brought a copy just for you.”  He thanked me and gave me a hug.

     Another fellow, Gary, sitting at another pic-nic table, who happened to be reading a book at the moment also, overheard me and chimed, “And where’s mine?”

     Glenn, sitting with Gary, looked up at me.  I assured them I would get them one, also.

     I never thought they would want to read a book about “how to minister to the homeless!”  But, they see this book as being about them.  It’s also about Jesus.

     Chris suddenly got up, a little miffed about the man who had accused him of stealing a BB gun.

     “I don’t steal!”  He angrily announced, as he had been stewing about this all along.  “I’m gonna go see him right now.”  He got up and walked to his car (yes, some of the homeless have a car and live in it).  Mari quickly tried to talk him out of it.

     “Put it behind you.  Don’t get in trouble,” as she gently put her arm on his shoulder.

     “I didn’t steal no BB gun. It’s probably lost in all the junk he’s got in his house.”

     “Let the cops handle it.” 

     He really should listen to Mari.

     “Besides, I left my phone at his house.”

     “Oh.”

     Everyone slowly shook their heads as he abruptly drove away. 

Hamburger time earlier; same pavilion:  Stosh (green) sitting opposite Mari.
Music Man (standing, green)

          I put the spaghetti in the boiling water and asked, “How do y’all like your spaghetti?”

     Allen walked up and said, “Al dente, please!”  A few others joined in approval.

     I addressed the rest of the group, “I guess the rest of you just like it mushy, uh?”

    

     While the spaghetti, sauce and meatballs were cooking, I made my rounds to shake hands, give hugs and otherwise minister to every one of them.

     “Kojak, how are you feeling?”

     He looked like the Kojak on the old detective show; he was bald, stocky and social.  He had broken some ribs in a fall while walking on some rocks by the bay shore about two weeks ago.  He was in real bad shape, then.

     He moaned, “Aaaaah, still sore.  Can’t move too fast.”  He looked a little stiff.

     “Kojak, where you drunk at the time?”

     “Yes.”

     “Brother, you can’t drink and walk on those big rocks at the same time.”

     “Yea, I know.”

     “What did you learn from that?”

     “Walk around the rocks!”

     I was hopeful he would say, “Stop drinking.”  He didn’t.

Kojak on left, Stosh on right

     JJ was quietly sitting, totally absorbed in a serious task.  The connecting link of his crucifix had opened up a bit and he was afraid it would come off the chain from around his neck.  He was concentrated on fixing that important problem and was oblivious to the action around him.

    

     “Stosh, is that a new bike you have?”  Stosh gets drunk and loses bikes or has them easily stolen.

     “Yep.  A preacher man gave it to me.”

     “Uh…Stosh, is this your sixth or seventh bike, now?”  I joked.

     Everyone under the pavilion laughed and replied, “No, that’s his twelfth… or twentieth!”

     “Stosh, you look like a new and different man, today,” I said to him proudly.

     “Why’s that?”

     Mari instantly replied, “Because you’re sober!”

     Everyone laughed some more.

     Then I asked Mari, “You’ve been staying under the bridge?”  She’ll switch camps every ten days, or so.

     “Can’t sleep under the bridge; it’s too hot.”

     “So, have you got a safe place to sleep?”

     “Right here, under this pavilion…”

     I looked around

     “…on a picnic table.”

     “Oh.”

     “Last night, three of us slept behind the building over there; on the cement slab on the other side (about 200 feet away, in the park).  This morning, I woke up with a cop in my face looking at me.  I cheerfully said, smiling, ‘Good morning, officer, how are you today?’  He smiled back and said, ‘Good, thank you,’ and walked away.”

     “I guess he wanted to make sure you weren’t dead!”

     “Yep.”

     Chow time!  We say a prayer and get ready to eat.  I always make enough spaghetti so there is enough for seconds and thirds; enough, too, so they can take a bowl with them for later.

     There’s plenty of spaghetti “al dente” with rich tomato sauce and plenty of tasty meatballs (I get them in a bag, frozen).  I thickly slice the fresh loaves of French bread, made this morning at Walmart.  I dish out the spaghetti, sauce and meatballs.  They’re allowed to liberally “pour” Parmesan cheese on their spaghetti in a big Styrofoam bowl.  No one is turned away.

     Most often, there’s a brother or sister to help me out; like Bill or Barbara.

     My brother in Christ, Bill Weaver, brings water and Pepsi covered in ice in a cooler.  He was sick this weekend and could not be here.  But, being the conscientious Christian that he is, he and his wife had dropped them off at my house yesterday.  He also had individual pies of all flavors for God’s precious children.  They all affectionately call him “The Pie Man.”

Bill (right) praying for Shorty (green) and Stosh about a month ago

     Everyone eats until they’re ready to burst!”

     When it’s time, they all join in to clean up, pack up, and put everything back in my truck.  I never have to ask for help or say a thing.  They all efficiently work together to offload and load my truck back up.  It doesn’t take long at all, that way.

     I call them “my sheep.”  From time to time, they call me “Pastor.”  But mostly, they call me Jean-Luc.  However, the name I want them to remember the most is the Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, whose precious children they are. 

     If Jesus loves them (and He does), then I love them too.

 

   Shake some hands, hug some necks, bless them in the name of Jesus and say goodbye…I’m going to miss them until next week.

     Good night, folks, and God bless y'all.