Where it all starts to happen- that's the front of our line, looking west on 3rd St., everyone's first opportunity to get a jacket, sandwich, fruit, or whatever else Bart and his crew are handing out for the evening. Sunday night, a number of things added to the instant insanity of what normally would begin so smoothly. A big crowd, Easter's normally a smaller crowd as all the missions on skid row have done their best to serve throughout the weekend... it seems we're building a more devoted following than ever... as workers got out of the van, Jodi was instructing everyone to "go light" on the food until everyone had been fed. We forgot our "Jackets for Jesus" bags. They've become such an integral part of all we do and suddenly a couple hundred people needed to figure out where to put everything they received: it takes two hands to hold dinner and a drink, what about the clothes, sandwiches, cold soda, fruit, donuts, Easter candy? Folks were getting creative real quick. To top it all off, before we even started serving, a couple of our "helpers" decided to help themselves to the nights jackets and sandwiches: ALL OF THEM! They'd hid them behind the planters instead of walking them to the head of the serving line from the trailer. It only took our super sleuths, Bart and Jodi, a couple of minutes to find them, but they were a couple of frantic minutes to start off the night. Easter on the streets... what fun!

Waiting... it's how most of the line spends the evening... it's the part of the line I work. The little photo is looking south on Main St., where dozens and dozens of men and women wait to make it up front, all the while, watching others walk off with a dinner, a jacket, Easter eggs. Walking down the line, hope slips away, as guys watch someone up front get something they would have loved to have had. Every ethnic group is represented. Men proudly wear hats displaying their service in the military. Some have been well educated and others are still trying to figure out how they ended up in LA. The common denominator is poverty. No one stands in our line, in the middle of the night, on skid row because they've got too much equity, their retirement plan's too big or their family just won't let them go... poverty, hunger, need... even on Easter... draws them to us. It's what forces them out of wherever they've found what little comfort they've squeezed from life to humble themselves and stand in our line with open hands... not even a bag. Don't know how many days I'd have to be hungry before I'd stand in line. Don't know what could force me into the darkness of skid row in hopes of finding help. But God's building a remnant on the streets: those ripped from the garment of society, no longer a part of the whole, they wait, united in their poverty and need. God humbles us with the opportunity to serve. He blesses us with the gift of friendships in unexpected places. He breaks our hearts and reminds us of how... of why... we needed Easter in the first place. Last night a man called his sister, another his niece, on our little phone/camera, just to say "happy Easter" and "the garment" torn by poverty, for a few moments felt a little more whole. Maybe it's one of the reasons we still go to the streets.

The city's filled with stories. Someday it would be amazing to meet with a different person from our line each Friday and live through their weekend, follow their life, until they get fed in our line Sunday night and then follow them "home." Let a dozen or so men and women of skid row tell their stories to the world... ask them to invite us in with our prying eyes, curious questions and recording cameras in order to tell their stories, in hope of drawing one more thread to draw the remnant back to the garment... until then... the joy belongs to those of us who meet together in the darkness... until then, we remain momentary friends, hoping to remember one another's names, hoping to meet some small need... hoping for a closer communion in Christ.

A small group gathered with us at the end of the night to share in communion. It's something we do together on the streets at Easter... we started 15 or 20 years ago and it just seems right... we're there for Him. The same communion service trays we used in our services on Good Friday at Central Community look like pure silver in the night on skid row. People from diverse spiritual backgrounds slip into the circle- some cross themselves -others whisper a silent prayer... together, we shared The Lord... together, our stories fell away in The Healing of His Story, still working in the darkness. When we were done, one of our regulars stepped up and said: "Eric! Eric! You're supposed to tell us what the bread and the juice mean!" Looking at Jamie in love, I asked him to tell us. Like an ardent believer, having just tasted the miracle, he said: "The juice is His Blood, that takes away our sins. The bread is His Body, broken for us." I could have cried. Easter had broken out on the streets, the stone rolled away... Jesus is Alive! We hugged each other, said our goodbyes and I couldn't help but think: wish you'd been there. Hope you found Jesus somewhere in your Easter celebrations. He's still finding us, Sunday nights on skid row... you're invited, you're needed, now, more than ever.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton