Leaving Riverside shortly after The Laker's recaptured their NBA Championship in Orlando we knew we were driving into a party scene. As it turned out we saw very little of the action that was covered by the news media. No crowds rocked our van but there were big smiles in line and the question of the night was: "Are you coming back into town for the celebration parade?" No. I'm so boring. One guy asked if I was coming in for the parade and when I said I went to Mexico on Wednesday's, he said: "I live on skidrow and I doubt if I'll cross the street to see it!" The occasional car load of partiers, leaving the Staples/City Walk area, drove by the line- drunks hanging out the window yelling: "GO LAKER's!" Everyone responded in cheers. One car- packed to the point that people were out the windows by neccesity, missed the light at our corner and got into a shouting match with a bunch of guys in line. Everyone in the car had tall beer cans in plain sight and quickly enough, Laker victory forgotten, guys in line were shouting out: "Throw me a beer!" and "Toss me a cool one!" Fortunately, for us, not so fortunate for other drivers: when the light turned green, they drove off, every beer still in hand. Victory... the biggest impact it had on us last night was the constant roar of police/media helicopters hovering overhead, making sure no one got too out of hand... and our crowd, orderly though we may be yet so near the heart of all the activity, still attracts the watching eye on a night when tensions run high.

A heavy accent... not sure from where, I'd guess a western African nation, she's been in our line each week for 8 or 9 weeks. Always dressed the same- in white and yellow -robes and wraps that make her look a little like the flying nun, she's a joyous presence. Always happy for me to take her picture, as long as it doesn't include her face... strange... I must have a dozen or more shots of her covering her beautiful smile with a Jackets for Jesus bag, usually making sure our name is in plain sight. We meet some interesting characters in the night. She greets everyone with what she calls "angel greetings." Smiling, she teaches new comers to her circle of influence to bump hands and elbows... oddly, everyone seems to comply... I do... the woman has so much joy. For several weeks she's brought troubled souls with her- people with obvious problems - introduced them to me asking me to pray with them... again, I readily comply... people follow her with devotion and those I pray with usually are in tears, both broken and thankful after we pray. Another visitor joined us last night, a little Korean woman- she calls herself a street pastor - Pastor Gloria - (as in "Glory to God") - who's been feeding and witnessing on the streets for years. A number of the people in our line had met her- some, seeing her for the first time, all dressed in white with a white floppy head covering, came near to see what she was about... speaking quietly, she told her story and The Story of Jesus as one or two people stood by and tuned in... our "angel" approached and dressed in white and yellow, politely nodded her head to the little lady all dressed in white and said: "Hello Mama." I stood back in wonder at all we share on the streets... the incredible people who serve Jackets for Jesus, the amazing people we serve and then those that God sends in our path- who see the crowd and are attracted to Light in dark places... God is good beyond measure. I'm certain that each of those we serve, those who serve, "our" angel, Pastor Gloria... all of them, each of us, have stories worthy of an entire library... at the end of my Sundays... the start of each week... I'm always thankful just to share the adventure. He's too good.

Wearing the bright, plaid sports coat, we stopped to pray in front of St. Vibiana's: once the archbishop seat of the Roman Catholic church in Southern California, former home of Cardinal Mahoney, Pope's have visited and conducted mass there. Mother Theresa once worshipped at St. Vibiana's alongside the president. It's been sold and a developer converted it into a party hall where only the rich and famous play... if they're rich, or famous, they've probably spent an evening at St Vibiana's. It's also used for movie shoots when studios don't want to pay to ship the cast to Rome. Sunday night, a man was sleeping on their doorstep... trying to sleep... shivering, body quaking against the damp night air. Approaching him, I asked if he needed a jacket... removed the plaid castoff from my back and gently spread it across him like a blanket. Asking if it was ok to take his picture, he gave a weak smile, said "sure," tried to sit up, but failed. Resting my hand on his shoulder I asked him just to rest and snapped this shot with my phone. It's haunted me ever since. Kneeling beside him, listening closely as he forced out each word as if it were his last, he told me he was dying of aids. He'd gotten his final t-cell count that week and it was a 3. T-cells are key to the immune system and fight off disease. They're now used as an indicator in HIV/AIDS patients. Healthy individuals have T-Cell counts well over 800. Under 600 is often indicative of HIV, under 200, AIDS, under 50, the body has become a human petri dish no longer fighting, but feeding infections, the least of which can kill a person with AIDS. Two blocks from LA City Hall, just around the corner from Parker Center, headquarters of the LAPD, on the step of St Vibiana's... but more importantly... just in front of me, a brother was dying and all I did was warm him with a jacket nobody wanted. Over 20 years of Sunday nights serving on skidrow and still my heart is easily broken by my failures... I should have lifted him in my arms and brought him home with me to die with some since of dignity... I could have easily carried his emaciated frame to the van and taken him to the hospital where hopefully they might have massaged him, fed him, done everything to rebuild his T-cell count... instead, I left him on the step, in the darkness, to die. I've wondered if when they came to clean the sidewalks Monday morning, city workers found his frail body in its final wrapping and called for the coroner to haul away one more John Doe on skidrow... it's how the homeless die. It's easy to tell myself that at least I was there with him, at least he had a jacket, a kind word, someone who thought of him, who prayed for him... instead I can't help but think of the opportunity to help a brother in pain, near the end, slip away. The scripture says: "To see the good that you ought to do and fail to do it, this is sin." Jesus said: "Whatever you fail to do for the least of these, you've failed to do for me." I never want to forget that Jesus dwells richly in the heart of poverty, inviting us to embrace Him, to welcome Him into our hearts, our homes... I don't want to live with the failure of leaving Him, or anyone, on the street. Poverty's not a sin: our neglect of those who dwell in it's shadow is. Please keep us in your prayers as we continue to go into the night, into the heart of our city. This week a great celebration will take place, as it should, for our new NBA Champion Lakers. Pray that in the midst of the celebration we might begin to open our eyes to the pain that's all around us. Our failure's can overwhelm us... more than anything we want to live in The Joy of His Presence, even in the shadow of death. We're going back to the streets Sunday night. You're invited. You're needed. Now, more than ever.

for changing lives,

Eric M. Denton

email: eric@centralcommunity.com

phone: 1.951.689.5806

web: http://www.forchanginglives.com