Taking the Bus to Easter

I know that I say this all the time, but I love my church! We had the opportunity this weekend to bring some of our people from the Baton Rouge Dream Center to church for Easter service. We had handed out flyers over the past week about giving people a ride to church. All they had to do was show up at the Dream Center and get on the bus. We really didn’t know if anyone would come, so we were pumped when seven people really got on the bus with us.

To understand our excitement, you really have to understand the culture of the people we get to work with. These people don’t trust easily, some have addiction and/or mental health issues, most have been victims of violence and all have been wounded beyond comprehension in their lives. So, the fact that any of them were willing to come to the other side of Baton Rouge with us, for church, is simply a miracle.

I thoroughly enjoyed it; not just watching our people at Highland campus, but watching Highland campus people watch us. It was cool to allow them to meet the people their giving actually touches. One of the ladies we brought to church is named Deana*. She lives and works at The Alamo. She looks like a typical bag lady: long coat over several sweaters, unwashed, with a bright red stocking cap holding most of her wild hair out of her face. During service she got up and walked out of the sanctuary. I followed her out to see if she needed help, and to make sure we didn’t lose her in Prairieville. (After about fifteen minutes on the bus she had hollered out, “Hey, are we still in Baton Rouge?”) So we walked outside the church and I asked her if she was okay. She told me she needed to smoke a cigarette. I said that was fine, and that I would visit with her while she smoked. She pulled a bag of tobacco out of a pocket, and then emptied several other pockets while she looked for her rolling papers. We discussed the price of cigarettes and the hazards of dumpster-diving while she dug around. Finally, she located them, rolled a cigarette and lit it. She spit loose tobacco out after every drag. She told me that she had lived at The Alamo for five months, but that she was thinking about going to Florida, maybe Tampa Bay. I asked if she had people there and she looked at me like I was crazy. “I’m a transient, a vagrant. You know what that means?” I nodded and she continued. “I got no people. Well, I got a brother but that don’t count. My parents is both dead and my kids is adopted out. No people. But I stayed at a shelter in Florida one time. Thinking I may go back there and see about getting a job there”. As she smoked I asked her what she thought of church so far. She said it was nice and that she wanted to put something in the collection plate before we left. She told me that she doesn’t go to church, but she does read her Bible. That surprised me a little, but I told her that was a good start. She finished her cigarette and looked for a place to throw out the butt. She assured me she wasn’t a criminal and we went back inside.

A few minutes later she got out of her seat again. I followed her out and asked if she needed anything. She told me she needed to go to the bathroom so I showed her the way. I stood in the side foyer watching Pastor Dino on the monitor. A few minutes later I realized that she had been in there for a while. I listened and heard the water running, for longer than it takes to wash your hands. I went in and found Deana washing her face in the sink. I handed her some paper towels and we chatted while she finished up.

She had told me earlier in the week that even though she lives at The Alamo she takes a shower down at the Volunteers of America drop-in center. Apparently the shower in her room doesn’t work, but that shouldn’t surprise me since she’s currently heating her room with a hotplate she got from a thrift store. Her entire monthly check goes to pay the $550/mo on the room with no heat and no shower.

After the service was over we drove our guests home and gave them groceries, sheets, blankets and pillows. Everyone said they had a good time and they were grateful for the gifts. Another volunteer and I helped Deana carry her belongings to her room. The hotplate was bright red, having been on since she left over three hours ago. There were no sheets on the bed and the room was dark. She looked at the bag of pillows and said, “I guess I’ll just leave these for the hotel when I go”. I tried to follow her line of thinking and then understood that she only wanted what she could carry. We put the groceries and bedding on the floor and thanked her again for coming to church with us. She waved us out and we walked back to the shuttle.

There are a dozen other storylines from our Saturday night bus ride, but I think Deana sticks out the most. Jesus died for her, so that she could understand His compassion, His mercy and His fierce devotion for the lost. He went to the cross for her, and for all of us. Whether we live in a mansion or a cardboard box, He wants relationship with us. I love that Healing Place Church is about making room for one more. On Saturday night we made room for one more. She didn’t look like us, or act like us, or even smell like us, but we still made room. I’m so grateful that Jesus made room for me, because when I met Him I didn’t know how to look or act or smell either. But, He saw past all of that. He saw into my broken, shattered soul and said, “Come to Me”. All glory to God.

(*not her real name)