I was in a war zone last week. Not the kind where bombs are dropped or guns fired, but the spiritual kind. The Tenderloin District of San Francisco, a one square mile chunk of the city, is a place where all that is wrong at the core of humanity is on display. There are no pretensions in the Tenderloin. People do not hide behind masks. They simply are what they are. People wear their anger, pain, and despair on their sleeves for the world to see… or, more accurately, for the world to ignore.
Some facts about the Tenderloin:
-35,000 people live there.
-5,000 of them are homeless.
-There are over sixty criminal arrests per week.
-There are over forty businesses with liquor licenses.
-There are 19 “adult” orientated businesses.
All in one square mile.
But stats aren’t enough to really know what the Tenderloin is. To do that, you’d need to visit. You’d need to stand on the corner of Eddy and Jones on the first or the fifteenth of the month because that’s when the government checks come. That’s when, fully fortified by drugs and alcohol, the Tenderloin shows its full colors, shows its drunken rage and drugged stupor.
Last week, seven members of my church’s high school youth group, along with five adults, went to the Tenderloin to serve with City Impact, a mission located in the heart of the district. City Impact, also known as the San Francisco Rescue Mission, provides food, blankets, and hope to people who have none of the above. I could write pages about the people who work at that mission, their love for Christ, and the impact they have on their community, but, quite frankly, I don’t want to bore you. Words wouldn’t do them justice anyway.
I also won’t talk to you about how amazing the kids we took down there were, how they were courageous in the face of danger, loving in the face of anger, and compassionate where most would simply walk by. Once again, words wouldn’t do them justice.
Evil is more obvious in the Tenderloin, but so is good, so is Christ. In a place without pretension, the simple words, “Jesus love you,” are enough to bring smiles to faces. I saw more than one person approach with stooped back and downcast eyes and leave beaming with the knowledge that being poor or homeless does not make them inhuman, and that they are loved.
I started this post by saying that I was in a war zone last week. That statement implies that I’m no longer in a war zone, and that’s simply not true. The Tenderloin is spiritual warfare made palpable, made nearly visible. You can almost see the darkness and light warring there, battling behind blood shot eyes. But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening here, doesn’t mean that lives aren’t being lost in the quite comfort of my suburban neighborhood. Men’s faults - our lust, our rage, our stiff-necked pride, and our despair- are universal. We just hide them better here. Down there, a man might throw a half-empty 40 at a preacher on a street corner. Here, that same man would sit at home, muttering at the number of televangelists while sucking down another micro-brew. Same broken heart, just hidden better.
I wonder if we, with our warm houses and full stomachs, are so much different. I think that beneath our well manicured exteriors, beneath the guise of “well adjusted member of society,” we’re just like our homeless brethren. Just people looking for someone to tell us that we’re human, and that we’re loved.
Some facts about the Tenderloin:
-35,000 people live there.
-5,000 of them are homeless.
-There are over sixty criminal arrests per week.
-There are over forty businesses with liquor licenses.
-There are 19 “adult” orientated businesses.
All in one square mile.
But stats aren’t enough to really know what the Tenderloin is. To do that, you’d need to visit. You’d need to stand on the corner of Eddy and Jones on the first or the fifteenth of the month because that’s when the government checks come. That’s when, fully fortified by drugs and alcohol, the Tenderloin shows its full colors, shows its drunken rage and drugged stupor.
Last week, seven members of my church’s high school youth group, along with five adults, went to the Tenderloin to serve with City Impact, a mission located in the heart of the district. City Impact, also known as the San Francisco Rescue Mission, provides food, blankets, and hope to people who have none of the above. I could write pages about the people who work at that mission, their love for Christ, and the impact they have on their community, but, quite frankly, I don’t want to bore you. Words wouldn’t do them justice anyway.
I also won’t talk to you about how amazing the kids we took down there were, how they were courageous in the face of danger, loving in the face of anger, and compassionate where most would simply walk by. Once again, words wouldn’t do them justice.
Evil is more obvious in the Tenderloin, but so is good, so is Christ. In a place without pretension, the simple words, “Jesus love you,” are enough to bring smiles to faces. I saw more than one person approach with stooped back and downcast eyes and leave beaming with the knowledge that being poor or homeless does not make them inhuman, and that they are loved.
I started this post by saying that I was in a war zone last week. That statement implies that I’m no longer in a war zone, and that’s simply not true. The Tenderloin is spiritual warfare made palpable, made nearly visible. You can almost see the darkness and light warring there, battling behind blood shot eyes. But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening here, doesn’t mean that lives aren’t being lost in the quite comfort of my suburban neighborhood. Men’s faults - our lust, our rage, our stiff-necked pride, and our despair- are universal. We just hide them better here. Down there, a man might throw a half-empty 40 at a preacher on a street corner. Here, that same man would sit at home, muttering at the number of televangelists while sucking down another micro-brew. Same broken heart, just hidden better.
I wonder if we, with our warm houses and full stomachs, are so much different. I think that beneath our well manicured exteriors, beneath the guise of “well adjusted member of society,” we’re just like our homeless brethren. Just people looking for someone to tell us that we’re human, and that we’re loved.
Comments