It's funny, that moment when you catch a person realizing they're not where they're supposed to be.
A well-to-do couple, judging by the looks of their SLRs and leather sandals, are enjoying a vacation in San Francisco. They are walking from Market Street with shopping bags in hand. After a block the man stops in his tracks, looks at his wife, then pulls out a map. This isn't the same district they were at five minutes ago.
What gave it away? Perhaps it was the stench. Or the apartment towers with chipped paint, drab buildings and offices long abandoned. Or the people in tattered clothes, sitting like statues, bent over curbs. It's like the multi-colored film they'd been living in suddenly cut to black and white.
It's no big deal, really. An easy mistake many others (myself included) have made. After all, who'd imagine that a city known for its cultural diversity and affluence would lend a square mile to some of the most broken—the drug addicts, homeless, pimps, prostitutes, bangers?
They say only two types of residents live in the Tenderloin. Predators and prey. "You either got or get got." This is what happens when all the leaders are bad people, and the few who are good find a way to get out. The bad people run the corners and fund the brothels and own the strip clubs.
Many of those who start here never make it out. From the park where I'm standing, where kids should be playing on swings and chasing one another and dreaming bright dreams, is a strip club down the street. There's a billboard telling these girls their only value is in their body. These are sprouts that are being choked at the root.
After a short moment, the couple takes their bags and retrace their steps. The man extends his arm to pull his wife in a little closer. They quicken their pace.
The truth is, not every person you meet is an addict. Even if they were, who's to say you're any better? Just because you drive a nice car and make your mortgage every month, you're okay? The problems you see in the projects are the same ones you find in modern suburbia—only here people can't afford the make-up to hide them.
But this is what you walk into when you are coming back from your shopping trip and make a wrong turn on Market Street. No make up. And if you took the time to meet these faces and listen to their stories, you'd see a lot of pain. Kids who were abused by parents. Husbands whose wives passed tragically. Friends who saw friends get shot. People, not unlike me and you, who get hit with the hardness of life. They just don't know how to cope.
And if you didn't know any better you'd think this is how the story ends. But...
What would cause most people to turn away is the same thing that compels a few to enter. The struggle for hope. And on those blocks there is a group of men and women who are willing to engage in the struggle. Some of them are young, even idealistic. But their beliefs do not allow them an alternative. They see the poor and the broken, the widows and the orphans. They don't debate it—they go and feed them, clothe them, console them, love them. To them this is the only thing that makes sense.
The five days that I got to serve with San Francisco City Impact opened my eyes to their way of life. We went door-to-door, delivering meals to those living in single residency occupancies (SROs). We passed out flowers and cards to women on the streets. We played ball with kids at the park. We opened up a warehouse for free coffee and snacks. We offered services for basic health care, counseling and prayer. If there was any way we could help, we would try.
Throughout the entire time not one volunteer held even the slightest frown. I've never met another group with the same sort of compassion, kindness and patience. People on the streets knew who they were. And the volunteers knew each person by name along with their stories. It didn't matter what your past or struggle, they simply offered a place to pause the pain. A respite from life's thorns. Some find healing, many are simply surviving—SFCI is there through it all.
I think the volunteers are able to serve this way because they know they're not too different. The string that ties us all together is our shared experience of joy and pain. So they live and work in a place no one else would to change the narrative of hopelessness, to bring healing to the pain. They go believing they can bring a little light. That it would pierce the darkness and maybe one day all the poison will bleed out.
I'm not saying all of us are meant to give up our lifestyles to serve in the projects. The issues of poverty (both financial and spiritual) are deep and systemic, not a quick fix. It might definitely mean that for some of us. But more than that, it's a call for us to not turn away. How can we make an impact with the way we're living? How are we dealing with our hurts and pains? How are we helping to bring healing to our neighbors and friends?
I used to turn away. It's much easier to not have to deal with broken pieces. But then I realized something. When you start to help others feel alive, a part of you begins to feel alive, too.