A young Hispanic "client" edges her shopping cart through the food pantry line at St. Margaret Mary Church. Her son sits in the cart. She pauses at the pastry table.

Volunteer Jill Lotta smiles. "You can choose three items."

"Tres?"

"Yes. Tres."

The woman's eyes grow moist and she smiles. "God bless you!"

Lotta has been volunteering at the Wednesday food pantry 12 years.

"I've learned some Spanish. But the volunteers and clients here speak the language of love."

* * *

St. Margaret Mary Alacocque Church is a largely middle class, ethnically diverse parish amidst neighborhoods of tidy homes in the South Bay suburb of Lomita (along with Harbor City and parts of Torrance). Over its 70 years (including the pastorate of retired Auxiliary Bishop Joseph Sartoris), it has developed a reputation for aggressively serving the poor.

A typical Wednesday morning in the parish hall finds poor from the area --- the aforementioned "clients," some of them homeless --- seated at round tables. They sip coffee, munch pastries, and talk as they wait for the grocery line to open. Nearby, silver-haired parish volunteers stock tables with grocery bags.

Chatting with the clients is parish Christian Service director Laura Nieto.

"We set up this social area with round tables for clients to linger, talk with clients and volunteers, and briefly escape their difficult lives," she explains. "We're building a feeling of we rather than them and us. We get to know our clients and their situation, and help them feel like they belong. We encourage clients to become volunteers."

The Wednesday food pantry, she says, is the culmination of a week's work by parish volunteers who pick up, purchase, sort, prepare and serve groceries. Between 9 and 11 a.m. 250 families will receive a week's groceries. Nobody is turned away.

About 75 percent are Hispanic, 10 percent African American, 10 percent Anglo, and five percent Asian. Most clients come from Lomita, Harbor City and parts of Torrance, where the mostly retired volunteers also live. The food mostly comes from local grocer donations. These groceries, Nieto says, help low-income clients get by and stay housed.

One client, 32-year-old Sylvia, is a Lomita resident whose recent operation limits her work.

"They serve you with a smile," she says of the people staffing the pantry. "It feels like a family."

African-American senior Doris, sipping coffee, says rising food prices and rent would make it hard without these groceries. "I live for Wednesdays. I've made friends here. These volunteers are so generous."

* * *

At 9 a.m., volunteers and clients join hands and pray. Then clients begin moving from table-to-table with shopping carts. The sign-in table is staffed by volunteering sisters Carmen and Delores.

"We get to know our clients and what's happening in their lives," Carmen tells me. "We've gone to their children's weddings."

Client Richard, who used to be homeless, was befriended and encouraged by volunteers, who even took him shopping for school supplies. He's now in college.

A year ago, a mother of three arrived crying because she'd lost her job, and had never asked for help. Volunteer Emma Polizzi gave her a hug and befriended her. The woman is getting back on her feet, but still receives a Wednesday hug from Emma.

When clients also volunteer, friendships strengthen. At the entrance first-time clients are welcomed by volunteer-client Raquel, who arrived nine months ago. "This food helps me, so I contribute. It's like a family community here. And I now realize people are worse off than me."

Volunteer-client Darla of Lomita says when she came here three years ago, she was ashamed. "But they don't make you feel ashamed." She hopes to start a job soon.

At the first grocery table, where clients receive a large bag of rice, beans, and canned vegetables, is volunteer Rosie Ortiz, a retired nurse who also sorts groceries on Mondays and Tuesdays.

"I always felt called to missionary work," she says. "This fulfills that need. It fills my heart to see these appreciative families."

As she works at the pastry table, volunteer Lotta says she enjoys Wednesdays so much she plans her week and vacations around it. "When you get older, it's easy to get in a rut and feel sorry for yourself."

The clients have a variety of stories. Tracy grew up in Palos Verdes, but lives in a field with her son. The groceries are helping her regroup. "I feel like I've friends here."

John --- pushing his cart towards his car, where he lives --- says without these groceries, he'd be digging dumpsters for food. This program helps him survive.

Without these groceries, says client Veronica of Harbor City, she couldn't feed her kids. "I feel comfortable here; they treat you good. I've joined the church."

* * *

The volunteers have their stories as well. Retired aerospace worker Tom Reis had envisioned pursuing the good life in retirement, but finds volunteering three days a week more satisfying. "Meeting these people and learning their stories builds respect. Seeing how many people live has broadened me."

Retired businessman Bob Gierat of Torrance agrees. "You feel like you're helping your fellow man. You realize poverty could happen to anyone, that L.A. is tough if you're poor."

Josie D'Ambrosi, 88, has been with the program since the start. "Volunteering ahs made me more compassionate, thankful. I'm doing this for my Lord."

* * *

When she became Christian Service Director 18 months ago, Laura Nieto reminded volunteers of their importance. "I told them when I was young we searched for food behind Albertsons and survived with church help," she observes. "Our Lomita parish outreach isn't far removed from what I grew up with."

And, "I tell people not to judge the poor until you've lived in their shoes." She tells of a client who kept driving to the Wednesday food pantry in a nice car. When asked about it, he wept and said: "I live in my car."

A UCLA study claims 957,000 L.A. County adults experience "food insecurity." "Our parishioners," says Nieto, "are realizing that with rising housing, utility, food and gas prices, and poor public transit, many struggle. Our program makes lives better by giving people basic help and a boost."

In addition to the "crown jewel" Wednesday food pantry, St. Margaret Mary coordinates a job referral program, psychological counseling, Sunday community homeless feeding led by Deacon Rick Soria, and ESL/citizenship classes. Nieto envisions a center with beds, showers, clothes, a kitchen. She wants to help clients access services, develop skills, and reach goals.

"Our volunteers are comfortable, not wealthy. But they help, and find it meaningful. They enjoy the camaraderie. After the Wednesday food pantry our kitchen volunteers enjoy a potluck social lunch."

In his nearby office, Msgr. Patrick Thompson, pastor, speaks proudly of the tradition of parish outreach at St. Margaret Mary, partly due to leadership, in this quiet, middle class parish with diverse ethnic groups, economic levels, and education levels. Most parishioners have been close enough to some problems, tragedies or episodes of poverty that they accept outreach.

"Our Wednesday food pantry isn't just about giving food," he points out. "We also give our presence. I want clients to feel like: 'Somebody looked at me and cared about me, and it was a good experience.'

"I'd like every parishioner to volunteer, so more will discover there's a problem and that we can help."

Helping "touches a part of our volunteers' lives they'd forgotten about, neglected, or never discovered," Msgr. Thompson says. "You won't find that inside your accustomed comfort zone. You'll find it in somebody different. You'll find it in the poor."