After closing down the Thursday morning produce giveaway, Gloria Jara-Contreras and Elvira Roman walk out of the parking lot of Mother of Sorrows Church in South Los Angeles. The two women - president and vice-president of the parish's Society of St. Vincent de Paul's conference - carry plastic bags full of Romaine lettuce, carrots, green beans, zucchini, onions and cartons of juice down 87th Place, past barking dogs and stucco houses with well-kept front yards bordered by high wrought iron fences.
Halfway down the block they stop at one, where they're greeted at the screen door by a heavy-set woman named Petra Garcia and her 27-year-old visiting daughter, Deida, holding her baby. The combined living and dining room has two sofas, a table covered by a colorful cloth and an easy chair in front of a fireplace. On the mantle stand statues of the Blessed Virgin and Sacred Heart, along with a crucifix and vase of plastic flowers. A blue handicap sticker hangs by the door.
After introductions and greetings, Gloria, with a notebook on her lap, sits at the end of a sofa near Petra at the table. In Spanish the two chat, with the Vincentian occasionally jotting down something.
Turning to Deida, Gloria says, "So according to the Social Security Administration, your mother's dead?" before quipping, "Well, she looks very good for a dead woman." Everybody laughs. "But according to them, she's dead and all her benefits have been cut off since her husband died about three months ago - her Medi-Cal, her Social Security checks."
The daughter nods her head, saying she's made many phone calls to the agency but just keeps getting "a royal runaround." Then she reports how her mother has severe arthritis in her left knee and can barely walk. That's why her doctor prescribed an exercise bike to increase circulation and muscle tone in her legs, plus a kit to monitor her high blood pressure. But with all her benefits in limbo, she hasn't been able to afford either.
"It's really hard for her right now," Deida almost whispers. "She tells me, 'I would give anything just to be able to walk again, so I could take care of your baby.' Because it's her only grandchild."
Gloria says they can get an exercise bike from the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store at no cost, and thinks she still has a blood pressure machine at home Petra can have. And right after their visit, she'll go to the nearest drug store to get three prescriptions refilled.
Until the Social Security mess gets straightened out, the conference will bring her groceries. But Gloria and Elvira advise the daughter to keep bugging the Social Security people and also to see an attorney at the local Legal Aid Society about this and other matters.
Petra says in Spanish, "I am very thankful for the St. Vincent Society and for both of you for coming to my house today," wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "The vegetables and canned goods I get from the church really helps."
Deida points out how the exercise bike alone will really change her mother's life.
"Sometimes she'll put cans on the floor and she'll roll them with her feet trying to exercise, because she wants to be able to move her legs again," she explains. "So I know this means a lot to her. But we appreciate everything that you guys have done for us."
Gloria closes her notebook. "Well, that's what the society is about," she says, getting up, "trying to reach out to the people and trying to help."
A spiritual thing
Walking back to her car at Mother of Sorrows Church, Gloria Jara-Contreras points out that Petra's problems - being declared dead by the government as well as needing her prescriptions plus an exercise bike - weren't the kind she and her fellow co-volunteers usually run into. In her South L.A. community, the most common requests are for furniture, especially beds, and sometimes rent money.
"But she's going through a very tough time, and we are blessed to be able to help her," says the 45-year-old mother and grandmother from Ensenada.
Since 1996, when then-pastor Father Perry Leiker asked her to help run St. Vincent de Paul's Mother of Sorrows' conference because of her bilingual skills, Gloria has made more than 50 home visits. She says it's not hard because when Latinos - who make up most of their clients - get around to calling the inner-city parish for help, it's because they're up to their neck in problems and don't see any other way out.
"The challenge that I encounter is sometimes not being able to meet their needs," she says. "Because our parish is a very poor parish, we depend a lot from the society's district for funds."
The joys are more difficult to put into words, according to Gloria. It's seeing in a person's eyes a sign of relief that this emergency will pass and hope that the future will be better. Even when the conference can't help with a specific request, she says just going to the home of a family in crisis and listening often means a lot.
A couple of years ago, she realized that being a member of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul was a genuine vocation. The ministry's core involves putting other people's needs before your own. In short, being a Vincentian is a spiritual link to the society's founding in the early 19th century.
"Every time I do a home visit, I always picture Frederic [Ozanam] walking with me," Gloria says. "I think that's where the religion comes in. St. Vincent was a priest, and we think that's what a priest is supposed to do, right?
"But with Frederic, it was different," she notes. "He was a rich guy who was very spiritual, with love and compassion for others. And that's why I say he's my personal hero."
The society's 'heart'
Local conferences like that at Mother of Sorrows are the very heart of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, according to Catalina Miller, who runs the conference department for the Los Angeles Council. She calls the conference members the people in the trenches, who walk with the poor in their neighborhoods and communities.
Home visits serve a twofold purpose, she says. First, they're a check to keep individuals from "working the system." Much more importantly, however, is that by visiting homes Vincentians often discover that people actually need much more than they're asking for.
Besides requests for furniture, food and clothes, local conferences also help with rent and mortgage payments, utility bills and transportation needs.
"It's hard to ask for help, especially if you've never had to do it before," Catalina points out. "It's embarrassing. It's humbling. So we try to make it as friendly as possible, because it's a lot easier to speak to a friend than someone at an office who's taking your application.
"Our Lord went out visiting folks, and that what we do. He sent the apostles out two by two, and our people go out two by two, bringing the love of Our Lord and visiting Our Lord. Because that's who we believe we're serving. We're serving Christ."
Catalina says it's hard to keep conferences going and energized. With a lot of retirees serving as Vincentians, there's a constant turnover of aging members. Still, they're encouraged to stay on as "prayer partners." Beside full members, who attend meetings twice a month, there are also associate and contributing members in the Los Angeles Archdiocese's 100-some conferences.
A good-sized conference has between eight and 10 members. There are youth conferences as well as Spanish, Korean and Filipino conferences. But most, about 60, are bilingual. Many have voice mail numbers listed in church bulletins. Others are accessed whenever people call a parish asking for help.
"They've taken a load off the priests who are so busy with church things," Catalina notes. "With us they have someone in their parish who will take care of them."
She reports that the conferences stress fellowship, with members coming together regularly to pray and share the Gospel. Many become like families.
"I love all my Vincentians because there's so much these people could be doing but they chose to help the poor," Catalina says. "We're making them saints. They laugh every time I say that, but it's true. We're making them saints."
|