The Continuation.

CONTINUED...

Blank stares hum in a room that, abruptly, feels all business. My grant proposal is staring each of these pastors in the face, like an expectant child. I'm playing it cool, leaned back, arms crossed, face set with an expression that I hope reads: "whatever, you know? It's not like I NEED your money."

The Hawaiian pastor shuffles a bit, shifting to skeptical mode. "So, who exactly are you feeding with this?"

I'm pretty well-rehearsed for this part. "The homeless in our neighborhood."

"How many?"

"Varies. Fifty to sixty a night."

"What are they like?" asks the children's pastor, a heavy-set soccor mom with a brunette bob and flowers on her blouse.

"Most of them are kids, many of them are sexually confused. Gender confused. They come out to their parents or friends and don't find the acceptance they thought they would. So they come to Chicago, band together in these little gangs, and get mixed up in drugs, prostitution and never really get a handle on their sexuality."

"They're all gay?"

"No. Some are. Some are bi. Some are straight. Some pretend to be whatever will get them friends. A lot of them are transvestites."

"You work with these people?"

"I live with them."

It sounds dramatic, I know - like I'm one of those people who are living their Christian walk in the extreme (like Jesus!) Maybe. It's not nearly as romantic once you're in the thing. It's mopping floors and brewing coffee. It's keeping toilet paper stocked and crunching budget numbers. A church is a church, I suppose.

"Transvestites!" The pastor exclaims, "well, you should invite Pastor Brad over there!" He motions to a young, quiet-looking pastor with long fingers and shy eyes. "He'd fit right in with the transvestites!"

Everyone laughs at this, save Pastor Brad, who smiles sheepishly into his cup of coffee. I watch Pastor Brad and realize that I'm not the only one floundering in this church. This religion.

"But seriously," Pastor Hawaii says, folding his hands in a mentorly fashion. "You and I both know that I could drop pennies into your work there from now till the Lord comes, and it wouldn't do any good. Right now, I have a 1.1 million dollar a year budget...that I'm not meeting."

He says I'm not meeting as if to correct any mistaken assumptions I might have about the livelihood of this church. As if he was saying, "don't kid yourself, hotshot. It ain't easy having all this."

"And," Pastor Hawaii says, peering over his glasses at me. "You're asking for...what does this break down to... less than a hundred dollars a week to feed all these people."

"Fifty dollars a week."

"That's not very much money, Tyler."

"It's what I've been doing."

"Well." The pastor whistles. "Who'd you find to cater these for less than a dollar a head?"

"I cook it myself - me and the volunteers."

"Fifty dollars a week?"

"We've gotten pretty good at shopping on a budget."

"It just doesn't sound feasible to me."

"It's what we do."

"But you see how that doesn't sound possible."

"It's possible."

"How?"

"Coupons."

"It's not much food then."

"It's not a feast, no."

"Fifty dollars isn't much."

"So give me more then!"

There are some awkward stares around the table, a hot silence that reddens the cheeks and statics the ears. Eyes fluttering about, wondering if I had said that last bit in anger.

I'm miles beyond angry.

The Pastor chuckles a bit, sensing the need to boost the spirits. "Look. Tyler. What you're doing is amazing out there. Amazing. We want to help. I mean, Pastor Brad will probably can't wait to start volunteering!"

Laughter - but for Brad - and the meeting is back where it started. Everyone's laughing and I'm feeling sick in my guts. There's a white board in the corner with the words, "God is good! All the time!"" scrawled on it in red marker.

I could have scripted the rest of it out before it happened. They need to talk it over. Look at the budget. Make calls. Pray. They'll be in touch. So good to chat. Let's pray. "Father, we thank you for the work that Tyler is doing..."

I leave, never wanting to hear from them again.

And I don't.