We always spend Thanksgiving with family. Except last year, when we spent it with the homeless.
Our cross-country road trip led us just west of San Diego on Thanksgiving eve. We mulled our options at a dog-friendly surfside park off Voltaire Street in Ocean Beach.
A century ago, the park’s amusements included a beloved roller coaster and dance pavilion.
We learned of the park from a long-locked New Zealander named Woz and his companion Vanessa, who’d been camping nearby in a rented recreation vehicle for several weeks. They’d just decided to get married at the next stop on their North American excursion. We helped them celebrate — sans alcohol since we all were designated drivers.
On our post-celebration dog walk, we spotted Sacred Heart of Ocean Beach, a stunning Mission-style church. Darkness prevented me from seeing the images on its clerestory windows. Ah, well; time to find a campsite.
Back in Ocean Beach the next morning, we were shaking dog fur and street grit from our van’s mats when an “OBcean” stopped to chat. Come to his church, he implored: “We’re serving Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless.” Hmmm, did he regard us as potential volunteers or needy souls living in a van?
His directions led to the church I’d admired the night before. Sacred Heart’s motto, I read, is “a parish built on love.” No time to tour; we donned aprons and began zigzagging around long tables serving food to veterans, junkies, jobless and surfers with no fixed address. Some chatted; most concentrated on filling their stomachs. One woman declined pie, explaining that sweets made her crave alcohol. “I’ve been doing a lot better without it.”
According to Angela Roberts, who does administrative work for Sacred Heart, about 1,000 meals are prepared for the annual Thanksgiving feast. Nearly 2,000 pounds of food are donated by local merchants and San Diego’s Feeding America hunger relief nonprofit.
Later, after congregants thanked us with bulging doggie bags, I learned the church’s cornerstone was laid in 1946. Of its 56 stained-glass windows, the dozen in the clerestory depict promises made to St. Mary Margaret Alacoque, Apostle of the Devotion.
Back at the van, sharing leftovers with our dogs, we gave thanks for family back home and for the chance to befriend those estranged for less pleasant reasons.
Reach Robin Tierney at [email protected].
