May 29, 2006
by CAROLYN CLICK
TheState.com

WEEKLY MINISTRY FOR THE HUNGRY

Charles Bradley was temporarily down on his luck last Saturday, his payday postponed, so he walked five miles for a hot dog and some human kindness.

Bradley’s stop under the blue tent in a downtown law firm’s parking lot was his first. But for others — the chronically homeless, the permanently out-of-work — the every Saturday hot dog lunch is a weekly lifeline.

“Being here allows them to know somebody cares,” said C.J. Bilka, who dreamed up the hot dog program and established His Hands Ministry, a 501-3C nonprofit, to facilitate his vision. “To us they are our friends. We treat them as friends.”

The concept is simple: a tent and some tables, a dozen volunteers, chips, hot dogs, buns, mustard, ketchup and, on this Saturday, relish.

“At $3.59 at Sam’s Club, I couldn’t resist,” said Joanne Stuart, a regular volunteer.

Bilka feigned shock at her departure from routine. But his eyes lit up when another volunteer, David Hill, declared the relish “a big hit” and slipped him $20 to buy more for the following week.

Bilka, a member of St. David’s Episcopal Church on Polo Road, has been coming to the Suggs & Kelly parking lot at Hampton and Huger streets every Saturday since October 2003 to hand out hot dogs and remind people that a higher power is at work in their lives.

“We are out here because of Jesus, and I want you to remember that,” said Bilka, before the crowd of about 90 bowed their heads for a short blessing.

Volunteers handed out napkin-wrapped hot dogs, while others helped apply the condiments and passed out chips, drinks and cookies.

On this day, the homeless had been gathering since before 11:30 a.m., small groups of two or three who arrived by foot and claimed whatever shade they could find until the line formed.

“These are the invisible people,” said Hill. “It’s almost as if they appear out of the earth.”

Some, like Bradley, have run out of money before they have run out of month. The carwash where he works changed his payday from Friday to Monday, he said, and he was temporarily kicked out of the Two Notch motel room he occupied.

Mario Brown, a landscaper, and his wife, Judy, are regulars, sometimes taking a bus across town to stand in line. They have come to know Bilka and the other volunteers and appreciate the friendship and hospitality.

“These volunteers take time away from their homes and families,” said Mario Brown. “It’s something they have on their hearts.”

Bilka, who works as a benefits specialist with the state Department of Vocational Rehabilitation, has had the homeless on his heart and mind since the 1990s. That’s when he began serving breakfast to the homeless at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral and volunteering at the now-closed day shelter for the city’s down and out.

Lawyer Ken Suggs also volunteered at Trinity. When Bilka broached his idea for a hot dog ministry — a concept that came to him when a homeless woman declared there was no place in Columbia to get even a hot dog on Saturdays — Suggs offered the parking lot that has become the Saturday outpost.

Another Trinity volunteer, Joyce Sims, brought her gift for settling fights and calming tempers to the hot dog ministry. She also wrangled clothing from donors to outfit the poor.

Now suffering from cancer and a stroke, Sims is wheelchair-bound. But her husband, Ric, brought her Saturday so she could greet old friends.

Some volunteers, like Herb Blake, have been involved in the Curcillo movement, spiritual short courses that call on Christians to demonstrate Christ in daily life.

“It is to get you to go back and do things in your community,” he said.

To Bilka, all these forces that come together each Saturday — the volunteers, the donated food and clothing, the special van purchased by his church, the $20 slipped into his pocket — are God-inspired. Even the rain has held off on all but four Saturdays, he said, showing that “God is in charge.”

The line of homeless men and women — some barred from every place in town, he said — that materializes each Saturday does not discourage him, he said. He sees people in need of love rather than rejection.

“It just works,” said Bilka. “I’m just called to feed the hungry.”

Copyright © 2006 TheState.com. All Rights Reserved.

Contact Information: