I spent Christmas at The Bridge, a homeless shelter on the southern edge of downtown Dallas. I’d been brought there by the Dallas police, in lieu of going to the psych emergency room at Parkland Hospital (the local charity hospital). It seems you can’t just say you’re suicidal on Christmas Eve, you actually have to have the rope around your neck, your feet dangling over the railing, the gun at your temple, or the knife or razorblade at your wrist to get a free ride to a warm place for the night.

This is not to say The Bridge wasn’t warm because it was, warm. The sleeping area is a big shed-like structure where they lay out foam mats on the concrete floor. There are gas heaters spanning the ceiling and humongous ceiling fans moving the air around. (The sign on the motor has a likeness of an ass’s behind and the words “Big Ass Fans”; honest, there is a company called the “Big Ass Fan Co.” They have a website, too. And, we all know an ass is what you need if you want to make a mule.)

That was the only night I spent at that shelter. The next night I ventured out to the Union Gospel Mission, a place of long lines, peppery food, naked men, and a good night’s sleep only to be forced to get up at an ungodly hour to get naked again before hurriedly dressing so you can catch a bus back to The Bridge where you spend the day.

But, today is Easter and, no, I didn’t go to church. I had enough church out at the Mission during the month of January to last me for a long, long while. The Mission preaches along a fundamentalist line, i.e., they take the Bible literally, factually, which reduces all the metaphorical stories to nothing more than pap. If you get too wrapped up in the facts, you run the risk of losing the significance of faith. (There I’ve had my sermon for the day.)

Today at lunch we had a slice of ham, a dollop of fresh mashed potatoes (not that icky boxed stuffed), a serving of red beans (we get lots of beans here, lots of fiber), and a slice of white bread. Texans (maybe it’s a Southern thing) seem to be big on bread. We always get some kind of bread with lunch and dinner, usually of the white, non-fibrous variety.

We also had our meal served to us by a group of do-gooders who were willing to give up a part of their Easter Sunday to come down to the Salvation Army homeless shelter and do the Christian thing. I said “thank you” anyway. I mean they could’ve been home watching the game or outback setting up the barbecue for ribs and beans later this afternoon when the kids come over with the new grandbaby.