By Courtland Milloy
Column: COURTLAND MILLOY
Sunday, June 8, 1997; Page B01
LaVerne M. Gill was standing on a plastic milk crate, ladling pea soup from an industrial-size vat into bowls being held out by unsteady hands. Gill recently graduated from the Princeton Theological Seminary with a master's degree in divinity. She could have been out preaching, and since I enjoy a good sermon as much as anyone, I might have been there to hear her. But she was serving the poor in a soup kitchen instead.
With her own money, Gill had purchased packs of combs, tampons and bars of soap. She had made up little gift packs and then handed them to some of the women before they finished their meals. Dull eyes lit up, as if electrified by this simple act of generosity.
The scene inside the basement of First Congregational United Church of Christ at 10th and G streets NW, where the soup line had formed, looked like America in the Depression. Scores of homeless and unemployed men and women had queued up for breakfast, providing a stark contrast to all the talk about how great the economy is doing.
Unemployment is said to be low; the stock market high. The nation has supposedly moved so close to a "colorblind" society that remedies for past and continuing discrimination are no longer necessary. Now it's every man for himself.
In such an environment, people like Gill become even more special. I know of a few others, such as Harold Moss, of the Olive Branch, and Abraham House and Jim Wallis, of Sojourners, and I plan to write about them, too.
The idea is not to use publicity as some kind of reward. Goodness knows, Mother Teresa does not seem at all impressed by the Congressional Gold Medal that was voted for her. Rather, I'd just like to know more about what makes such people carry on in the face of hopelessness and despair.
Gill, 49, is a volunteer with an organization called Zacchaeus Community Kitchen, which runs the soup line in the church basement. It was 7 a.m., and she talked while preparing food, setting up chairs and scrubbing tables.
"I just try to stay grounded, be available to those in need and trust that I will be guided to take the right action at the right time," Gill said.
When a homeless mother who was feeding her infant Kool-Aid approached Gill and asked for money to buy disposable diapers, Gill took her aside and said no, "I'll buy you some Pampers, but I won't give you money and don't ever use your baby to try to hustle me again." Gill also suggested that plain water would be better for the child.
The woman actually seemed grateful and promised to try to be more honest.
Gill is the mother of two college-age sons and is married to Tepper Gill, a noted mathematician. She spent eight years publishing a newspaper in Washington, the Metro Chronicle, and was a legislative aide to former U.S. senator Alan Cranston. She is the author of a recently published book, "African American Women in Congress: Forming and Transforming History."
That makes her a part of a growing number of black middle-class people involved in community service. "I've noticed that sometimes when white kids serve blacks, the response of the blacks is that they must be doing it for community service points or that they ought to be doing it," Gill said. "But when they see other black people helping them, the response is different. The first question is usually, `Are you doing this for money?' And if the answer is no, an expression comes over their faces, as if from far in the back of their minds, that says, `Maybe the love is returning.' "
Gill said that a lifelong quest for deeper spiritual life in general, and a desire to help save lost souls in the black community in particular, eventually led her to prison ministries and service in soup kitchens.
"Many of us have lost something extremely important, and that is the ability to fortify ourselves from within," Gill said. "In the aftermath of slavery, we had to intentionally reclaim our humanity, to recreate the values and virtues of manhood and womanhood, recognizing that even though the physical self might be subject to abuse, the inner core would always be protected.
"Our economic prospects may be greater now, but our spiritual power has been depleted, drained or gone unnourished," Gill said. "I believe restoration of that spiritual power is necessary to pull us from under."
That view has put Gill at odds with some community activists, who accuse her of blaming the poor for their plight. They say the poor are byproducts of capitalism run amok, and that it is the system and not the people in need of transformation.
"I'm not saying that we shouldn't fight the system," Gill said. "Just don't forget where the real power lies. We live in the midst of miracles of human transformation. Betty Shabazz gets burned over 80 percent of her body. Doctors all but pronounce her dead. But God is able. So what is it that we think we know? James Weldon Johnson said it best: When hope unborn has died, that's the end of a people."
As the breakfast ended, the church basement began to empty out.
"Am I making a difference?" Gill asked. "I don't know. But I do believe that there is a force out there and when people talk and serve, something gets ignited."
She looked up and noticed that several of the women, instead of leaving, had stayed behind to help clean up.
Something had been ignited.