The Washing Machines at Grace Point on Tuesday Nights

Every Sunday morning, the congregation at Grace Point Church in Long Beach, California, sang worship songs with hands raised and voices strong. But pastor Chris Sicks noticed something troubling — the same members who wept during altar calls walked past the homeless encampment on Pacific Avenue without a second glance. Their fasting was flawless. Their compassion was theoretical.

Then one Tuesday evening, Chris loaded a pocketful of quarters and walked into a coin laundromat on Anaheim Street. He started feeding machines for anyone who walked in — no questions, no tracts, no strings. Just clean clothes. Word spread. Volunteers showed up. They called it Laundry Love.

A single mother named Maria arrived with three garbage bags of clothes and two toddlers clinging to her legs. She hadn't been able to afford the machines in weeks. While the dryers tumbled, a volunteer named James sat with her kids, reading picture books on the scuffed linoleum floor. Nobody preached at Maria. Nobody asked if she was saved. They just folded her children's shirts and handed them back warm.

That is what the Lord means through Isaiah: "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen? To loose the chains of injustice... to share your food with the hungry and provide the poor wanderer with shelter?" The Almighty never asked for empty stomachs on fast days. He asked for open hands on every day. True worship has always smelled less like incense and more like warm laundry.