The homeless encampment on Sacramento Street, across from the city auto pound, is in its second winter. On a snowy Friday morning, the men and women who live there were zipped into their makeshift dwellings, the nylon walls their only insulation from the 14 degree chill.

A silver SUV pulled up, and a man in a Chicago Bears hat stepped out with three blankets draped over his arm, and a plastic bag containing knitted gloves. He approached a tent, calling, “Hello! Anybody home?” The zipper came down, and a middle-aged man named Mario stuck his head out into the snow. He’s been on the streets for four months. He kicked his heroin habit, but, he admitted, he’s still “messing with the cocaine.”

“Do you want a blanket?” asked Jerry Schultz, who has spent this cold-weather season on a one-man mission to keep the homeless warm.

Mario nodded, so Jerry peeled off a blanket and handed it through the opening.

“Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and savior?” Jerry asked.

“Yes I have,” Mario said.

“Can I pray for you?”

“Of course.”

Jerry held up his left hand, on whose middle finger was a ring inscribed with crosses.

“Father, in the mighty name of Jesus, we pray for Mario right now. Father God, he’s your child,” Jerry prayed. “He knows you as your savior. Fill this tent with your holy spirit, Father God, wrap your warmth around him, God, where he knows you’re there, every single minute of every single day. God loves you so much, and He wants you to live an abundant life, Mario. This is only for a season, this isn’t forever. You’re in the enemy’s camp right now. When you come out, you’re going to be a general for the Lord.”

Then Jerry handed Mario five dollars, which he hoped the homeless man would spend on food. Many days, Jerry brings bags of McDonald’s to the encampments, but he hadn’t had time to stop at the restaurant that morning.

Jerry, 56, is not wealthy. He doesn’t have the endowment of a well-known charity behind him. Jerry works as a waiter at a Moretti’s pizza parlor. He lives in an apartment in the attic of his pastor’s, who leads Sword of Fire Ministries in Clearing. He doesn’t own a car, so he’s driven from camp to camp by his fellow parishioners, or else takes trains and buses. He buys blankets at thrift shops, all out of his own salary and tips. One snowy day, he earned $72 shoveling sidewalks and spent all the money on blankets and gloves. Jerry doesn’t have much, but what he has, he donates to the poor. It’s a project that gives meaning to a life that, before he joined his church, he often felt was meaningless. He was drinking and doing cocaine, living in a Bridgeport rooming house, barely paying his $600 a month rent. He’d even been homeless for a few weeks, riding trains and buses to keep warm.

“I hated living,” he said. “There was no point to it. Then I called a pastor. She came over with three ladies from the church, and something touched me.”

Soon after his conversion, though, he began to feel it wasn’t enough simply to pray. He wanted to make his religion “a hands-on thing.”

“I take the trains, I see people begging for money, asking for food,” he said. “As it started getting colder, I saw the tents. I wondered how they’re staying warm. I prayed about it. I felt led by the Holy Spirit. It felt personal. In my heart, I felt they were family. I had blankets I was going to donate to the Salvation Army, but I decided to give them directly.”

On the flyers he’s been pinning up around the city since October, Jerry invites people to come along on his mission. Several have taken him up on his offer. Thanksgiving was a popular day for fellow travelers.

“I want them to get involved,” he said. “I want them to see firsthand what homeless means. I want them to see that a human being is living in a tent. It’s tangible.”

After Mario zipped up his tent to huddle under his new blanket, Jerry saw a man named Mark pushing a shopping cart up the street. It was loaded with scrap metal, Mark’s hustle for food money. Mark pulled up to a tent covered with a brown tarpaulin. A propane tank peeked out under the skirts. Mark’s wife was in there, and he wanted to keep her warm.

“I’m Jerry,” Jerry introduced himself. “I’ve got some gloves. You need a blanket? I can give you a couple dollars to go get something to eat.”

“I’m starvin’ now,” Mark said, then explained why he’s living in the encampment: “Legally evicted. God’s been testing me.”

“You believe in Jesus Christ?” Jerry asked.

“I sure do.”

“Father, in the mighty name of Jesus, we pray for Mark, that you will just guide him. Lord, I pray protection over them. I pray that you will protect them in these tents and make a way where there seems to be no way.”

As Jerry prayed, Mark lifted a grimy hand. Dirt was crusted under his fingernails.

“Do you have Bibles?” Jerry asked.

“Yeah.”

“You gotta read your Bible. The word of God is so powerful. God wants to give you an abundant life. I was addicted. I had an addiction problem, and God saved me from it, and my life has never been the same. He gave me a heart, and He’ll do that for you.”

There was one more tent to visit. A man named Jose. Jerry handed him a blanket, handed him five singles, and prayed over him.

“I pray with all of ’em,” Jerry told me. “Some of them are happy to go back in their tent. Some of them want to talk. They want to know that they’re still human and someone wants to talk to them.”

Then Jerry hustled back to the car, where one of his “sisters” was waiting at the wheel. He’d be back, as soon as he could afford more blankets.