Dan Herman
The Man Responsible for Water: The story of Dan Herman
Every Tuesday morning, before most people in San Diego are thinking about dinner, Dan Herman is already making ice.
Plastic trays. Dishpans. Dollar Tree containers. Whatever he can find that will hold water long enough to freeze.
For years now, this 75-year-old member of Our Redeemer Lutheran Church has quietly filled freezers with ice, loaded tubs into his truck, and driven toward Old Town San Diego to serve people living on the streets through We See You San Diego.
He jokes about it.
“You can make ice for free,” he says with a smile. “It’s just frozen water.”
But anyone who has watched Dan serve knows it is about much more than water.
It is about presence.
About faithfulness.
About showing up.
And in a deeper way, it is about the Water of Life itself.
Dan is not a pastor. Not a missionary in the way many people imagine missionaries. He is what many would simply call an ordinary Lutheran guy from the Midwest.
And perhaps that is exactly why his story matters.
His roots stretch back to Minnesota, to a Lutheran mother and a Catholic father named George. After serving in the Navy, George returned home to Montana after his own father died, expected to take over the family farm. But farming was not in his heart. A sister finally told him, “George, you need to do something better with your life.”
George always wanted to be a mechanic.
So he moved to Fargo, North Dakota, to attend mechanic school. He stayed in a boarding house across the street from the home of a young Lutheran woman who ironed shirts for the men there to earn extra money.
One day, while she ironed one of George’s shirts, he looked at her and said:
“You do a nice job on that. I’ll take you out Friday night.”
That was the beginning.
The couple married, moved to Minnesota, and eventually raised four children. Dan grew up in Lutheran schools, Walter League youth gatherings, church fellowship, Boy Scouts, and Midwestern simplicity. Faith was not merely something spoken. It was woven into ordinary life.
Years later, when the family decided to leave Minnesota for California, they loaded everything they owned into an old school bus converted into a camper. Somewhere near Salt Lake City, the engine blew.
A stranger helped tow them into town. George pulled an engine from an old Chevy in a junkyard and installed it himself. They continued west.
When they finally arrived in Sacramento, another stranger helped them find a home. A Lutheran pastor helped George find work as a Chevy mechanic. Again and again, doors opened at just the right moment.
“I think God just took care of everything all the way along the trip,” Dan says.
Years later, Dan himself would serve in the Navy during the Vietnam era, eventually settling in San Diego. After moving into a neighborhood near La Mesa, he did what his mother once did in Sacramento:
He looked up Lutheran churches in the phone book.
The first church felt too large and impersonal. The next Sunday he visited Our Redeemer Lutheran Church.
Someone greeted him at the door.
Pastor Mike welcomed him personally.
And Dan found home.
That was more than fifty years ago.
Since then, Dan has served Our Redeemer in nearly every imaginable role — president, elder, usher, volunteer, encourager. His son Mike now serves as sexton at the church. His daughter-in-law Rocio is the bookkeeper. His daughter Leslie also served faithfully in congregational leadership for years.
Quiet faithfulness became a family language.
And yet, even after decades in church leadership, Dan never imagined that one sermon would send him into a new mission field.
One Sunday, Pastor Dave spoke about Christians being “salt” in the world. After the service, a fellow member named Angela approached him and said:
“If you want to be the salt, I know a place.”
That place was We See You San Diego.
What began years ago with just a handful of people sitting around a picnic table sharing pizza and soda has now grown exponentially into a remarkable ministry serving homeless and addicted men and women across San Diego County.
We See You San Diego takes a different approach to homelessness. Every Tuesday night in Old Town, volunteers gather to host what they call a “Dinner Party” for people living on the streets. Families, churches, volunteers, and community members come together not simply to hand out food, but to build relationships, restore dignity, and offer hope in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Through those weekly gatherings, trust is formed.
And through those relationships, people are invited into individualized pathways out of homelessness and addiction — including detox programs, residential recovery, sober living sponsorships, and supportive community as they transition back toward healthy independent living.
The mission is simple but powerful:
“To see lives transformed among the homeless and addicted.”
And through all the growth, all the movement, and all the logistics, Dan keeps showing up.
Every Tuesday.
Making ice.
Loading water.
Setting up tables.
Creating shade.
Welcoming people before they become “a problem” outside the gates.
By two o’clock, people can already come in from the heat, sit beneath tarps, drink something cold, and rest for a little while.
Dan understands something many people miss:
Hospitality begins before dinner is served.
And then there are the moments that stay with you forever.
One Tuesday, a man named Mickey arrived early in a wheelchair. Filthy. Exhausted. Injured. Broken down physically and emotionally.
“I’m done,” he told Dan quietly. “I’m ready to take your offer. I need help.”
As volunteers prepared dinner for nearly a hundred people gathering in the parking lot, another man named Brian approached Mickey.
Brian had once been homeless himself. Now he was helping serve through one of the recovery ranches connected to the ministry.
Mickey looked at him and asked something difficult:
“Could you wash my foot?”
Brian did not hesitate.
Right there in the middle of the crowd, he brought hot water, supplies, and gently washed the filthy wounded foot of a man everyone else might have avoided.
“I was a medic in the Army,” Brian explained quietly. “I know what I’m doing.”
Dan watched the entire scene unfold.
“That was one of the most compassionate things I’ve ever seen,” he later said.
And perhaps that is the heart of this story.
Not programs.
Not buildings.
Not statistics.
But ordinary Christians quietly carrying the mercy of Christ into forgotten corners of the city.
A former homeless man washing another man’s foot.
A recovery coordinator finding beds and resources.
Churches opening rooms for clothing storage.
Friars greeting people in brown robes.
And a 75-year-old Lutheran man making ice every Tuesday so strangers can drink cold water beneath the San Diego sun.
Dan does not see himself as extraordinary.
“I just like to help people,” he says.
Where did he learn that?
“All of them,” he says of his parents and church. “All of that.”
Maybe that is how the kingdom of God often works.
One generation teaching another.
One act of kindness leading to another.
One church member hearing a sermon about salt and light and simply deciding to show up.
Today, there are many ways to support the work of We See You San Diego — through donations, volunteering, serving meals, building relationships, helping with recovery efforts, or simply showing up consistently like Dan has done week after week.
And maybe someone reading this story will realize something too:
There is probably a place for them as well.
If you would like to learn more about serving with We See You San Diego or becoming involved in the Tuesday Dinner Party ministry, contact Dan Herman through Our Redeemer Lutheran Church.
The Lutheran Mission Society San Diego is also walking alongside Dan and many others, helping churches and missionaries create spaces where more people are always welcomed, seen, loved, and invited into community and hope we have in Jesus Christ.
Whether you feel called to join an existing ministry like We See You San Diego, support local missionaries, or even begin something entirely new to serve your community, the Lutheran Mission Society San Diego would love to walk alongside you, encourage you, and help you take the next step. Sometimes ministry begins with nothing more than a conversation, a burden on the heart, or one simple act of compassion.
There is always room for another person willing to bring a little water into a thirsty world.

