Serving Supper
30/07/16 05:10
I didn’t check the official count, but by the amount of food that we served, I think that we served about 130 people last night. It was our turn to serve supper at the Cornerstone Rescue Mission, a ministry that provides basic food and shelter for homeless people in our community. The team from our church always prepares a solid home-cooked meal of casserole, hot vegetable, fruit salad, rolls and dessert. My schedule doesn’t always allow me to participate in the serving, but I am able to be a part of the action three or four times each year.
The evening begins with a brief devotion, which I was honored to lead last night. The dining room was packed with people of all ages.
The amazing thing about serving is the parade of people that comes by. In Rapid City, many of those served by the mission have jobs and have been working all day long and they arrive in their work clothes. In the summer, the basement of the mission is a cool place to temporarily escape the heat of outdoors. The dinner line is a parade of people of all ages and abilities - a mixture that reflects the wide diversity of our community. As one might expect from a group of people that size, there are a variety of moods. Some folks are tired and silent, others are talkative and enjoy visiting as they go through the line. Some are quick to express their gratitude for the food, others are simply interested in getting through the line and getting fed. Some of the children are shy and reluctant to talk to the stranger behind the serving line. Others smile eagerly and have a few words for us as they wait for their food. Some people have eaten at the mission many times before and are familiar with the routine. Others have just found themselves in a place of need and are looking around to discover what to do and how to act. A few are embarrassed to be found in such circumstances.
The staff at the mission are practiced at making folks feel welcome and there is light banter between the staff and some of the folks who are being served. Some folks will be sleeping in the shelter while others will receive the meal and spend the night in their cars, campgrounds or other places.
I am struck by how many of the people who are served live with disabilities. There are wheelchairs, scooters, walkers and canes. There are folks who need assistance carrying their trays and there are others who are quick to help.
What is obvious from serving and watching the people go by is that there are many different kinds of folks who arrive for the meal. If one has stereotypes about the homeless in the community, it only takes one evening of sharing with the people at the mission to discover that these are not people who are different from ourselves and our neighbors. They are, in fact, our neighbors: people who share our community.
In order to provide a safe place, the mission screens for intoxication. As a result we might not be encountering those who have the most persistent and deepest problems. There are safe beds available at City-County Addiction Services, but those folks often get a cold meal and don’t have the kind of community support that is found at the mission.
The need to be a part of a team that is efficient in serving a number of people means that my evenings of volunteering don't give me time to sit and interview the people served by the mission. My conversations are brief and I never really learn the stories of those I encounter. I can tell, however, that some of them have long and complex stories. Sometimes I make assumptions, but they could be off base. For example a man about my age who is wearing an old military jacket might be a veteran of the war in Vietnam. There are about 58,000 homeless Vietnam veterans in the United States today. A woman assisting three children with their trays might be a single mother struggling to provide for her family little or no assistance. A young couple might have been traveling through our area and encountered unexpected expenses or trouble. The guy in the corner fingering his bible might have had a relatively recent religious conversion or other religious experience. The person with a grease smudge on the cheek might have a car that is broken down somewhere outside, or perhaps might have come straight from work, rushing to make it into the serving line before the doors are closed and there is no more food for the evening.
I have long been a people watcher. I enjoy looking at the parade of people in any crowded location and thinking about the stories that are behind the lives that are present. The mission makes a very good place to watch people. I read the logos and sayings on the t-shirts, but I know that some of those shirts have come from the thrift store and were chosen for utility not for the image on the shirt. I notice some of the tattoos and piercings, and recognize that there are folks whose stories are very different from my own. I make assumptions about relationships based on the order that people go through the line, but I know that my speculations could be wrong. A pair of women look similar and I think they might be sisters, but their stories remain hidden from me as the next folks come through the line.
Last night as I lay in my comfortable bed, well-fed and satisfied, I kept remembering the people at the mission. Our paths crossed briefly one evening. For many of them, we’ll never see each other again. For a few, I’ll eventually learn their names and part of their story. Some I will meet in another context and not remember why they look familiar to me.
Each is a person, distinct and wondrously human. Each is a child of God. Each is a brother or sister. And I am better for the brief time that we were able to share.
The evening begins with a brief devotion, which I was honored to lead last night. The dining room was packed with people of all ages.
The amazing thing about serving is the parade of people that comes by. In Rapid City, many of those served by the mission have jobs and have been working all day long and they arrive in their work clothes. In the summer, the basement of the mission is a cool place to temporarily escape the heat of outdoors. The dinner line is a parade of people of all ages and abilities - a mixture that reflects the wide diversity of our community. As one might expect from a group of people that size, there are a variety of moods. Some folks are tired and silent, others are talkative and enjoy visiting as they go through the line. Some are quick to express their gratitude for the food, others are simply interested in getting through the line and getting fed. Some of the children are shy and reluctant to talk to the stranger behind the serving line. Others smile eagerly and have a few words for us as they wait for their food. Some people have eaten at the mission many times before and are familiar with the routine. Others have just found themselves in a place of need and are looking around to discover what to do and how to act. A few are embarrassed to be found in such circumstances.
The staff at the mission are practiced at making folks feel welcome and there is light banter between the staff and some of the folks who are being served. Some folks will be sleeping in the shelter while others will receive the meal and spend the night in their cars, campgrounds or other places.
I am struck by how many of the people who are served live with disabilities. There are wheelchairs, scooters, walkers and canes. There are folks who need assistance carrying their trays and there are others who are quick to help.
What is obvious from serving and watching the people go by is that there are many different kinds of folks who arrive for the meal. If one has stereotypes about the homeless in the community, it only takes one evening of sharing with the people at the mission to discover that these are not people who are different from ourselves and our neighbors. They are, in fact, our neighbors: people who share our community.
In order to provide a safe place, the mission screens for intoxication. As a result we might not be encountering those who have the most persistent and deepest problems. There are safe beds available at City-County Addiction Services, but those folks often get a cold meal and don’t have the kind of community support that is found at the mission.
The need to be a part of a team that is efficient in serving a number of people means that my evenings of volunteering don't give me time to sit and interview the people served by the mission. My conversations are brief and I never really learn the stories of those I encounter. I can tell, however, that some of them have long and complex stories. Sometimes I make assumptions, but they could be off base. For example a man about my age who is wearing an old military jacket might be a veteran of the war in Vietnam. There are about 58,000 homeless Vietnam veterans in the United States today. A woman assisting three children with their trays might be a single mother struggling to provide for her family little or no assistance. A young couple might have been traveling through our area and encountered unexpected expenses or trouble. The guy in the corner fingering his bible might have had a relatively recent religious conversion or other religious experience. The person with a grease smudge on the cheek might have a car that is broken down somewhere outside, or perhaps might have come straight from work, rushing to make it into the serving line before the doors are closed and there is no more food for the evening.
I have long been a people watcher. I enjoy looking at the parade of people in any crowded location and thinking about the stories that are behind the lives that are present. The mission makes a very good place to watch people. I read the logos and sayings on the t-shirts, but I know that some of those shirts have come from the thrift store and were chosen for utility not for the image on the shirt. I notice some of the tattoos and piercings, and recognize that there are folks whose stories are very different from my own. I make assumptions about relationships based on the order that people go through the line, but I know that my speculations could be wrong. A pair of women look similar and I think they might be sisters, but their stories remain hidden from me as the next folks come through the line.
Last night as I lay in my comfortable bed, well-fed and satisfied, I kept remembering the people at the mission. Our paths crossed briefly one evening. For many of them, we’ll never see each other again. For a few, I’ll eventually learn their names and part of their story. Some I will meet in another context and not remember why they look familiar to me.
Each is a person, distinct and wondrously human. Each is a child of God. Each is a brother or sister. And I am better for the brief time that we were able to share.