When my family and I found Park Road Church, six or seven years ago, we were looking for a place to worship, but also a place to serve. And one of the first jobs we found here was helping with Room In The Inn.
Twice a month, during the winter, Park Road opens it’s doors to twelve of our neighbors who are experiencing homelessness; Sometimes men, sometimes women, and too often small children in diapers. They arrive carrying everything they own. We can offer a warm meal, a clean bed, and a chance to take a shower. They can also do some laundry or charge a phone. We too easily take these things for granted but for our neighbors these are things they can't always count. Volunteers from our community set up the youth building, transport our guests from the Urban Ministry Center, prepare and serve dinner, as well as breakfasts and bagged lunches for the next day.
Many of our guests know the routine well and we have had a number of familiar faces pass through our doors. Most nights pass without mention, but one night stands out for me, for a number of reasons.
Around 2a, a lady named Mary, probably in her early 60s, came into the living room, where I was sleeping on the couch. I'm used to pointing out where the bathrooms are or where the water glasses are, but Mary had something else in mind. She asked if we had any pie leftover from dinner. So I started the pot of coffee a few hours early, and cut two pieces of pie for us.
We sat around a round table, and she talked about how she ended up in this spot, about the series of misfortunes that led her to living on the streets, about the everyday challenges for a woman her age in this situation. As we talked, with mostly her doing the talking, it became obvious that what she wanted more than anything was someone to listen to her. I did ask her at one point what she needed, if there were particular items or services that might be useful to help her through.
She looked back at me and said: "What we need is affordable housing." Feeling a little embarrassed for not being able to provide that at this hour of night, or any time really, I let her talk about how hard it was to break out of the cycle she had found herself in, in this city of such great prosperity. And then things got quiet for a second, and she looked at me and said "This is good pie, thank you," and she got up and headed back to bed.
For all the churches I've ever been in, and all the sacraments I've ever participated in, that may have been the first time I think I ever understood what communion really meant.
We can't fix this city's housing crisis. We can't fix the problems that led these neighbors here. But we can offer them the hospitality we've been asked to share, in remembrance of him.
— Darin Gantt