The Poppa currently pastors an inner city church. It
is not what we ever expected we would be doing. It's not the dream job
of ministry. It certainly doesn't pay well. You won't find our name on
the pages of any glossy "Happy Church" magazine. It's exhausting. It's
unpredictable. It's messy. It's complicated.
And yet, it is one of the most beautiful places we have ever served.
The small white building sits right in the middle of a very needy neighborhood. Many transient people. Truly, poor people. Disadvantaged would be the PC term these days. Through a continual God-miracle, our church family offers a free meal every Sunday morning. There is no cover-charge or hidden costs. There is no expectation of attending services. Two years ago we hung a small 6x8 sign out front: "Free Breakfast, Every Sunday @ 11:30 AM."
The first week 15 people showed up.
This past Sunday we filled up 74 plates.
These folks have become our people. They have captured my heart in ways I did not know were possible. Awhile ago one of our "regulars" suddenly died. Every woman who works in the kitchen cried the Sunday we found out about his death.
Our people are smelly. Dirty. Sloppy, even.
Some of them reek of alcohol. Sometimes they stagger.
Occasionally, they can be hungover.
But they are OUR people.
I find I love them in spite of these situations. Perhaps even because of it.And yet, it is one of the most beautiful places we have ever served.
The small white building sits right in the middle of a very needy neighborhood. Many transient people. Truly, poor people. Disadvantaged would be the PC term these days. Through a continual God-miracle, our church family offers a free meal every Sunday morning. There is no cover-charge or hidden costs. There is no expectation of attending services. Two years ago we hung a small 6x8 sign out front: "Free Breakfast, Every Sunday @ 11:30 AM."
The first week 15 people showed up.
This past Sunday we filled up 74 plates.
These folks have become our people. They have captured my heart in ways I did not know were possible. Awhile ago one of our "regulars" suddenly died. Every woman who works in the kitchen cried the Sunday we found out about his death.
Our people are smelly. Dirty. Sloppy, even.
Some of them reek of alcohol. Sometimes they stagger.
Occasionally, they can be hungover.
But they are OUR people.
God provided a way for us to operate a food pantry. Every Sunday we are able to give every person who comes to breakfast a bag of groceries. (My kids love to "work" the food pantry. Ms. Sherry, the amazing volunteer who coordinates everything allows them to be her helpers. I plan on writing more about my kids & this outreach more later.)Some Sundays I wash dishes.
Some Sundays I stand in the hallway & help direct traffic.
And when I do, I like to touch each person who walks by.
I pat them on the back or on the arm & tell them that I hope they have a good week. I assure them that we are glad they visited with us. I encourage them to come back next Sunday.
Our people aren't normally touched by society.
They just aren't.
Think about how great it feels when someone holds your hand or gives you a hug. Humans are made to be connected to other humans. Part of that connection is actual.physical.contact.
Skin on skin.
And maybe, just maybe it's a reminder that Jesus is touching them too. That He loves to touch the "untouchables."
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