I packed a lunch the first time I went
on a Street Retreat with the Faithful Fools. While I considered
myself comfortable in the Tenderloin, I knew I wasn't
going to eat at one of the soup kitchens. I don't remember anymore
the precise reasons I gave myself not to, but when I hear others give
them, they sound familiar: the food will be bad, I don't want to eat
food someone who really
needs it might, they won't have anything that meets my dietary
requirements, I don't want to waste time standing in line I could use
doing something more useful or interesting.
Of
course, there's always fear: the dining halls that serve hungry
people for free are almost always out of view – in basements or
behind windowless walls or fences. Until we go into one, we don't
really know what happens there, who eats there, or what they eat.
When we go in as a volunteer, we get to see some of this, but our
name sticker or apron and permission to stand behind the counter –
our identity as a server rather than guest or client – shows us a
different side of the experience.
In the
twelve years since that first Retreat, I have partaken in free food
offered by dozens of organizations in San Francisco and around the
U.S., and I find myself reflecting on these experiences now that the
Fools and I have committed to support Welcome in its work to provide
food and hospitality to people every Tuesday and two Saturdays per
month. The experience I've had at each meal is as varied as the
people who serve it.
One of
my favorite places to eat for free lies behind a tall, nondescript
fence on a busy street. If you arrive early, you are handed a number
and can sit on a rock in the garden as you wait for your group to be
called. There's always a vegetarian soup and a fresh salad, and when
there's another soup with meat, or croutons for the salad, the
volunteers will ask if you want some before serving you. A little out
of the way, and serving a somewhat specialized fare, the few hundred
who eat there each day are treated to a comparatively quiet space
where the chairs never seem to all fill, encouraging lingering.
Programs
that feed thousands a day don't have those same luxuries – when a
line wraps around a city block, it doesn't make sense to have guests
just sit and chat. Larger programs also tend to find efficiencies in
serving the food as well. Trays are usually uniformly filled
assembly-line style and passed with a smile to guests who then go
looking for a seat. One morning at a large feeding program, I was
dismayed to discover my bagel was slightly moldy. I felt worse upon
looking around the table and seeing that mine was the least
moldy bagel at the table. I was struck that each tray was passed
through the hands of three volunteers after being filled, before
reaching the guest's hands. Was there a moment when any volunteer
asked “will the person who gets this tray want to eat it?”
Hungry
people get fed when someone realizes there is a need, and finds a way
to meet it. This means feeding people in the space available, which
can be a church basement entered via long passages and stairways
revealing the pipes and inner-workings of the building, a space built
for the purpose of feeding people, or sometimes outside in a park,
square, or sidewalk. After finding a closed door at an address I
found on a free food list in New York City, I waited on the steps
outside a train station until a van drove up and handed out baloney
sandwiches, punch, and an apple to those of us gathered.
One of
my favorite food programs says “This is not charity. This is a
protest!” and feeds hundreds in view of City Hall with discards
collected from stores and restaurants – at its best we get organic
soup and salad, at worst it's been a bucket of oatmeal that arrives
(still welcome by hungry stomachs) an hour late.
One
time, while standing in line for another meal, I saw a man dancing in
a flowing straw mask to a couple of drummers while others walked away
from this surprising ritual with plates heaped with colorful fragrant
fare. Over the years, this unique group has grown, both in guests and
volunteers, but the founder continues his practice of walking down
the line, and taking each person's hand as he looks them in the eye
and says “Happy Tuesday!” His spiritual practice extends to
fasting each Tuesday until all guests are fed, and the love he
expresses in the songs of gratitude he sings throughout the meal is a
nourishing of the soul as the food he shares from his homeland is of
the body.
We all
have eaten food from someone else's kitchen – maybe a friend's, a
family member's, a restaurant's, or a soup kitchen's - and from that
know the difference between a great meal and something that just
filled our stomach. When you are hungry, a full stomach can be a
great thing, but the exchange of care and love provides a lasting
nourishment those who come to eat as well as those who offer the
meal.
As we
serve our meals at Welcome, we reflect on the ingredients that make
up a great meal: What can we serve that is healthy? That tastes good?
How does our preparation show the care we feel for our guests? How do
we stay centered in our role as hosts? How do we encourage politeness
and comfort among both guests and hosts? How do we help everyone feel
Welcome?
Join
us for a meal sometime! Tuesdays 2-4pm. 2nd
and 4th
Saturdays 5:30-7pm.
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