|English: People eating at a soup kitchen. Montreal, Canada Français : Personnes mangeant dans une soupe populaire. Montréal, Canada. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)|
My friend Nadine called me up yesterday and said, "What are you doing
tomorrow morning at 6:30?"
"Well, Nadine, I expect I'll be getting ready to go to the Museum,"
I said into the phone with raised eyebrows.
I know phones don't have eyebrows, but you get my drift.
Nadine belongs to a church that is part of a large number of city churches
that provide breakfast to the hungry every morning of the year.
And they needed some extra help this morning.
I didn't have to be at the Museum till nine so I said I'd do it.
As far as I know there were no ministers or priests in attendance.
It was just local men and women coming out in the cold, dark, early morning
to help other people.
There was no praying, no biblical messages - just bare walls, tables, chairs
and tons of toast, peanut butter, jam, cheeze wiz, porridge, cereal, juice,
milk and coffee.
The thing I didn't see this morning, the thing I was dreading -
The young man with schizophrenia, the woman with the black eye, the man
who couldn't eat bread crusts because he had no teeth, - they all felt safe in
that church basement.
They brought their tired faces and their bad smells in with their hunger
and were welcomed.
I felt honoured to have been able to help.
For all the good folks in the world who do this regularly: