The old church is large...
Illustration
The old church is large, and elevated above street level by a double flight of stairs, bounded by iron railings, and huge wooden doors. It is a relic from an earlier time, when this neighborhood was immigrant, middle working class, and the congregation was young families who came to church and Sunday school every week. Now the gothic stained-glass windows are covered with tough plastic and wire mesh, protection from stones and bottles regularly thrown by boisterous teenagers showing off. The greenery that used to line the inner wall under the windows is now all silk, because the winter cold can no longer be driven back all week. The balcony is used for storage, since there are never enough worshippers to fill it, even on Christmas and Easter. But this congregation has not given in. There is a side door that is never locked during the day, which is unusual in this neighborhood. That door leads to the soup kitchen in the basement, and every morning there is the rattle of dishes being set out, and the smell of baking bread and cooking vegetables warms the soul. By 11:00, the line is forming. Old folks, street folks, women with small children gather and gossip in good weather, huddle together for warmth and commiseration in bad weather. That side door also leads to the local Head Start program, which holds classes every afternoon. In the next room, a young mother's group meets every day, though the group shifts in numbers; here, the women exchange complaints and advice, learn how to prepare foods "from scratch" (a skill the older women of the congregation share with the girls who never had a cooking lesson), and learn first aid and parenting skills. Through that door comes a parish nurse, social workers, volunteers, those in need. They share two things: a love of Christ and a need to come together, both of which an old church is proud to be able to provide in a changing neighborhood. -- Herrmann
