Download a digital copy (1.5 MB) - Open Door Community

236 ˜ A Work of Hospitality, 1982–2002
We knew that 6 a.m. would bring the opening doors of the city’s day-labor
center. There we sat in plastic chairs and slept, but no one made us move on. It
was very crowded and noisy, but sleep came easily for thirty minutes or so.
Eight o’clock brought the blessed opening of the “grits line” at Butler Street
Church. We at the Open Door had been preparing this breakfast for a long time
by then, but never did I realize how wonderful a bowl of hot grits, an egg, orange
slices, and a steaming cup of hot coffee could look. Finally I felt warm inside.
We headed for Central City Park. All I wanted was to lie down and sleep in
the sunshine. It was still chilly and windy, but I fell asleep on the grass.
I woke to find that my male companions were a short distance away, so that
I appeared to be alone. Two young men nearby started to hassle me. Groggy and
disoriented by this time, I nearly exploded with anger. I was angry that I felt so
bad. I was mad at these guys for hassling me. I was angry because I felt vulnerable.
I was furious with a society that assumes women to be objects for male
sport. I got up in a huff and stalked off, muttering under my breath.
We hit all the soup kitchens on Peachtree that day. Even after I was satisfied,
I kept eating and kept drinking coffee because it was more pleasant to sit
down in a friendly space than to stay on the move. We saw many friends at St.
Luke’s and Redeemer. “Hey!” said one guy who occasionally comes to our soup
kitchen. “Hey, did you get put out of 910”
We talked about what we were doing, why we were on the streets, why Holy
Week was an important time for us to share with our homeless friends. Our explanations
were met with a mixture of interest and curiosity. To many it seemed
strange that anyone would be on the streets for any reason but a cruel twist
of fate.
The rest of the day was a blur: we moved around, always looking for a place
to sit down and rest, a place to use a bathroom, a spot to warm ourselves in the
sun. Time became very heavy. My feet and legs ached. The day was very long.
As the sun set it got cold again. I was afraid the 7:30 p.m. worship service in
the courtyard of Central Presbyterian Church would never come.
But finally we gathered, a little knot of folk, singing, reading scripture,
standing very close to keep warm, praying for our homeless friends with a newfound
fervor.
John, Norman, Richard, and I got in the cars with those returning home.
Four others left the circle and disappeared into the night.
And so it went through the week. We gathered for our Holy Week liturgy
on the streets for six nights, at Central Presbyterian (home to a large night shelter,
now closed for the spring), St. Luke’s Episcopal (soup kitchen), Central City
Park, First Methodist Church (women’s day shelter), City Hall, and Plaza Park.
Always we were outside, whatever the weather. Each night a group would come
into our circle and another group would leave.
On Good Friday we learned something new about being outsiders. As we