A day in Chelsea

Because my life is insane and ridiculously adventure-ridden, I have had a highly abnormal work week. For various complicated reasons, today took me, not to New Jersey as usual, but to Holy Apostles soup kitchen in Chelsea. This feeding ministry is one of the oldest and largest in Manhattan - they serve over 1200 meals every weekday! That's not an entirely accurate reflection of how many people they serve, because, unlike in many other soup kitchens, guests are invited to go through the line as many times as they like. But then, it's not a conventional soup kitchen, any way you look at it.

For starters, it's in a church. And not just in a church basement, but in the nave itself - which is thought-provoking in a whole host of ways. Instead of pews, there are 20 or so tables scattered throughout the sanctuary, where groups of people from every imaginable demographic sit and eat. Off to the side is a station where a chiropractor offers her services, free of charge, to anyone who wants an adjustment (another highly thought-provoking way of practicing outreach ministry). In another corner, a volunteer plays background music on the piano. Above it all, a banner hanging from the choir loft proclaims: "There shall be no outcasts in the Episcopal Church." How's that for practicing what you preach?

Holy Apostles feeds people, yes. But more than that, it affirms the human dignity of every man, woman, and child who walks through its doors. As a result, the atmosphere is completely different from any other soup kitchen I've ever been to - sure, there are plenty of unhappy and unpleasant people, but for the most part, everyone I meet is surprisingly cheerful and grateful. Perhaps that's because there was no status difference between the several hundred guests and the 50+ volunteers, many of whom are homeless and/or jobless themselves. It was really an incredible opportunity for me.

And, of course, because I seem to have a knack for having ridiculous interactions with strangers, here is the take-away story of my day: there I am, serving what must be my 800th cup of lemonade, when a short, rather bug-eyed man comes over and starts staring at me.

"Do you want a refill?" I ask

Completely ignoring this, he gazes up at me and proclaims:

"Moles don't have eyes."

"Uh....really?" I stammer, completely bewildered.

"YOU have eyes," he affirms, points emphatically at my face, and then walks away. 

Really? Because somehow I wasn't clear on that one :)