A few months ago there was a back and forth between some homelessness-engaged community volunteers and workers about the fact that in our town, people have access to food banks and meals 5 days a week. Which in a smaller town, is pretty good.
Between churches, volunteers, and community agencies there were (if I'm counting correctly) 2 dinners, one breakfast, and 5 lunches. The two foodbanks, between them, are open 3 days per week.
So my church stepped in to cover Sundays with a bag lunch. We're not equipped, facilitied (that's a word now), or peopled to run an in-house hot meal, so it's what we can do. Sundays make sense because, on some long weekends, the foodbanks are not open on Mondays. Volunteers are people, too.
The first week we made 8 sandwiches. 12 people came, so we improvised. We gave the others snack bags containing drinks of their choice plus a protein bar, and some sweets. One of the volunteers walked down a block to a sub shop and bought a bunch of $10 gift cards (which will pay for a basic small sandwich).
The second week, we made 12. That was a good number for a few weeks, with some snack bags handed out as well.
But the gift cards really run up expenses and we just don't have the dosh, so we started making 18 sandwiches each week. For a little while, we had 2 or 3 leftovers, but then we started running out. Snack bags, gift cards.
So then we started making 24. Again, for a while, we had a few leftovers (which my family had for lunch on Mondays). But the budget started getting stretched, and the grant money from our denomination started going into the red. Just a little.
So we decided we need to stop doing the gift cards. They work in a pinch. They are appreciated by the folks who receive them. Partly because they mean you can eat at a table, sitting on a dry chair, with the benefits of HVAC. But the co$t just add$ up too fa$$$t.
This week, we made 24 lunches. Each one contains either a banana or an orange, a substantial sandwich, a protein bar, a hard-boiled egg, some chocolate, and the recipient's drink of choice.
We ran out.
We put together 6 snack bags, adding in fruit cups and a bamboo spoon.
We put together 4 more.
We ran out.
We turned two people away.
We put this sign in the window.
We closed the door.
A friend knocked and asked if we had anything at all that we could share with him and his wife.
We made two more snack bags.
We turned out the lights.
Our official hours for the lunches (as posted) are 11:30 to 12:15. That gives the volunteers time after our worship service to get organised. This week, by 11:15 there were half a dozen people already waiting. Hungry.
Some are housed. Some are not. Some are addicted. Some are not. Several are senior citizens. Several have part-time jobs. All are caught in the mire of food insecurity. Which (according to the local food bank rep) is getting deeper. In our town, 10% of us depend on our food banks. Ten actual percent.
But we can't give folks what we don't have. So we're talking about boundaries.
Not physical ones. People are welcome to wait in the lobby (or join us for the service). Welcome to come in and sit down on a dry chair.
We need boundaries for ourselves. To define space that gives us permission to do absolutely everything we can do. And then give ourselves permission to put up a sign and turn out the lights.
Without castigating ourselves for having to say no.
Which is hard to do, face to face with someone who is hungry.
It still hurt to put up that sign. To look someone in the eye and say no.
We're stewarding as best we can the money we have. We need to do the same for our own souls. There's a fine line between heartbreak and burnout.
One is inevitable. The other can (I hope) be avoided.
Next Sunday the doors will be open. The lights will be on. The bags will be packed with love and care. And the folks whose names and faces we know better and better will be welcome and that much less hungry.
For a while.
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