Rescuing

Just when I think I am beginning to get a grasp on this city, I have an experience that makes me feel clueless. This morning I took the subway up to Harlem with my wife Chris and my cohort Dave to help out in a community food bank. The Yorkville Common Pantry provides food for over 1800 people a week. Communitas people have volunteered here a dozen times or so. Until today, I have worked in the back pantry area where food packets are assembled for distribution. We put together bags of staple foods for families of various sizes. When families come to pick them up, the bags are given out along with some fresh vegetables and meat. Today I was assigned to work in the distribution area. There were two choices for meat- chicken or pork. As each family came, I was to ask them if they wanted chicken or pork. Sounded pretty simple. Except that the first, second, third, fourth (you get the point), did not speak English. Most spoke Spanish. So Dave got on the phone to his wife, Michelle, who is fluent in Spanish, and asked for the Spanish words for chicken and pork. Armed with two new Spanish words in my vocabulary, I began to ask which they wanted in Spanish, bringing confused looks and occasionally nods and the word “yes”. Yes to which one? Pork or chicken? Clearly, this was not working.

One of our other Communitas friends, Jennifer, who is a Spanish teacher, observed what was going on, pulled me aside and gave me a quick lesson on the correct pronunciation of chicken and pork in Spanish. I tired again- only to realize that I was now speaking Spanish to a Chinese man who kept saying “yes” and “thank you”. So I retired from my position and spent the next four hours bagging vegetables and bagels- and watching the parade of nations. Unbelievable to think that so many people who live in America and call this country home have limited or no ability to speak our language. How did they get here? Why did they come? How can they function when they cannot communicate outside of their small circle of relatives and friends? And these are my neighbors. We live together in this city which I am realizing more and more is a microcosm of the world.

As I reflected on my experience later in the day, it is also clear that the work of Jesus in NYC has to be as varied and diverse as the city itself. Communitas has very limited ability than to do more than to serve the needs of these communities within the city, since I only know how to say “chicken” and “pork” improperly in Spanish. I’m not sure what the Chinese man heard me saying!

Later in the day, Communitas served at a mission in the Chinatown area of Manhattan. My job this time was to simply hand a plate of food to those coming into the New York City Rescue Mission. Fortunately, there were no choices this time, only one thing on the menu. Over 200 meals were served to the men and women who came in. They were young and old and also represented a broad spectrum of ethnicities, but nearly all of them spoke English. As I handed each a plate of food, I wondered about their story. What put them into a place where they had to rely on a soup kitchen for a meal? Why are they living in the most expensive place to live in the world?

My normal inclination has been to judge people in these circumstances. I would assume that drugs, alcohol, irresponsibility, etc. have landed them in this situation. But since moving to New York, I have found a growing desire to hear their stories, to know what has brought them to this place. I am certain that not one of the men or women to whom I handed a plate of food tonight had dreams when they were young of eating at a soup kitchen and living in a shelter. And I know that they all hope for a better future. Perhaps intersecting love by way of food and shelter will provide an opportunity for change.

As I left the mission, I spoke to a young man working at the front desk of the Mission. I thought he was a staff member, but as we talked, I discovered that he is a resident in the Mission’s program. I did not have time to get his whole story, but He came in off the street, and in the provision and protection of the mission, his life is coming back into focus. This spring, he plans to enroll in college. And he is growing in his relationship with Jesus. I shudder to think where he might be today if the Mission did not exist. This is why we help out in places like the Yorkville Pantry in Harlem and the Rescue Mission in Chinatown. God’s eyes are on the down and outers in this city, and rescuing them often begins with just keeping them alive.