I don't know what I was expecting; in fact, I'm not even sure why I decided to go. But around 4:00 PM on Saturday, October 2, 1998 I found myself driving in ever-widening concentric circles around the church, looking for a parking place. When I finally found one, I joined a small group of people in the kitchen. They were already hard at work, with Susan Young and River Sims (a "street priest" in the Polk Gulch neighborhood and Director of Temenos Catholic Worker Ministry) giving instructions about food preparation. I was set to the task of washing salad greens on a large scale, and I was comfortable with my job. It was very deacon-like. The soup pot was bubbling, the tables were set and it seemed much like a Soup and Study evening.

Then River called us all into the Munro Room for pre-dinner devotions. He read two passages from The New Testament about generosity and the lack thereof: Luke 16;19-26 and Luke 21; 1-4. The first is the story of the rich man who dined happily and comfortably in the confines of his own home every day, never seeing wretched Lazarus at his very door begging for a few crumbs that might fall unnoticed from the rich man's table. When both men had died, the rich man was separated from Abraham by a gulf so vast that it could not be crossed while Lazarus was in his arms. When the rich man begged for a drop of water from Lazarus' finger, Abraham refused him, reminding him of his own disregard for others. The second reading is the story of the widow's mite, and how her gift of two pennies was far more precious than the large donations of the rich, because she gave what she could not spare.

River Sims emphasized that we were inviting people into our home, not just to give them a hot meal that, but to share our hospitality and ourselves with them. I began to realize this evening was going to be different from any other evening that I'd ever experienced before.

River next announced that the church volunteers would not just be scurrying back and forth between the kitchen and the tables. He invited some of us to go out on the street with him and invite people in. Others of us were to be ready to rotate between serving and sitting with our guests, talking with them as we shared our meal. River assured us we didn't have to do anything that we didn't want to, but he did invite us to listen to our guests with open hearts and to recognize that we were likely to have the same stories.

When River was ready to go out, Bryan Nichols and I joined him and one of his interns. I was carrying a bag of sandwiches (River hands out about 200 sandwiches each night he is out on the street) for the people who declined our invitation for a hot meal. River knows lots of people on the street. He would extend the invitation to dinner and offer a kind word if they declined. I would give them a sandwich.

People would often ask where the church was located, interested in a free, hot meal without even the string of a service attached. When we had gone down Polk Street as far as Sutter and we gave the location as Van Ness and Sacramento, they would often shake their heads and say that was too far to go. I was struck by how small the boundary of their world is; until then, I had hardly noticed how many blocks we had walked.

Sometimes people would not be able to focus on the invitation. River would reach into his bag and seemed to be able to pull out what ever was needed. For one who cried for a blessing, he had a small bottle of oil to anoint as he said his words of comfort. For another, he had a bus token. Bryan and I admired his "one-stop shopping bag". At one point, River sat down on the sidewalk and took off his socks to give them to a man who had none. River said he usually carried an extra pair of socks but had forgotten them this night.

We made our way back to church, escorting a few of our guests. Others had already arrived and had begun the meal. We served the guests as they came in and I sat down to talk a couple of times. I'm not one to have conversation topics at the ready when I don't know people; I was nervous about what to say. I was amazed at how easily the words came from both parties. I spent quite a bit of time talking with a man named Thomas, we comparing stories about the difficulties of overcoming addictions - mine with tobacco and his with alcohol. River was right. Our stories were much the same.

Before this, I had avoided making eye contact with these people as I hurried to church or to the office. Now I felt a real connection with them. They weren't just The Homeless, they were people as individual as anybody else. I was both exhilarated and saddened when the evening was over. I was happy to have a new level of understanding, but also was aware that it was going to be hard to keep the experience in my heart.

It's been about a month since the first dinner. During this time I've tried not to overlook people as I walk by. I'm still not sure what to do, but I try very hard not to look away. I've been surprised by the number of people who seem to be pleased just to receive a smile from me. The next dinner is tomorrow night. It is raining as I write this, and more rain is predicted for tomorrow: the first significant rain of the year. The October dinner was held on a mild and pleasant evening, before the end of Daylight Saving Time. This Saturday will very likely be cold, rainy and dark. I plan to attend.

Jeanne Kirkwood