No place to call home

by Richard A. Kauffman

I’m sitting in a coffee shop surrounded by homeless people. It’s cold and rainy outside, and they’ve come indoors to escape the chill.

I’ve been noticing a difference in the homeless people I see in my town. They’re looking more middle class. As they wile away the time in the train station, coffee shops or the public library, they have that telltale sign—they’re burdened down by bags and suitcases.

Foreclosures play a role for 15 percent of the newly homeless in the Midwest. Many of these people move in with family and friends and sleep on sofas until they wear out their welcome. Then they’re out on the street looking for shelter, or they live out of their cars.

As I sit here working on my computer, I’m drawn to the young mother next to me. She’s overly solicitous about her toddler’s behavior. Even though he’s rather quiet and well-behaved, she keeps him on a very short leash. I’m sure she doesn’t want to attract attention. But in spite of themselves, the homeless do attract attention. Some people find their presence in public places a nuisance, especially if they’re loud or scruffy or smelly.

I do wonder where this mother will spend the rest of the day. Where can she go? While many churches in this area, including my own, participate in the PADS program, which gives people a place to sleep on a rotating basis, the homeless can’t stay in these churches during the day. They must keep moving.

Providing child care for the homeless could be a mission opportunity for some churches. Open up the nursery for children to play in, the library for adults and children to read, the fellowship hall for adults to play table games. Serve them a healthful lunch.

Or churches might start by asking the homeless themselves what they need. One congregation in Seattle provides a drop-in center in a renovated house where people can do laundry, use the Internet, read the paper, do their own cooking and store their belongings in a secure room for the day. The church discovered that soup kitchens and food banks were providing enough food in their area; by focusing on other amenities the church filled a gap in people’s daily quest for survival. “It’s a place you can go and be a human being,” said one man who uses this drop-in center.

As I’m just about ready to leave the coffee shop, a man walks in and joins the mother and child. They greet each other warmly, and then he starts picking up their many bags, getting ready to leave. I have no idea where they'll go next. But my thoughts go with them.