The guests streamed into the soup kitchen of West End Collegiate Church, shaking off the bitter cold from New York City’s winter. Many of them lived outside, so they were used to being rejected from public spaces like museums or churches. But the members of West End follow the Benedictine credo: “Welcome everyone as if you are welcoming Christ.” So the weary men and women knew they could rest here. They shrugged off their backpacks and coats, and settled into their seats in anticipation of the Bible study held before the meal. It was Advent, so associate pastor Jes Kast-Keat lit the first two purple candles of the wreath. The smell of smoke rose and mingled with the food, and a guest called out, “Let’s go to church today, pastor!”
Kast-Keat brightened. The guest had articulated a hope that had been forming within her. She’d been hearing other people echo her thought around tables, in their greetings, and as they said goodbye: “This is my church.” Those declarations felt right, as if they were creating something by naming it. They could sense the sacred space in the soup kitchen. They had been gathering for worship.
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