Saint Francis Inn

It was the first day of the trip. Ten of us were crammed in a tiny bus making our way to Philadelphia. We were all talking and laughing, just getting to know one another. One of the girls on the trip, Taylor, said, “these trips always seem to come at the worst time. You’re always stressed about school and work, but they’re always what you need.” At the time I thought, “no way. I have 3 papers looming, an exam, a mountain of paperwork for study abroad and two other jobs to think about. There was no way this is what I needed.” Yet, Taylor was 100% right, I just didn’t know it yet.

    We finally arrived in Philadelphia around 11:30 pm. We were tired, uncomfortable and cranky. Then, we see it. The poverty. People everywhere were scattered on the sidewalk: on cardboard, in tents, on cement. We pull up to St. Francis Inn, and as we are about to climb the stairs to the apartment there was a man on the steps with needles askew, about to get his fix. All I could think was, “God, I can’t do this.”

    The next day we wake up, exhausted from our late night before. We stumble to 8:30 mass with sleep in our eyes and dry cereal lining our stomachs. After mass, we prepare the meal. All of us have different jobs: making home deliveries, preparing desserts, bagging groceries, organizing toiletries and cutting bread. Finally, 11:30 rolls around and it is time to serve the meal. St. Francis Inn is a soup kitchen that serves its meals restaurant style, so the volunteers wait on the people who come in.

    I was a waitress. I tied my apron around my waist, grabbed my tray and waited for the people to come flooding through the door. My first patrons make me work fast. Asking for course after course. Demanding bag after bag, and again I thought, “God, I can’t do this.”

    But soon I fell into the rhythm of the Inn, and it felt as if I’d been doing this for my entire life. I collected tickets, dished out sandwiches, carried tray after tray and I begin to fall in love with it. Then I met “the Professor.” The Professor asked what I study, and I told him, “Communication.” He asked, “so, can you communicate?” I responded, “I sure hope so.” Then the Professor asks, “What is language?” It’s agreed upon meaning he tells me. Everything is what it is, because we say so. He dives into this conversation, and I realize he is explaining to me a complex concept I’ve learned in my communication classes. Once I successfully answered his questions he awarded me a “Baby P.H.D.”

    Soon we started to discuss souls, and the complexity of life and death. I was in disbelief. Here I was in a soup kitchen having a conversation with a homeless man about existential questions. My preconceived notions about the homeless were shattered. Then the Professor tells me he’ll be right back. He comes over and hands me a stack of papers and says, “this is for you.” The Professor printed me out an article about the meaning of life and death. I was honored, that he took the time to do this for me.

    Then I met Jeremiah. He was joke after joke. We talked and laughed for the final minutes of the meal. Jeremiah was joking with me while I served him, asking for bags to take home his leftovers, so I joked back and told him he should help me clean up. He responds with, “oh I always clear my dishes. I don’t want anyone here to be serving me.” Jeremiah got up and took his plates to the dishwasher. I was in disbelief at his love and kindness; he could’ve just left without saying thank you, but he appreciated the people at the Inn so much that he thanked them by helping them. Jeremiah was one of the most positive and happy people I’ve ever seen, and I’m so thankful I got to meet him.  

     After the meal I was exhausted. My muscles were sore, and I just wanted to sleep, but I was the happiest I’ve ever been. In my Christian Spirituality class, we talk about a concept called Kenosis. Kenosis is emptying yourself by serving others, and the more you give yourself away the more you are able to love. I felt this at St. Francis Inn. As I was serving I gave all of me. I put all my heart and soul into serving, and all I felt was love. I was whole. I was the happiest I’ve ever been. I went back to our apartment and fell asleep with a smile on my face.

    Later that night Father Michael came to our apartment to share with us the history of the Inn, and a few cases of patrons and how they winded up there. Fr. Michael started with the Franciscan monks who founded the Inn. The brothers came down to Philadelphia because there were no Franciscan parishes. They were floored by the widespread poverty. One of the brothers decided to give all his possessions to the other brothers and live in poverty for two weeks to see what it was like. When he came back he said that what the people needed was food. Instead of building a parish like the planned, they built a soup kitchen. Fr. Michael told us that the meaning of this story was, “Don’t tell people what they need. Love them first, then give them what they need.”

    After, Fr. Michael dove into the heartbreaking stories about some of the patrons. He described stories of sexual abuse, loss, lack of love, sacrifice and desperation. Fr. Michael explained to us that in life there are those who are blessed, and those who are not. That some people just get a bad lot. He told us we should pray, not only for the things that God gave us, but for the things he did not. Fr. Michael said if people only knew that they could’ve easily ended up on the street they would have far different attitudes towards the homeless.

    I’m so thankful for this experience. As Taylor said, these trips come right when you need it. At the time I didn’t realize how much I needed it. I didn’t realize how lost I was. I didn’t realize how much I needed to see the love and kindness of others. St. Francis Inn filled me with love, hope and gratitude.