In my community, children live in circumstances that may be hard to imagine. When a group of homeless teenage boys came to the church where I worked, I initially felt afraid of them. But when those children found an open door and loving hearts and were welcomed into the church kitchen, the overflowing blessings were amazing—like grace.
When I was offered the Children/Youth Ministry Director at a church in our community, I jumped at it. I had been working in another church with mixed-age groups, and this was an opportunity to spend my time focused on young people. I was filled with excitement. The year was 2008.
As I settled into this new position, the Holy Spirit kept nudging me to remember how the early church gathered and grew. It happened around a table. In response, I put my love of cooking for a crowd to work. We called it Supper Club, and it happened on Wednesday afternoons beginning at 5:00 pm. The students were invited to arrive early to play basketball or skateboard in the parking lot. Supervising this was challenging and kept us very busy. I was grateful for energetic and committed volunteers.
One particular teenager joined our group. He was in foster care and had experienced trauma throughout much of his life. Due to his challenging background, he struggled with social norms. However, our team, including the adult volunteers, treated him with the same love and respect as everyone else. He wasn't part of the group for long but left a strong legacy behind.
He told kids at school that there was a place they could go for a hot, homemade meal every Wednesday. There was also an open basketball gym and an open parking lot where they could ride their skateboards. After dinner was time with Jesus. Children who had never been to church began to trickle into our group. They looked and acted differently from the churched children, which shook us up a bit.
The adult volunteers and I welcomed them sincerely. We decided to be Jesus to these precious ones. They received love in large doses, a meal, an open gym, and weekly Bible study. Those children told other children in the same situation, and then those told even more children. It was like a snowball rolling down a hill.
Suddenly, my clean, secure, happy youth group became one in which children from shocking home situations represented about 30% of the group. A few people noticed and worked behind the scenes to fill the pantry with groceries. A few others showed up to help supervise the skateboarding and bicycle tricks in our parking lot. I even dusted off my unicycle and impressed the skateboarders with my unicycle-riding ability.
Among these children were about ten teen boys who were homeless. They found places to sleep on the couches of friends or relatives, but shelter and food were irregular, insecure, and unreliable. They were aged 14-17, and at that age, they had to meet their basic needs without their parent's support. They told of abuse at the hands of stepfathers or their mothers' boyfriends. None of them had a biological father in their lives. Not. One.
After several weeks, the group sorted itself into two distinct communities. On Sunday evenings, we looked like most youth groups. Here were the well-loved, carefully raised, traditionally parented children. We had lessons, games, crafts, singing, etc. I loved them all and put much prayer, energy, and time into making this a great time with Jesus. It was fun.
On Wednesdays, the community children arrived in the middle of the afternoon. My day began in the kitchen, where I prepared the meal. When school was out for the day, I would take a break to pick up some high school kids who needed homework support or a ride. I brought them back to the church, where they could do their schoolwork and ask for help. As a rule, we only saw these kids on Wednesdays.
These radical shifts came with radical challenges. A few students didn't like the "bad kids" from school coming to their church. I understood that completely. The new kids looked scary. They did not come from middle-class, two-parent homes. They didn't own fashionable clothes, and they dressed in dark hand-me-downs. Their demeanor reflected the darkness and instability of their lives. The differences were hard to navigate for children who had only known clean, well-ordered lives.
I worked to protect the sensibilities of all the children. There were strict boundaries: where they could go on the property, what language they could use, how to listen respectfully, and how to conduct themselves. It required diligence and consistency. The new children understood that church rules differed from home rules. They liked that. They cooperated willingly. It was yet another surprise and lesson learned—one more of many.
That season of my life lasted thirty months. My husband was a clergyperson in a denomination that features itinerancy. With full knowledge of the ministry with homeless children I was working in, my husband's immediate supervisor assigned him to a new church over 100 miles away, even though several churches nearby needed a solid pastor. When I responded with dismay, fully knowing that the meals for those poor children would end, I was told I had a choice: go with my husband or stay with my ministry.
The coldness and the cruelty left me speechless. I moved away with my husband, and all the work with the community children stopped. I am convinced that this ministry ended not because I left but because the Holy Spirit was shooed away by executive managers of a denomination that has no use for the power of God. This denomination has, predictably, recently suffered a deep loss of congregants and clergy.
How can your church reach the kids in your community? Here are some things I learned:
Not everyone in your congregation will want to serve impoverished teens. There are many misconceptions about boys who look rough and talk tough. The truth is that they are hungry. They need food, they need love, and they need someone to see past the dirty black hoodies and into their hearts. Your job is to help others see that kids who look and act differently need Jesus, too.
The Holy Spirit does this work. Make no mistake. This ministry was not part of my plan. I didn't set out to find homeless kids and feed their bodies and souls. It was, as I expressed it later, an accidental ministry. There was a group of adults who were open to the move of the Holy Spirit and were willing to be uncomfortable in the work of the Lord. This is why this worked. Be open to discomfort.
Impoverished children are all around. The children we served lived in run-down, tucked-away rural spaces hidden behind and between lovely brick ranch-style homes. Each lived so near the church that they could ride their bikes and skateboards. Rural poverty, in particular, is easily hidden. You may not see these young people, but they live in the shadow of your steeple.
The Lord calls whom He chooses. I have no idea why me, why there, why then. All I know is that this work became a defining moment of my life. I think about it often. I pray for those kids and wonder what has become of them in the nearly twenty years since I've seen them.
I was forever changed by this work. Many Wednesday evenings, I left the church campus exhausted and crying. I longed to give each of these children a safe home, and I was overwhelmed by the neglect and apathy of the adults who should have loved them. Because of this time in my life, I see the world differently than I did before. I see poverty everywhere I go and know that poverty is about much more than a lack of money. My heart aches.
As Christians, we are all called to be willing and prepared to reach out to meet the needs of the poor—not just with tangible gifts of food or supplies but with friendship, time, and attention. It is not easy. In fact, it is usually challenging. Embrace the fear, the uncertainty, the sorrow. You will be forever changed when you do.
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