When we crossed through the wooden door with the hand painted sign welcoming us into the gardens of St. Martin’s House of Hospitality, a calmness swept over me. An oasis reminiscent of the gardens behind the doors of Spanish colonial homes in San Miguel de Allende had roses and bougainvillea as homeless men (and some women) sat in their shade. We introduced ourselves to the volunteer coordinator, put on our rubber gloves, and chose our individual tasks of washing lettuce and peeling carrots.
Martin’s, as the volunteers called it, had a mission to serve anyone who needed a hot and healthy lunch. The volunteers’ instructions were clear, they delegated effectively, and every person I came into contact with, from middle school boy volunteers to men in their fifties, I encountered Martin’s promise of “gentle personalism” that they spoke to on their Web site, saying, “Gentle personalism says that all persons have dignity; all persons have the right to be respected. It says that each person who comes to Martin’s is a guest and is to be treated as such. It says that eating is a right, not a privilege, and that feeding the hungry is a matter of justice, not of charity.”
After we had dressed the mammoth bowls of lettuce in teams of two and stirred the four vats of soup, we rang the bell to invite those waiting in the garden to come share our meal. I stood at the front of the line as if I were a gracious waiter, making sure that I gifted each person a smile before I handed them a bowl of soup. When they asked for a heartier scoop, I gave it to them. When a blind man asked me to help him to his seat, I made sure to pull out his chair. Though I had given service before, it was at Martin’s where I felt my shoulders fall into their proper place. This was the type of place where when a man asked for me to boil hot water for his thermos; I didn’t hesitate to take the time to give him what he needed. It wasn’t that I needed to be a super volunteer, I just moved from the positivism that flowed from the spirits who ran this place.
