Lehigh Valley Marketplace

By Sara Vigneri

This job carries a burden of sadness, but there is also so much here to be thankful for.

Driving through a city, it’s easy to miss the activity on the street. So on this particular day in September, I got out of my car to absorb the bustle around the front entrance of the Trinity Episcopal Church on Market Street in Bethlehem. There are several people sitting on the steps, enjoying the cool air and waiting for the noon bell to ring that signals the arrival of a hot lunch on the other side of the church doors. But it’s not yet noon, so I knock on the door and enter the church to see what goes on behind the scenes to run a soup kitchen.

The soup kitchen at Trinity Episcopal Church began in 1981 by a group of volunteers who realized the need for free hot meals among the poor and elderly residents of downtown Bethlehem. The program found a home, and a companion, in the Trinity church building. But the soup kitchen isn’t just about soup; it’s also about friendship and advice. When the church doors open at 11:30, Marcie Lightwood–a church social worker filling in for Reverend Elizabeth Miller who was out on medical leave–hurries through the doors. She already has someone waiting for her–a man in a wheelchair has been mulling quietly in the entry, but now he follows Lightwood into her office for a closed-door conference. “People come here seeking help finding a place to live, or for advice on navigating the system,” she says. “They often just don’t know where to start.”

While Lightwood is in her office, volunteers are hard at work preparing today’s meal–soup and sandwiches with fresh fruit and veggies. In the social hall, three men are unpacking boxes of moisturizer donated by Second Harvest along with bread donations from local bakeries and grocery stores. Outside Lightwood’s office, a small group has formed, seeking clean socks and toiletries. “When you live on the streets, you spend a lot of time on your feet and have no access to laundry,” Lightwood explains, “A good supply of clean socks and pocket-size toiletries are extremely important.”

No sooner has Lightwood opened her door to distribute socks, when someone else arrives seeking counsel. A man who was displaced in a three-alarm fire a few days prior needs help finding a new home. As the noon hour approaches, the room has instantly become full, and people are lined up beneath a sign that reads “Live Well, Laugh Often, Love Much.” The lunch bell rings and everyone is hushed as a woman begins a prayer. Some bow their heads respectfully while others just look around impatiently. The prayer ends and lunch begins. Meanwhile, Lightwood has managed to locate a possible new home for the survivor of the apartment fire.

We just started keeping records of those who eat lunch here and we estimate that 25 percent are homeless and 90 percent are on disability.

The room is an interesting mix of old-timers who have been coming to the kitchen for years and newcomers who sift through the donated items. Others are mentally ill and huddle over their food before leaving abruptly. There are men in work clothes who have come in off the job site, happy to get a healthy meal that’s even cheaper than a Big Mac. There are even a few families, including one young couple that approach Lightwood as she sits down to a table with her lunch, to announce that they are expecting their first baby. “Have you signed up for our free parenting class?” Lightwood asks. After eliciting a promise that they will attend, Lightwood begins her meal. Several diners fetch lunch trays for those unable, or too feeble, to easily get up for food. “We just started keeping records of those who eat lunch here and we estimate that 25 percent are homeless and 90 percent are on disability,” says Lightwood.

As Lightwood finishes her lunch, an older man asks if she’d like a cup of coffee. “Sure,” she smiles. Lightwood estimates that she knows half of the diners here by their first names as many of these people have been eating here for decades, and the same people come every day. The soup kitchen serves roughly 120 people daily, Monday through Friday, and the crowd fluctuates, diminishing when the weather is bad and increasing at the end of the month when money gets tight. The older man returns, extending a tray filled with coffee, milk and sugar and beams as Lightwood helps herself to the beverage. At 1:10 lunch ends and the room clears out. “We really consider this is our second parish,” says Lightwood. “This job carries a burden of sadness, but there is also so much here to be thankful for.”

Donations welcome: The church is always in need of travel-size toiletries as well as hats, gloves, coats and scarves, particularly for men. Call Trinity Episcopal Church to donate: (610) 867-4741.

Sara Vigneri, an experienced health journalist, was pleased to witness the ingenuity that goes into providing free, well balanced meals at a soup kitchen.