I finally made it to Evangel Hall Mission in downtown Toronto. EHM is a Presbyterian-created ministry to the homeless and impoverished, created way back in 1913. Their new building—which opened in 2006—is a wonderful and much-needed place, with a drop-in centre, food bank and clothing shop, community meals, breakfast and after-school programs for local kids, and an 84-unit low-income apartment building that houses residents with a variety of needs and at various stages of life. One of the coolest things about EHM and the services they offer is their dental program. Numerous local dentists—including specialists such as orthodontists and denturists—take time out of their lives to serve EHM clients; people who otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford any sort of dental care. It’s something I assume most of us take for granted, but what a blessing to receive.
EHM operates on the following premise: “A community of compassion: A place of hope.” I love that the two ideas are linked; in my mind, community is hope. And the staff at Evangel Hall are working to create community for people who have none; who likely wouldn’t fit into a mainstream community for a number of reasons, many of them mental health-related.
During my visit, I got to sit down for a late breakfast with some of the residents. Bagels with scrambled eggs, avocado and cheese. Yogurt and juice and coffee. Strawberries and banana. The residents help staff prepare the meal, and then everyone sits around a long table to eat together. Don’t you love how food brings people together? (Watch for a feature story of mine that explores that idea! I’m excited!) While we ate, I listened to regular, daily life stories about street car stops being moved, the noise of construction across the street (more condos for the downtown core, effectively blocking the city and even lake views for residents), a broken window at the local coffee shop. Nearly all the people sitting around the table were men (though most of the staff were women), and they each took a turn saying hello and telling me their names.
Community.
Later in the day I sat in the youth wing of the building; where the breakfast program runs, and kids come rushing in after school gets out. There are snacks (there’s always food!) and computers—the funds raised by a local Presbyterian congregation—books and couches and large tables for homework, and youth workers who very obviously care abut the kids they serve. We end up making granola bars together, with the two youngest girls giggling through most of it, reciting some sort of silliness from a YouTube video they’re currently obsessed with. “How was your day at school?” “Fine.” “What did you do?” “Nothing.” Sounds an awful lot like my household!
Community.
The service given by the staff at EHM reminds me of a theme from an earlier column of mine: Small things with great love. Helping to give residents a place where they feel welcomed and loved and cared for. People on the margins of society. People you and I might look at oddly; people we might not want to sit beside on the bus.
Can we replicate such acts of love? We may not work for a homeless mission in downtown Toronto, but are there regular opportunities to show great love to others?
When I asked a few fellow bloggers about “small things with great love,” Kelly Scott, who blogs at Cooking Up Trouble (which can also be found on the Record‘s site), said this:
“I wish I could do great things [for God]. I want to save the world, change the course of a nation, discover the cure to ____ (insert the name of any disease you choose) but that’s not my gift.
Instead, I’ve learned that my gift is to follow the leading of my Nana and my mother. They both didn’t finish high school but because they did small things with great love, they influenced my life to serve God.
They knew the lost art of how to keep a home, cook a meal, and this made me feel so loved. Having these small things allowed me the freedom to spend time studying.
I could read just one more chapter because of a well-timed cup of tea and a homemade cookie. When I blew an exam, I would arrive home full of tears and my mom would remind me that she had been praying (and next time she would pray harder!) and she would inform me that she had shopped for my favourite meal and something was marinating in the refrigerator as we spoke.
These small things showed me great love—love that influenced my life and the life of the next generation in our family because I choose to do these small things for my family. These actions may not save the world but they did save me and influence those around me.”
It starts with love. And from there…who knows?
Until next time.
