"A Tale of Two Middletons"

My scant words can hardly add to the accompanying pictures of scarcity at the MOM pantry. These pictures do show you only empty shelves, but I see more—in me and in others. I will lay bare my conscience, as I report—with irony—how we in Middleton strive to preserve family pride and feed the hungry, while also taking justifiable pride in our growing Westside food industry.

If only you could have seen the empty bellies and hungry eyes I looked into, just days ago, as my wife and I were on our way to a wonderful banquet of hors d’oeuvres, to which I was invited because of my role as director of Middleton Outreach Ministry—this city’s designated “feeder of the hungry”!

That’s Irony Number One.

These two children, with their parents, were at the Colonial Motel, where they wait until they can lease a new apartment, October 1. Their mother called me late Friday afternoon, complaining she had nothing to feed her family, that her shelves were bare. Our pantry was closed at the time, the day was almost over, and I was heading off to a luxurious event. But I could not, in good conscience, have enjoyed that event then, if I did not do something, first.

I believe anyone with the means to do something about a problem they see firsthand should act on their convictions.

Never mind that this homeless family had visited the MOM pantry the week before; evidently not much was there. And even in good times, a monthly visit to our Distribution Center (8710 Montclair Drive in the Industrial Park) supplies food for just five days, seven at most. They were in this motel for thirty days.

Never mind that I had sent a driver to take them to St. Vincent De Paul’s new pantry, a visit which didn’t pan out, because of a technicality.

So here I was, late Friday, rummaging through emergency rations we keep at our Hubbard Avenue office. I even emptied out the MOM refrigerator of all the “still-fresh” food—the cheese cubes and veggies left over from the bounty provided by the Holiday Inn for MOM’s elegant Volunteer Appreciation Event a week earlier.

That’s Irony Number Two.

Feeling sheepish about having mostly leftovers to offer, I was greatly relieved to see these kids who hadn’t eaten all day dive into that food, “eating the crumbs” in the motel parking lot, just blocks from the grand opening event I would soon be attending.

That’s Irony Number Three.

By the way, this is not an appeal for your leftovers—we can’t really use them. Nor is this a slam on our restaurants or corporate establishments. I shall include the church, my own, in yet another ironic twist to this story.

I took this same family to church on Sunday. “Man cannot live on bread alone,” the Gospel says; hence, churches are called to feed the soul. Yet, it is a sin to preach the Gospel to an empty stomach.

And what do I do about that, when this family wants to partake in the “international student” potluck at the close of three hours of church? I preserve their dignity, so I think, by saying we should not attend because we had nothing in hand to bring, and so we’d feel “awkward,” even “bad.”

Awkward or not, I should have stayed and simply crashed the after-church party. Church potlucks always have enough food. But my faith failed me at that point.

That’s Irony Number Four.

Believe me, the biblical imagery of these ironic points is not lost on me, either: A desperate woman, not of the preferred Hebrew faith tradition, once begged Jesus for a favor, “Yes, Lord,” she countered, “but even the dogs [referring to herself, a Gentile] eat the crumbs that fall from the masters’ table” (Matthew 15:27). Jesus then commended this women for her “great faith” and granted her request.

And in his parables, Jesus commends those who go out of their way, inviting people to the table who were not on the original guest list: “‘Go to the street corners and invite to the banquet anyone you find.’ So the servants went out into the streets and gathered all the people they could find, both good and bad, and the wedding hall was filled with guests” (Matthew 22:9-10).

Middleton can be two cities—one with bountiful celebrations and gatherings and another where tables and cupboards are almost bare.

This past week I learn of another family who, upon seeing our bare shelves at the MOM Pantry, declined to use up their allotted monthly visit that week. They would return “next week,” hoping more food would be available.

It will be, if you respond—with food and cash. Perhaps then “The Tale of Two Middletons” will have a different ending.

© 2005 Middleton Outreach Ministry

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