Page Street – Personal Reflections

[excerpts from my observations, field notes and analysis at Page Street from January 25 - May 7 though names have been changed. all photographs taken with permission]

I’ve attended Page Street Center’s food distribution program almost every Monday for four months. What began as ethnographic research and language observations of an urban center turned into a relationship with the people that superseded a school project.

Since 1968, Page Street has provided services to the community through many different weekly events, primarily through food distribution every Monday night. The location of Page Street plays strongly into whom is able to visit the center. It is situated near the Haight, known for its hipster crowd, and the Castro, home to a large homosexual community. Additionally, Asian immigrants from Chinatown make up a large component of the participants at the center.

The first time I walked into the center, I was scared; I didn’t know what to expect, who to talk to nor what to do. Now four months later, I smile as I drive around the corner and walk in to greet Carol in the kitchen. I give Darrel a pat on the shoulder and affirm his hat decision. Nate calls me cutie and Derrek plays me a song on the piano without ever reading a note. Angel and I do the crosswords, and I exchange mutual smiles with the Chinese women since I cannot share words with them. As time went on, my apprehension was dispelled and the connection to these people kept me coming back to visit long after class requirements were fulfilled.

In my time here, I’ve learned that people’s expectations guide their experience. For those who came merely seeking food and a hot meal, they found little beyond the satisfaction of these physical needs. To them, Page Street is merely a means to an end. Those looking for deeper connections and community reach into Page Street and find a place to know and to be known. Page Street, for these relational seekers, is more than a place to pass through but a destination to call home. The waiting area becomes a living room and dinner is shared together around a big family table. Love, like food, is offered without conditions and limits. Carol summed it up once so well when she said,

I have heard many people come in here and talk about how much they hate their parents and that they are looking for some kind of real family. Everyone is looking for love. Everyone is looking for someone to love them… I’ve had grown men come to me and hug me as tightly as my own son…I have had black men come to me, cry on my shoulder, and hug me… They come here to get food but the thing that they need more than anything is to be loved and accepted. I want them to know ‘I care for you, not how you look.’ I know they can feel that and I am glad that I can accept me too.

Page Street doesn’t fit the standard model of homeless centers nor does it embody the accepted frameworks of traditional church outreaches. Instead, Page Street occupies the undefined bridge between these two institutional structures by following the model of Jesus and simply caring for/about cast aside people in San Francisco. To those who expect to find traditional outcomes or processes, you will be disappointed. Page Street won’t meet your markers of success or protocols of efficiency. But for those of you willing to look deeper into the space and learn from the people, a living organic system saturated with a missional purpose will be revealed to you.

To belong to the community of Page Street requires only humility to accept the service of others. There is but one rule that governs the center, “We do not serve ourselves… we serve each other.” In submitting to this simple rule of law, Page Street has restored my humanness. I’ll never meet eyes with someone God doesn’t care about and at Page Street, I’m learning to thank God for the future and the past behind each set. Regardless of what stresses I had dealt with that day or what I had accomplished, entering the doors of Page Street reminded that I too was human. My purpose is no more important than another’s nor my dreams more worthy of fulfillment. Rich or poor, homed or homeless, hungry or fed, sick or well, we are all small parts in God’s larger story.

During this time of participatory observation, I have somehow become a regular. The people at Page Street have let me invade their space and photograph their world. Participants shared their stories with me and invited me to sit next to them during dinner. They cast aside my fears and hugged me in acceptance. Through them, I now see Page Street not as a center to visit but as a living and diverse system of which I am part. I came for school but left with a new place to call home.