rebounding from job loss. Massage and alternative healing techniques are also available. And employers come to interview. There is also pastoral care for those who want it. Christine Berthelsen, pastor of First, has a job description that includes “the freedom to try new things and help [the congregation] walk gracefully through them.” She aimed for a revitalization of people’s connection to the gospel and the call to go out rather than remain behind walls.
Scandinavians loosen up Change isn’t new at First. While its website (www.lovegrowshere. net) still announces its location as “the historic Swede Hollow neigh- borhood of St. Paul,” the area has changed over the decades. Nearly half a century ago, the neighborhood’s familiar Scandi- navian makeup was already giving way to an influx of unfamiliar eth- nicities. The congregation consid- ered moving but decided First was called to stay and minister in the old neighborhood.
Getting normally reserved Scandinavians to loosen up and be gregarious with strangers is no easy task, but the Sunday morning passing of the peace now takes some time. People are learning to be less afraid of “the other,” Berthelsen said. The crux of the wellness center is
lack of distinction between volun- teers and clients. Each person wears the same kind of name tag. All eat and visit together. “Everyone has a story,” Tunseth said. “People who live a marginalized existence often don’t have the opportunity to share theirs.”
The center runs for three hours Thursday evenings from Septem- ber through May. Between 120 to 200 people attend, more than 40 of them are volunteers from First,
other congregations and partner organizations.
Doors open at 4:30. Clients sign up for medical, psychological or job- related services. Dinner is at 6 p.m. Then volunteers and visitors clean up. Topic-directed support groups follow on alternate weeks, and sometimes there is Bible study. Community members take dinner leftovers home. Partners such as Second Harvest Heartland Foods enable cooks to make healthy meals for less than a dollar a plate. Dependent on donations and grants, the center’s current budget is approximately $10,000, including the Thursday suppers and the sum- mer Food Giveaway Program. Last summer’s giveaway donated 32,000 pounds of produce, meats and dairy products to more than 5,000 people for under $1,200. Except for the director’s minimal salary, everything is volunteer-driven.
Change in numbers, culture Nine years ago, First’s average wor- ship attendance hovered between 50 and 60. Today that average has tripled, 30 of whom are visi- tors. Because some of the wellness center’s clients are now members, even the congregation’s language has changed: Parishioners no lon- ger speak of “the homeless” but of “those of us who are homeless.” The church has found ways of embracing the new without aban- doning the old. Pastoral photographs from its beginning (1854) to pres- ent once lined the entrance to the center’s space, but the array was deemed unwelcome to outsiders. Still, the photographs held great meaning for the congregation. As a compromise, the “Wall of Pastors” was moved to the fellowship hall, now renamed Heritage Hall. Berthelsen continues to push for more congregational participation.
“It’s chaotic,” she admitted, “but the embracing of chaos and messiness is where Jesus lives in the crossroads between those who are affected on both sides of the equation.” Once homeless himself, wellness center client and current volunteer Noah (last name withheld) calls Thursday his favorite night of the week. He comes for the sense of belonging to this community and to give back. The center, he said, is about making people aware that where they are now isn’t the end. “It will not only brighten your day, but give you hope for a better tomor- row,” he said. And 7-year-old Desiree, who
has accompanied her parents on Thursday nights for two years, has come out of her shell. She recently announced that when she grows up she wants to become a doctor, nurse, cook and art teacher so she can run the wellness center and help every- one. “Now she is able to dream,” Tunseth said.
The clients aren’t the only ones on the receiving end. Nursing instruc- tor Cecilia Erickson claims she has never before been part of such a welcoming community. And student nurse Katy Boydstun said, “The need for unconditional love, support and spiritual care is universal to individu- als of all walks of life.” The Swedish-American con- gregation of two and three genera- tions ago couldn’t have foreseen its descendants offering church space for meetings of Hmong elders learn- ing English, or imagined a farmer’s market-style food giveaway so het- erogeneous that recipients choose produce appropriate for their diverse cuisines. But members believe their ancestors would have approved.
For more information, contact Tunseth at
allie.tunseth@gmail.com.
July 2013 33
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