I am not calling for an end to mercy ministries. I am calling for them to be made better. I am calling for them to be more reciprocal, less one sided and thought of more as a stepping stone on the road to serious Christian discipleship within the local church. My contention is that generous justice and mercy ministry is not enough on its own. It doesn’t go far enough.

This is the (uncomfortable) message of Canadian Activist Nick Saul in his new book, “The Stop. How the Fight for Good Food Transformed a Community and Inspired a Movement.”

He’s made quite a splash in the UK recently with his contentious claims that the food bank model of help is often nothing more than “privileged people helping the underprivileged, perpetuating an us-and-them atmosphere”. The Guardian newspaper writes:

For Saul, 47, a community organiser in his home town of Toronto, the problem – he believes – is that traditional food banks don’t really help the needy. Their food “handouts” are often of dismal quality, and the“transaction” – the silent, humiliating transfer of the food parcel – does nothing to help clients’ dignity or self-esteem, get them a job, help them out of poverty or improve their health and well being. For a moment food-bank clients are not hungry – but not for long.

Well meaning volunteers aren’t the only people in his sights either. Nick also targets big business, particularly Supermarkets, who (he claims) like to jump on the bandwagon so that they can give the appearance of being a good “corporate citizen”. Indeed, Nick claims that the whole concept of food banks is largely a conscience easing exercise across the board. In his opinion:

“The only person who is not benefiting is the person who this was set up to help. Most people who have to visit food banks say it is a slow, painful death of the soul.”

As A Christian I was particularly struck by that haunting last line. So much so, that I have sat on this for a couple of weeks just to let it stew. I used to visit all sorts of homeless projects when I lived on the streets in my late teens and early 20′s. Across most cities I could basically find places that would give me breakfast, clean clothes, a shower and some food. Like pubs, I had my favourite haunts. Those of us who lived and breathed within this largely invisible subculture knew all the ‘good places’. We knew what time the doors opened, what time the ‘good stuff‘ came out and we knew what we had to say and how we had to act according to who was giving out the goodies. Churches were particularly good because the people were generally nice, they would be kind to you, they were less savvy than government agencies and all we had to do was sit through some God talk, maybe take a booklet and then we could be away for the day. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, these places were basically indirectly funding my drug habit and making it far easier for me to stay on the streets. Without motivation to find work to pay for my survival, I lost the will and inclination to be bothered to get myself out of the hole I was in. These places had, inadvertently I’m sure, become enablers for my largely selfish, sinful and destructive lifestyle.

Over time government cuts (not just a new invention) closed a lot of our established haunts and we became more reliant on the “God squad”. In the beginning the constant stream of questions were annoying but, if handled like a job centre interview, they were easily placated. They would get to say their bit, tell me about God or whatever and I would get what I wanted. Everybody was happy. They’d got to be nice to a poor person and I got to spend the money I got for their clothes, and what I’d saved buying food, to fund and fuel my descent into my almost constant, drug induced oblivion.

Nearly 20 years on, and having worked in areas of urban derivation as a minister around the world for the best part of 14 years, I would like to say that much has changed. But it hasn’t. The poor are still with us. The need for food banks and soup kitchens is perhaps greater in our country than it has been for a generation. In the evangelical Christian world there has been an explosion of interest in ‘mercy ministry‘ and ‘helping the poor’ and, in truth, much of it makes me sad. I sit in conferences and listen to well meaning young pastors and planters talking about‘generous justice’. Time and again I am running into church leaders and/or Christians who are saying that they opened a food bank or a soup kitchen and it transformed their church.

Or, even better in their ‘missional thinking’ mindset, they joined a ‘secular one’ so that they (1) can serve the poor in their city and (2) witness to unbelievers about their ‘good deeds’ at the same time. As if helping the poor is a clever evangelistic strategy to reach the hip, modern unbeliever who like to have their ‘social justice’ box ticked. Much of the chatter when this topic is discussed in these circles consists of phrases like: “It has brought people together.” “It has transformed our community.” “It has brought us into contact with the unchurched.”

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