By Frances Stebbins
{My Identity}
Roanoke Area Ministries (RAM) has been in the news lately causing me to both consult my yellowed newspaper clippings from more than 50 years ago and my memories going back even further.
The latest news concerns an anonymous offer to pay for a new home for the ecumenical and interfaith ministry to the needy, especially those in inner city Roanoke. In addition, the Good Neighbors Fund holiday drive, in which financial gifts from the public are sought to help with operating expenses, brought in an all-time amount of money this year.
I like to give to the holiday drive because it allows me to honor or memorialize a friend, relative or group such as several helpful folk in my East Salem neighborhood. They helped me when my aged Toyota broke down last week at a grocery store and for an emergency trip to a short-term medical facility.
My memories of the square brick building in the West End of Roanoke, the former home of Our Lady of Nazareth Catholic Church, go back to shortly after late husband Charlie and I arrived to become reporters for the long-gone daily newspaper, “The Roanoke World-News.”
That was in 1953. In my new job as reporter of news about churches, I was assigned by long-gone City Editor A.G. (Smitty) Smith, to cover the Catholic funeral of Nazareth’s long-time pastor.
Not a driver then, I rode with our press photographer, the late Betty Masters, the few blocks west from the newspaper to the church. I suppose my boss had explained that I would need some guidance, for a layman sat with me and helped me navigate the Rev. James Gilsenan’s farewell Mass.
We were in the balcony, for the worship area was packed. Children from the parochial school took up a lot of the pews. In those days, the service was in Latin, and, not being a Roman Catholic, I would have been more lost than I was without Harold Dill’s guidance. Later I would learn that the elderly priest had come from a place in Ireland known as Virginia.
In my role as religion writer, I was in the OLN-RAM structure several times later before a changing neighborhood and Catholic growth in Southwest County caused a move to a new building, and leaders of the Catholic Diocese of Richmond were glad to turn the former church over to a worthy cause.
What will happen to the century-old structure on a rise from the street has not been announced. It’s in a complex of buildings owned by the diocese, including a retreat house in which single women committed to the church reside, and the St. Francis House food pantry to which members of the valley’s four parishes contribute.
As the current director of RAM House remarked recently, the old church has a lot of drawbacks for a day shelter for the homeless with its offices on an upper level and the outside sloping lot. Its personnel have for many years worked closely with The Rescue Mission on the east side of downtown; homeless folk can sleep there and get a hot lunch in the former church worship area on the main level.
I’ve written before about how Roanoke Area Ministries evolved in 1972 from what started three years earlier as an effort to establish a Council of Churches for the city; the town of Salem was still fearing possible annexation by Roanoke at that point. Nothing came of a formal council, but congregations working together was a major trend 50 years ago. Practical help resulted.
My old clippings reveal that in its early days, RAM supported a children’s camp in summer. Over the years, many women’s groups from local congregations have rotated in serving lunch to those sheltering in the day. It’s good to know that donors to the holiday fund are aware of the increased need this year.
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The emotional suffering brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic is giving church folk and others concerned with mental health an opportunity to stress principles long taken for granted. In this winter of anxiety – fear of catching the virus oneself and perhaps dying from it as well as the instability of government – are magnified by “the winter blues” from which many suffer in cold, wet, dark days.
For senior adults like myself living alone and perhaps with no relatives nearby, being cut off from groups, social fellowships of one’s congregation and outdoor activities, including visiting libraries, makes depression inevitable.
The newsletters I receive indicate that a conscious effort is now often being made to pair members with each other so that by frequent phone calls or Internet communication loneliness is eased.
“It’s OK to ask for help,” an on-air message proclaims. All kinds of free guidance is now available as well as professional counseling.
A week’s planning done on Sunday with each day set up on a card made from different colored paper is essential to my mental order. Some routines – like morning cleaning of my cats’ litter boxes – are predictable as is doing laundry twice weekly and watching nightly news. I’m glad my church now offers a service on-site, though my valued social contact is limited to a wave at the time, “the peace of the Lord” ritual is usually observed.
Unexpected events – good and unsettling – take place, but many silent prayers of gratitude fill days rushing forward.
