In the town where I went to high school was a hotel. It was never the King Edward, but at one time it was the cream of the local crop. I washed dishes there as a teen. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

It is now in the possession of an absent slum-lord who charges $400 + for a room the size of my bathroom. That is not an exaggeration. The folks who get in can't afford to get out. Why do they get in? Because there's no first and last month required up-front and you can pay by the week. I would be amazed if it passed a Health Department inspection; even more amazed if it met fire code. 

Ruth and a small group of brave friends have begun a ministry there. They go in once a week and have dinner with the folks. They have church. They love on folks. It's beautiful. I came home from church today, where we sang the rousing Easter hymns with a polished worship team. We heard a sermon. We watched that video where the black preacher sings out the names of Jesus. We shook hands with all the nice folks and went home. Then, in my blog reader this afternoon I found Ruth's account of her Easter Sunday meeting at the inn. It just sounds so ...wonderful.

Ruth describes what church - amidst a haze of cigarette smoke - was like the previous week in a post called "First Church of the Blue Haze.  It's so real it hurts.