Comfort in a cold world.

The building stands alone in the middle of an inner-city block, pressed right up against the sidewalk. Its western facade is covered by what appears, from a distance, to be graffiti. It looks like the kind of building you wouldn’t want on your block. You might assume it was abandoned, neglected, no life left in it. A place nobody loves. But this is Peace House, so all your assumptions would be wrong.

Come closer to the building that stands at 510 E, Franklin Avenue in Minneapolis, and you’ll see that what looked like spray paint from down the street isn’t that at all. It’s a mosaic, put together in one monumental, all-volunteer effort by a neighborhood artist, assisted by “whoever happened by,” says Sister Joanne Turgeon, CSJ, one of the Peace House coordinators. It consists of hundreds of thousands of pieces of multi-colored tile and mirror, some with jagged edges, some softer in shape. The pieces are reflective of their surroundings, giving off frequent flashes of brilliance that can take you by surprise. Whether intentional or not, this mural and the building in which it’s embedded are an appropriate metaphor for the community that gathers daily at Peace House.

It was Sister Rose Tillemans who opened the doors for the first time in 1985, having first obtained the approval of the Sisters of St. Joseph, St. Paul Province, and the financial backing of friends and family. Rose has written that her intention was “to create a community day center for poor and homeless people who wanted to be with others seeking spirituality, friendship and affirmation.” On the first day, Rose sat alone. No one from the neighborhood showed up. But Rose was a very tenacious woman and, with the addition of a coffee pot and doughnuts, people soon started dropping in. They liked what they found, and over the years the reputation of Peace House grew. Sister Rose died in 2002 at age 79. Yet everyone in the current community insists her spirit has never left the building. Indeed, all the way down to the molecular level, her energy seems embodied in it. In some very real sense, Rose is still helping to turn on the lights and open the door and welcome the neighborhood to Peace House.

Sister Rose(left, speaking at SJA in 2001) is the history this unlikely community shares. But for these people, in this neighborhood, life is all about the here and now. It’s 11:00 a.m. on a Friday morning. The door has been open for an hour, and the housekeeping chores have already been assigned by drawing names from a hat.

In the Peace House “living room” the crowd is gathering for lunch. To say it’s an eclectic group is an understatement. There is always a Sister or two in attendance. There’s also a cadre of coordinators who volunteer their time to keep Peace House functioning. They’ve recruited two men from the neighborhood, Curtis and Maurice, to be an everyday, steady presence in the house. In addition, an assortment of fresh-faced volunteers from colleges, churches and the St. Joseph Worker program take turns helping out. You get the impression that these volunteers appreciate the feeling of community they find at Peace House just as much as the people who come in from the street do.

And every day they come: people who are poor, homeless, poorly housed, mentally ill, drug and alcohol addicted, prostitutes, lonely, lost. People of all colors, ages and backgrounds. (“The real people,” Sister Rose called them.) For 5 hours a day, every Monday through Friday, all are welcome at Peace House. However, drugs, drunks and guns are never welcome on the premises. “Many of these folks get themselves sober every day,” says Curtis, “just because they want to come in here and visit.”

All these people find a seat in the circle. They greet each other as any old friends might, with jokes, laughter, warm hugs, backslapping and small talk:

“Did you spend Thanksgiving with your sister?”

“Nah, I was in jail. Just got out.”

You might sit down next to Brenda(right). You quickly discover that she lives by herself in a subsidized apartment five blocks away. When she’s lonely and “the walls start closing in,” Brenda comes to Peace House for the company. She says the people who gather at Peace House are “like family,” even though she has real family in the area. Or you might find yourself talking to a rather large man named Earley. He’s pretty much a regular here. He tells you he donated a small red quilt that hangs on the wall. The quilt is covered with names of people from the community, and he’ll invite you to add yours. If you ask, Earley will tell you he comes to Peace House for the “serenity.”

At 11:30 a.m., the doors to Peace House are locked, so nothing disturbs that serenity. A gong sounds, and Meditation begins. If you’re expecting bowed heads and silent prayers, you’re in for a surprise. Meditation time at Peace House is all about the community connecting. A different volunteer leads each day’s session.

A different volunteer leads each day’s session. Today the chosen topic is the upcoming Supreme Court decision on integration of schools. Whoever has something to say on the subject is welcome to say it. For people who are largely ignored by the world, this is a rare opportunity to be listened to. The impromptu 45-minute debate includes mention of Thurgood Marshall, racial quotas, the Constitution, trust and distrust, J. C. Watts, the ACLU, the voucher system, forced busing, and the freedom to choose. You and your friends might have the same kind of discussion over dinner.

But Meditation varies widely from day to day. It might involve selections from the Peace House songbook, calisthenics, relaxation exercises, news items of interest, spiritual topics, etc. (There’s a great deal of spirituality at Peace House,” says Catherine Mamer, another Peace House coordinator. “But not much religion.”) Meditation always closes with informal prayers. Again, anyone can contribute. Today one man, himself homeless, starts it off with a good word for the people dispossessed by an apartment fire the night before. There’s a soft chorus of amen’s, then it’s time for a good hot lunch.

Besides the daily free lunch, the volunteers serve up comfort to the community in whatever form they can. “We’re not trying to solve the problem of homelessness,” Lila Gilbert, a St. Joseph Worker, explains. “We’re just trying to keep people from being homeless for 5 hours a day.”

To that end, they distribute personal hygiene kits and new clothes and blankets when they have them—generously donated by civic and church groups all over the state. They hold community gatherings and summer picnics in the park. They act as a post office for people with no mailing addresses. They keep the phone numbers of hospitals and jails—and if someone is missing for too long a time, they call around. They even keep tabs on community members as they pass in and out of drug and alcohol treatment, rooting them on as if they were family. Today a greeting card and a pen are passed around. “Before you leave, please sign this card for Carla. She’s in treatment and she’s been sober for 60 days!”

They hold funerals at Peace House, too, for community members who couldn’t survive another day. They’re honored with homemade shrines on the front wall. Their names are remembered there, if nowhere else.

It’s quite clear that Peace House provides some measure of love, comfort and stability in lives that have little or none. To coordinator Maurice, Peace House is “like Cheers.” He compares a walk-in shelter run by nuns and volunteers to a famous TV bar, but no one objects to the incongruity. Peace House is indeed a place where everyone knows your name. It’s a place where people who have little or nothing share what they have with each other. A place where you can be yourself, whether you sleep in a four-poster or a cardboard box. This is a place where you can commune with, one-on-one, the kind of people you might only see on the news, and go back to your own life the richer for it. A place that shows that people do crave community in spite of their surroundings—and in spite of all the obstacles the world throws in their way.

At Peace House, you realize, there is no textbook definition of community. Here, community isn’t something you dissect and define. It’s something that welcomes you the minute you walk in the door, if you’ll only let it. According to Sister Joanne, community is “what you feel all around you” every day at Peace House. It’s a feeling you’ll not soon forget.