Word play
Reverend Deb Richardson-Moore, of Triune Mercy Center, found the call to ministry through journalism by Kimberly Johnson
P
astor Deb Richardson-Moore has found her calling, “where the Gospel hits the street,” she says. As the spiritual leader of Triune Mercy Center, a nondenominational church that ministers to and alongside the homeless, she see every day how hard times cut across demographic lines. The toll of homelessness in Greenville runs the gamut—from those homeless for more than a decade to those finding themselves suddenly without a roof over their heads. At any given time, about 2,500 residents of Greenville County are living in shelters, woods, or doubling up with extended family, she explains. Tucked on the edge of downtown Greenville, Triune Mercy is uniquely positioned to minister to them. “We are located in what police call the ‘homeless triangle,’” she says, describing the area stretching between Triune Mercy to the Salvation Army and the Greenville Rescue Mission. She knows from first-hand experience, however, the path to the church’s door isn’t always a straight shot. Almost a decade ago, after all, she was a reporter with more than 20 years under her belt working for the Greenville News. When her editor assigned her to write for the religion beat, she decided to take a few college courses to prepare. “I got so involved, I ended up getting a master’s in divinity at Erskine seminary,” she says. “I did not plan any of this,” she admits. “I felt like God had to almost trick me to get me into seminary.” While in school, however, she found comfort in that preaching was a lot like
writing. “I felt like God was using all of my limited skills from other aspects of life to give this church something different that, it turns out, maybe it needed. We need each other, this church and I.” When she arrived at Triune Mercy in 2005, it was hardly easy. “It was incredibly difficult those first few years,” she admits. “It was like the Wild West. There were a lot of drug addicts, a lot of alcoholics, a lot of mentally ill. There just was not a lot of structure, and there was a lot of bad behavior,” such as fighting during mealtime. But this mother of three deployed a healthy dose of parental discipline. Structure took root, and services, such as drug rehabilitation, art courses, and employment counseling, began to thrive. It’s a story better than fiction, and one she chronicles in her new book, The Weight of Mercy, which comes out in October. “We started attracting a whole lot more middle-class people who just think this is what the kingdom of God looks like—a whole lot of homeless people, a whole lot of poor people, and a lot of middle-class people all worshiping together.” The result, she says, is the most economically diverse church congregation in the city, with parishioners ranging from credit union presidents and retired neurosurgeons to people living under bridges. “Quite frankly, some of these people will never hold down jobs, and some of them may never live in a house for that matter. But we want them to know that when they are here, we are glad to see them. They are children of God.”
“I felt like God was using all of my limited skills from other aspects of life to give this church something different that, it turns out, maybe it needed. We need each other, this church and I.”
76 TOWN / towngreenville.com
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