ATLANTA -- It's a typically chaotic Wednesday evening at Central Presbyterian Church's downtown night shelter.
The pungent odor of VapoRub and Clorox hangs in the air as volunteers fill basins with warm water, detergent and disinfectant. They lay out white towels and washcloths, toenail clippers and rubber latex gloves.The time has come to wash the feet of the homeless.
Eight pairs of folding chairs are crammed into a makeshift clinic -- a series of several rooms, the biggest 7 by 20 feet -- between the church's fourth-floor elevator and a gymnasium where the homeless men sleep.
Stanford Howard is one of the first to find a seat. He's welcomed by volunteer Ike Lee and asked to soak his feet in one of the basins of water.
"That feels real nice," says Howard, 30ish, wearing gray pants, a purple sweatshirt, black ski cap and beat-up tennis shoes.
He relaxes as the evening ritual begins.
Nearby, volunteer Eckhart Richter greets James Franklin, washes and drys his feet and starts a careful inspection, looking for the types of problems afflicting someone who spends all day on his feet: Blisters and bunions. Corns and calluses. Warts and fungus. Athlete's foot.
Richter trims Franklin's nails, sands away calluses, applies fungicide between his toes and massages in some VapoRub. Then he offers Franklin a new pair of white cotton socks.
Some men have holes in their socks and blood on their feet. Franklin has an ingrown toenail that Richter says will require medical treatment.
The process is repeated throughout the night -- and every Wednesday between November and March, the five months Central Night Shelter operates.
The facility, founded in 1980, is like no other, a shelter too big for one church to handle. Part of an all-volunteer ecumenical project that enlists volunteers from 35 churches plus civic and business organizations, it is housed at Central Presbyterian and the Catholic Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.
These two churches, both downtown near the state Capitol, predate the Civil War and were built side by side, their back doors facing each other.
The foot washing program was begun in the mid-1980s by a family practitioner, Dr. Robin Line, who was inspired by the biblical Gospel of John, which describes Jesus washing the feet of his disciples before the Last Supper.
"It's a powerful example of Christ saying this is what a life of love is about -- about serving and caring for one another, not being more powerful or important than someone else," says Mark Bashor, who has served as a shelter volunteer for nearly two decades and since 1988 as its director.
He characterizes the shelter as a ministry of hospitality for strangers.
"And the foot clinic," he says, "by adding the dimension of healing, makes it complete."
For the homeless, especially, bad feet can be bad news.
"If the feet hurt, the whole body hurts," says Martha Crenshaw, a family physician. "And if the feet don't work right, then the person can't work."
Crenshaw, 47, runs a medical clinic affiliated with the foot program, which, conveniently, is coordinated by her husband, Ike Lee.
The couple, who live in Stone Mountain, have volunteered at Central Presbyterian since 1988 and headed their respective clinics since 1991. "It's our Wednesday night date," Crenshaw says.
"Washing feet is not going to solve a lot of problems in the men's lives," says Lee, also 47. "But if their feet feel a little better, it helps the rest of them feel better."
Orlando Harris agrees.
"This is a great service; it shows me love and caring," says Harris, a native of Buffalo, N.Y., who has been living at the shelter.
"A lot of people would say, 'I'm not going to touch a homeless person's feet.' People don't understand that the homeless walk and walk and walk all day, and our feet hurt," he says.
Lee and Crenshaw's 7-year-old son, Hal, who visited the clinic for the first time late last year, quickly reached his own conclusion about the homeless.
"These guys are just like the rest of us," he says. It's a perspective that many volunteers like Richter, who's been working at the clinic since 1995, come to share through their labors.
A retired professor of music, Richter, 72, takes his foot care seriously. He's a student of reflexology.
"Imagine the harshness that the homeless must experience all day long," says Richter. "Here is a moment where by giving a touch of kindness and comfort you are showing basic humanity. You affirm that person's dignity as a human being."