Food pantry line is long and diverse at suburban Atlanta church

MARIETTA — Snapshots of American life, taken from vehicles rolling through a drive-through food pantry: A Lyft tag dangling from the rearview mirror. An open trunk that holds cleaning supplies or construction tools. The name of a landscaping company on the door of a pickup truck. These people have jobs, and they still need help.

On a humid Tuesday afternoon outside First Presbyterian Church, yellow-clad volunteers hand out boxes of bread and meat and produce. The line moves quickly. The volunteers are cheerful and efficient. As the vehicles pass through the circle drive, completing one unpaid transaction after another, one can feel the precarious balance. The thin margins and unforgiving mathematics. The sense of all that could be lost with one missing paycheck.

No one would call this an impoverished neighborhood. Here in Cobb County, the median household income is comfortably above the national average. Just up the street, near Marietta Square, someone with available funds could settle in at a bar of white marble and sip an $18 cocktail featuring coconut-washed bourbon before savoring the pork loin with truffle gravy. Elsewhere in America this week, amid stubborn inflation, Vice President JD Vance joined a debate about $20 burritos. Meanwhile, at the church in Marietta, people quietly line up for free macaroni and cheese.

Credit: Jason Getz/AJC

Credit: Jason Getz/AJC

Here comes a silver Pontiac Vibe with a broken headlight and a bumper sticker that says MY DRIVING SCARES ME TOO. On the way are a white Toyota sedan with a gray replacement hood and a dilapidated Hyundai with a green plush turtle visible through the rear window. And there are a few surprises — vehicles you might not expect at a place like this.

A shiny black Lincoln SUV with a license plate that says VETERAN. A Mercedes-Benz with a grandmotherly woman in the driver’s seat. Among 113 vehicles that pass through the line today, at least three are made by Lexus.

Pantry coordinator Megan Rubio stands by the circle drive, overseeing the volunteers. When asked about the Lexus drivers, she is generous in her speculation. Financial situations can change quickly. An illness or lost job can lead to an emergency. And some recipients here at the church may just be delivering food to others in need. Rubio knows of one woman who picks up food for eight families.

“We feel it’s not our position to judge,” she says.

Credit: Jason Getz/AJC

The church hands out food beginning around 4:30 every Tuesday afternoon, and some people get here long before that. Christie Dickerson is supporting her elderly mother. Every penny counts. She sometimes arrives an hour early so she doesn’t have to inch through the line and waste gasoline.

Dickerson is a regular here, glad to converse with a friend who also keeps showing up. Some recipients have been here for years. On average, recipients show up for about five months, said the Rev. Cassie Waits, the church’s associate pastor of discipleship. Volunteers like getting to know people. But if the recipients stop showing up, that may be a good sign. Perhaps the season of greatest need has passed.

“Sometimes they come for three weeks, and they’re gone,” Waits says.

The cars move from the west parking lot, across the railroad tracks, toward an overhanging roof by the church entrance. Dan Bird guides them with an orange marshaling wand like you might see on the airport tarmac. Joe Hall calls out directions for the volunteers. “Three! Backseat. Three! Backseat.” That means the next vehicle is collecting food for three families, and the food should go in the backseat.

Credit: Jason Getz/AJC

“Three in the trunk!” Hall calls, and the line keeps moving.

The food pantry began in 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic, and visits peaked last fall when the federal government shutdown delayed Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program benefits. Demand is still twice as high as when the pantry started, according to Rubio.

The church gets much of its food from Sweetwater Mission in Austell, which in turn is supported by corporations and other donors. Rubio says they always need donations, but one way or another they find a way. One woman from the church looks for bargains at Aldi. One sixth-grade girl gathered 25 boxes of diapers and 25 boxes of wipes. The church is built on the unwavering belief in a man who was said to have fed 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish.

But those in the line have other needs. Volunteers hand out little white squares of paper with a question at the top: How can we pray for you? The same question appears in Spanish on the other side. Today they collect 56 of these prayer cards. Rubio holds a stack in her hands.

One person wants prayer for a son with special needs. Another for the whole family. A third says, Please pray for me to find work. A fourth is written in Spanish. It says, in effect, I need a special prayer because I’m feeling very alone.

There is strength in numbers here at the church. “Two in the back!” Hall calls. “Two!” There are 37 volunteers here today. They give out food for 277 families, plus more for those who walked up instead of driving. Sometimes the volunteers also give out children’s books and food for dogs, cats and birds. The cars keep coming, and the volunteers keep loading them up. Chef Boyardee, yellow lentils, Sara Lee Sandwich White. Give us this day our daily bread. The line keeps moving, and the food does not run out.

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