Sunday Down Union Avenue

The concrete steps that stand before "The Grace Church" stretch long and crooked. And as I walked up those heavy concrete slabs I couldn't help but turn my head to notice the surroundings– dozens of boarded up homes, cars with trash bagged windows, shattered glass.

What am I doing here?

My head swung back towards the church's entrance. There, stood a smiling man, proudly dressed in a dark suit. His eyes shined with deep curiosity. "Come on in," he said, leading me away from the heavy rain. He leaned his back against the tall white doors and guided his left hand inside. I entered with my camera swinging over my neck.
Inside that church I saw the lives and faces of Cleveland. Down the street, I saw the stores they shopped at, the barber shops where they got their hair cut. I saw those boarded up homes, those broken cars, and that shattered glass. 
 

Here are some of those faces and spaces.

 The man that greeted me before I entered "The Grace Church."

The man that greeted me before I entered "The Grace Church."

 "May I photograph your hands?" "But why would you want to photograph my hands?" "They are beautiful." He smiles

"May I photograph your hands?"
"But why would you want to photograph my hands?"
"They are beautiful."
He smiles

 "Are you interested in attending mass today?" Beautiful music flew through the door and on to the street.

"Are you interested in attending mass today?"
Beautiful music flew through the door and on to the street.

 "Here, I'll walk you to the car" He extends the umbrella open. The rain falls heavily.

"Here, I'll walk you to the car"
He extends the umbrella open. The rain falls heavily.

 The door seemed closed.

The door seemed closed.

 $80

$80

 Drive slow, through the rain.

Drive slow, through the rain.

 And the windows blinked.

And the windows blinked.