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3 min read

The common sense driving local charity

Catherine Jupp and her friends give furniture to those who need it at no cost. Ryan Gilfeather explores what motivates them.

Ryan Gilfeather explores social issues through the lens of philosophy, theology, and history. He is a Research Associate at the Joseph Centre for Dignified Work.

A group of people stand in front of the side of a van marked 'Furniture Friends.
Catherine Jupp and her Furniture Friends.

It will come as little surprise to the UK public to hear that Christians are involved in charity. In times of great need, several high-profile Christian charities offer help. For example, after the devastating earthquake in Turkey and Syria last year, the UK’s Disaster Emergency Committee pooled the resources of 15 leading aid charities to provide relief. Of those charities, four explicitly identify as Christian: Tearfund, Christian Aid, CAFOD, and World Vision. Anyone following these efforts would easily grasp that Christians are involved in large-scale charitable activity that helps those in need.  

Outside of the public gaze, however, are ordinary Christians serving the marginalised in their local communities. Around the country, they are running warm banks, food banks, and other enterprises helping those unable to provide for themselves or their families. Despite how hidden these efforts are, they make an enormous difference to their local communities. The collective impact of all these different groups is vast.  

My colleague, Catherine Jupp is one of these faithful people. Catherine and I both serve our parish church in rural Hertfordshire, I as a priest and she as a lay minister. In her previous life, she taught in a secondary school in a challenging area. Now, alongside her ministry, she and her husband run a local charity called Furniture Friends.  

Their mission is simple: to give furniture to those who need it at no cost. Day to day, this involves volunteers who work with them driving around in a van, collecting beds, sofas and other items from people who have no more use for them. They take calls from a network of social workers around Hertfordshire, asking for particular things for certain people. And, they go and deliver furniture to these individuals and families in need.  

Catherine speaks of the challenging circumstances their clients live in: families living without any furniture. Furniture Friends makes a massive difference to these children who can now sleep on beds and families who can sit on a sofa. One recipient said to them,  

“Yesterday all I had was a mattress and a camping stove, today I have a bed and a beautiful chair. I feel like a queen, thank you so much.”  

A social worker praised their work with these words: 

“I just wanted to let you know what a difference you have made to our families. I visited my client today and for the first time in four years the children were dressed and clean, the house was tidy and organized. Your help and donations have given this family a new direction and a sense of pride in their home which has had a huge impact on the children and their wellbeing.”  

Over the past year, she has shared her concern about the huge increase in referrals as the cost of living crisis sunk its teeth in. From the outside, I see how they have responded to this increasing need. Working as hard as they can, they deliver a significant amount of furniture around the local area. Although they are one small charity, they have a significant impact.  

She also often talks about what drives her to this work. Catherine is theologically trained and taught ethics for years, so she could offer a theologically complex account of her motivation if she wished. However, she has no need to. She simply says that it is the most obvious thing in the world that she ought to do this work. “It’s just what you do,” she says. By this, she means, that it is the clear outworking of her Christian faith.  

I often hear this expression when speaking with Christians leading social justice enterprises and movements. When I dig a little deeper, they tend to say that growing up in Church, they regularly heard in sermons that serving those most in need comes hand in hand with loving God. Christians believe this because the Bible repeatedly expresses that God has a special concern for the poor and that we must too. When one hears this message week after week, year after year, it becomes common sense to us. Hence, when Catherine says she delivers furniture to those who most need it, because “It’s just what you do,” she means that for her, love for God and love for neighbour must always come together. It is for this reason that Catherine does this work, outside of the public gaze, which makes all the difference in the world to the many people she serves. 

 

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Eating
4 min read

Why cafes are sacred spaces

Socrates had the agora, we have the cafe
People sit in a busy cafe.
Cafe culture.

Autumn’s here. I can smell it before I even find a seat. The waft of pumpkin spice lattes hangs in the air of my favourite coffee spot – the unofficial sign, for me at least, that it’s time to wrap up warm.  

Personally, I’ll stick to my batch brew coffee, but I get the appeal. 

And while these drinks may change with the seasons, the ritual doesn’t. We keep coming back to cafes and coffee shops. To me, it feels as if we’re craving something more than just the caffeine.  

Cafes that fail to ride the wave of seasonal trends suffer – as the high street giant Costa found this summer, when it failed to cash in on the  TikTok-accelerated bandwagon of matcha lattes as the summer “it” drink and saw profits plummet.  

But it’s about more than just what’s on the menu. 

Starbucks has just announced plans to close branches across the UK, citing an inability to create the kind of physical environment customers now expect. 

Indie cafés, on the other hand, are growing in popularity, with the Observer putting this down to the “lifestyle experience” they offer. This is certainly true, but only half the story. From where I sit, these seasonal drinks appear to be the latest frothy disguise for our very human need for meaningful connection. 

Socrates had the agora. We have the café. 

Think about it.  

Cafes have become shared spaces where people work alone together, catch up with friends, debate, discuss, purchase, and consume. We signal loyalty with stamp cards, publicise our purchases on social media, and even join communities that gather around the cafés – running clubs;, book groups;, new  parent meetups. 

A sweeping glance from my current table offers an insight into this hive of connectivity. 

The walls are home to a temporary art gallery paying homage to local landmarks. 

The noticeboard is stacked with volunteering opportunities, mental health classes, indie gig flyers, and an invite to a Halloween party. 

A mother attempts to photograph and feed her child a babycino at the same time. 

A job interview, or perhaps a painfully awkward first date, unfolds quietly in the corner. 

Two young women laugh at last night’s antics. 

The barista explains the tasting notes of the latest batch brew to a customer redeeming a fully stamped loyalty card. 

An empty chair sits opposite me, waiting for a friend who, I know, will soon be bearing his soul. 

It all tells me that cafés have commodified our desire to belong. And we’re more than willing to buy into it. 

But I reckon there’s still something missing. 

Coffee culture doesn’t just tell us about our habits. It tells us about our humanity. In a world that longs for belonging but can’t stop scrolling, cafés hint at something deeper: that we were made not just for surface-level connection, but for something more lasting.  

In ancient Athens, the agora wasn’t just a marketplace or social hub. It provided a context for people to explore big questions of truth, beauty, virtue, and justice. It was the setting for public dialogue and philosophical inquiry. It was noisy, informal, often disruptive but always a space for serious thought. 

I’m not suggesting you take a soap box with you on your next caffeine fix. But I do think our modern cafés, for all their cosiness and cinnamon, are agora-like spaces which offer us an opportunity to go deep.  

They invite us to pause, to talk, to really think.  

Could it be that cafés offer us a place not just to consume or connect, but to consider the unseen things? To get beyond the froth and to the things of real substance? 

Over the years, I’ve found cafés can be unexpectedly sacred spaces. 

I’ve sat across from friends as they’ve wrestled with doubt, grief, purpose, and belief. And friends have sat across from me as I’ve worked these things through too. 

One tells me he’s started going to church, but doesn’t exactly know why. 
Another wants to read through a Gospel with me and figure out who Jesus is. 
One doesn’t really know who he is any more after a breakdown but is glad for the company. 
Another says his doubts about God began when a childhood friend was killed in a car accident. 
One wonders if God might be nudging him toward a big move to Cardiff. 

None of these conversations happened in a church. They happened here, in spaces designed for comfort but used for something far more courageous. 

This isn’t a new idea. Some of the earliest stories about Jesus show him not just teaching in temples, but sitting at tables, sharing meals, asking questions, listening. Real life. Real conversations. 

In my line of work, if Jesus does something, it’s advisable to follow suit. And I’ve found doing exactly that immensely rewarding. So much of my own spiritual formation has happened within the confines of a café.  

So perhaps the café could be a place where the unseen comes close. Where, over a batch brew or a seasonal latte, you might find yourself not just connected, but known. 

Maybe, like my friend, you’re not exactly sure what you believe. Maybe, like many of us, you’re just trying to make sense of it all. 

Either way, next time you’re in a café, don’t be afraid to go beyond the froth and get to the stuff with real flavour. 

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