News and Insights
Love, Loss and Legacy: A Conversation About The Kingdom of the Poor
December 5, 2024
In ancient wisdom traditions, there’s a story of a traveler who comes upon two cities. In the first, the wealthy live behind high walls, while the poor huddle in shadows. In the second city, though less grand, every door stands open, and at each threshold sits a loaf of bread and a jar of water. “Which is the more civilized place?” asks a child. The traveler replies, “The city that remembers we are all one day’s misfortune from needing that bread and water.”
This timeless truth about human dignity and mutual care is reflected in the life’s work of Charles Strobel, a nationally renowned advocate for the unhoused who died in August 2023. In his final months, he had one last mission: to share his message of unconditional kindness, forgiveness and hope. His niece Katie Seigenthaler, a managing partner at FINN Partners, helped bring his stories to life as co-editor of his posthumous memoir, The Kingdom of the Poor: My Journey Home, published in September 2024. The book has garnered praise from literary figures like Ann Patchett, who has called it “a manual for decency and kindness.”
FINN Partners’ Nashville team has for years supported Room In The Inn – the organization Charles founded in 1986 – as a pro bono client. The organization, which began in Nashville and has expanded to 35 cities across the country, provides a continuum of care for unhoused individuals. Through FINN’s media relations efforts, Strobel’s vision continues to reach new audiences, carrying forward his message of compassion and community.
Recently, we caught up with Katie to talk about the book, Charles’ legacy, and how the experience has changed her. Here’s a recap of that conversation.
Q: What motivated your uncle to share his life story in his final months?
A: He felt it was his last chance to help heal a broken world. He was a charismatic man known across the country for developing a continuum of care for the unhoused and for advocating against the death penalty. He believed that everyone is poor and worthy of love, and this philosophy guided his entire life. In his final days, he kept asking, “Am I missing anybody? Am I missing anything?” He wanted to make sure every story that could help others was captured.
Q: The book’s title speaks to a central theme. How did your uncle define poverty and “the journey home”?
A: For him, poverty went far beyond material circumstances. He learned from Father Dan Richardson, the pastor of his childhood parish in Nashville’s Germantown neighborhood, that the kingdom could exist here on earth. When Charles spoke of “my journey home,” it was about the kingdom he grew up in, the kingdom he built at Room In The Inn, and the kingdom waiting for him. He didn’t fear death. Father Dan preached, “We’re on this earth to get ready to die,” and Uncle Charles believed those words.
Q: Your uncle said he started Room In The Inn with just a peanut butter sandwich. Can you explain that story?
A: His spirit of giving actually started with my grandmother, who was the original “open door” person in his life. The family legend was that their house in North Nashville was marked with a sign that meant it was welcoming to the homeless, who were called hobos back then. They could knock on the door and my grandmother would always give them a peanut butter sandwich and a kind word. Years later, as the pastor at Holy Name Catholic Church, Charles looked out his rectory window one cold night in 1986 and saw people sleeping in cars in the church parking lot. He knew if he helped them that night, he’d probably be doing it for the rest of his life. But he couldn’t ignore them. That first meal he served was peanut butter sandwiches – a simple gesture showing that it doesn’t matter what you have, only that you share it.
Q: The book addresses your grandmother’s murder and your uncle’s forgiveness of her killer. How did that profound act of forgiveness shape his philosophy – and yours?
A: It was a tragedy of mammoth proportions. In 1986, just weeks after my uncle starting Room In The Inn, my grandmother was murdered by an escaped convict. She spent her retirement days running errands of mercy – her car was a Salvation Army on wheels, filled with provisions for people. One December evening, she was stalked, kidnapped, and killed by a man who would go on to commit a string of murders across the Southeast. At her funeral, Uncle Charles stood up and said, “We know the answers are not easy or clear, but we still believe in the miracle of forgiveness and extend our arms in that embrace.” He defined a miracle as something “wondrous to behold” – not magic fairy dust, but something outside what we understand humans to be capable of. He remained firm in his belief even after learning about the killer’s subsequent crimes. His insistence on forgiveness freed our family from hate and bitterness and so was a miracle.
Q: Why do you think the book resonates for such diverse voices as Ann Patchett and Emmylou Harris?
A: The simplicity of his storytelling allows the mind to move in many different directions and imagine change. Ann Patchett, who wrote the foreword, calls it “a manual for decency and kindness.” She knew Charles well – he officiated at her wedding. But she didn’t endorse the book as a gesture of friendship. Ann and all of the prominent literary figures who have praised The Kingdom have done so because of the power of the stories Uncle Charles tells. They are tender, funny, warm and heartbreaking. They transcend politics and religious beliefs to transform hearts.
Q: What elements of your uncle’s legacy do you hope will continue through Room In The Inn?
A: He was a powerful consensus builder who understood how to create something that would live past him. Years ago, he passed the torch at Room In The Inn to Executive Director Rachel Hester and he took the title “Founding Director” as he continued his social justice work. The organization has never been stronger because people gravitate to its simple concept of offering hospitality, kindness and forgiveness. In The Kingdom’s epilogue, “Pick up the Burden,” Charles writes: “There is joy in taking up a small part of someone else’s burden, the part you can manage. You will be strengthened by it, and in turn, you will know that someone else will not be crushed by what they cannot manage alone. This balance between people is the essence of love and joy.” He wasn’t talking about complicated things – he was talking about consistency, about making hospitality, kindness and forgiveness part of your daily life.
POSTED BY: Lisa Heathman, Katie Seigenthaler
