ALL THINGS ELGIN
Greg Silkenson's
Church on the Street

New Paragraph
A Ministry of Presence
By Brian McKinney
Every Friday morning for the past 21 years, while most of us were getting our first cup of coffee, Greg Silkenson was down at Veterans' Memorial Park—faithfully brewing his own for the men who gather there in search of work and the homeless who come in search of nourishment.
Silkenson's ministry, Church on the Street, isn't a church in the traditional sense. There are no pews, no pulpits, no hymnals. Just a weathered gazebo, hot coffee, a few dozen breakfast tacos (or whatever he can scare up), and—most importantly—a presence.
What began in 2004 as a simple idea—sparked by a spiritual retreat and a visit to Austin’s Church Under the Bridge—has grown into a quiet cornerstone of compassion in Elgin. Over the years, Silkenson and a small circle of supporters built a lasting tradition grounded in one powerful principle: consistency. “Just showing up,” he says. “That’s it.”
A Simple Idea and A Willing Heart
"I didn't have a big plan," Silkenson recalls. "I had a wife, a family, a job—I wasn't going to become a full-time missionary. But I saw the men down at the park, and I thought, maybe there's something I can do to help them."
That “something” became coffee and food—served each Friday morning with conversation and dignity. “At first, some folks weren’t quite sure what to make of it,” Greg recalls, “but over time, supporters started to show up. One woman even followed me out of an outreach meeting and said, ‘You bring coffee, I’ll bring breakfast tacos.’ That was it.”
21 Years and Hundreds of Faces Later
From the beginning, the goal was never flashy. "I've tried to keep it simple."
He's done that now for more than two decades. Nearly every Friday, rain or shine, vacation or not, he's there. Through a bout with cancer, job loss, and retirement, he's kept his Church on the Street ministry alive. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always been worthwhile.
"Some of the men I knew well have moved on or passed away. That's all a part of this. You build relationships and memories. People come and go. The cycle repeats."
Greg shares stories of hardworking day laborers carrying the weight of long hours, and low wages—some with chronic illness. Some cheated by dishonest employers who promised to pay but never did. Over time, they’ve learned to protect one another—passing quiet warnings about which trucks not to approach with a simple phrase: “he no pay.”
"There's wisdom out there," Greg says with a half-smile. "And community. These men look out for each other. They care.
Misconceptions, Truths, and TikTok
When asked about the public's perception of the day laborers who gather at the park, Silkenson doesn't mince words.
"Sometimes there's this assumption," he says, "that they're alcoholics or criminals. But these are hard-working people. Some have families back in Mexico and other countries in South America. Some have dreams—there's one guy who's saving up to go back to his ranch overlooking the ocean in El Salvador. He keeps a photo of it in his wallet."
They're carpenters, painters, landscapers—skilled, reliable, humble.
"I handed out red cards with information about their rights, just in case," Greg recalls. "One guy looked at it and said, 'Yeah, I saw this on TikTok.'" Greg laughs. "They're more connected than people think."
Silkenson has never asks anyone about their immigration status. "It's not my business," he says. "My job is to be here, talk to them, feed them, and listen."
Over the years, Greg has quietly stepped in to meet both practical and personal needs for the men at the park. He’s handed out hygiene kits, long-sleeve flannel shirts at Christmas, and Spanish-language New Testaments. He’s helped men navigate dialysis schedules, arranged transportation, and provided discount bus cards for medical appointments in Austin. He’s distributed “red cards” outlining legal rights during police encounters and connected day laborers with local clinics and dental outreach teams. When it snows—or even on Christmas morning—he shows up with hot coffee and warm conversation. His ministry may be simple, but it’s built on attention, consistency, and deep compassion for those too often overlooked.
Greg has no formal plan for what happens when he can't do it anymore. "If someone wants to take it up, I'll show them how. It's simple. You just have to care."
Recognition, Reluctantly
Speaking of witch, this year, Silkenson was named one of KVUE’s Five Who Care—a prestigious award honoring Central Texans who give selflessly to their communities.
He didn’t ask for it. He didn’t expect it. “My wife and one of our friends nominated me,” he says, a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t even know they’d submitted my name until I found out I’d been chosen— a week before KVUE showed up to shoot a feature about my mission.”
Economic Impact and Quiet Advocacy
In 2011, Greg conducted a small survey of the day laborers to better understand their impact on the local economy. The results were clear: They live in Elgin, they rent in Elgin, and they shop in Elgin.
"They're contributing to the economy," Greg says. "These aren't just guys in a park. They're part of the community—a labor force that shows up for work every day.
And they've helped the town, too—like the time a group of day laborers painted the gazebo in the park a few years back. Silkenson still has the old newspaper clipping.
No Grand Plan—Just Love in Action
Greg Silkenson has no grand vision for expanding Church on the Street. He does not have 501 (c) (3) paperwork, a website, or fundraising campaigns. He is just a man with coffee, tacos, and a commitment to helping.
“There was one Christmas when it snowed,” he recalled. “Just a few of us, under the old gazebo, watching the flakes drift down in silence. No one said much. We just stood there—weathered hands wrapped around warm cups of coffee, the park quiet, the world slowed. It was peaceful. It was perfect.”
In a world obsessed with scale and spectacle, Greg's story reminds me of what true service looks like. It's not loud, it doesn't brag, it just shows up. Every Friday.
