This tour came at a moment of clarity for Swannanoa Church — about three months in from being a church, and wrestling with the question of whether SCC would become a middle-class church that helps start good businesses, or something with deeper roots in the community. A member surfaced the connection to WCRM at House Church, and the timing couldn't have been better.
"If all we are is basically a middle-class church that just helps start good businesses — we're missing something. We're not fulfilling all that God's called us to be."
WCRM is a 20,000–60,000 sq ft facility in downtown Asheville running emergency shelter, long-term recovery programs, a medical clinic, and daily meals for anyone who shows up. They feed 500–600 people a day. They have 26 staff and a consistent volunteer base of 20–30, with hundreds more cycling through annually.
They don't take federal funding — because taking it would mean not preaching the gospel. That's a deliberate line Michael holds.
10–12 men at a time, drawn from across the country. Connected to 340 programs nationally — so if a man's roots in Asheville make recovery harder, they can place him somewhere else. David Spray runs discipleship here.
40+ women and children each night. Women don't have to leave during the day — a policy born from a survey where 98% of women reported sexual assault while homeless. The "Women of Work" program (12–16 weeks) addresses inner healing, self-esteem, abuse recovery, and skill-building in a small-group sisterhood model.
14 rooms (expanding to 34+) for women in addiction recovery who have a child ages 0–6. Six months of residential recovery plus six months transitional. The state recognizes and endorses this model as an alternative to removing children. Women here have their own space, their own laundry, baby monitors, cribs — everything self-contained. Success rates are notably high nationally. A version in Baltimore, built with Johns Hopkins Hospital, has scaled to 200 units, fully hospital-funded.
Partnered with Appalachian Mountain Community Health Center (a federally qualified health center Michael helped found). Same doctors, same nurses, long-term relationships — not a rotating free clinic. Michael is the only remaining founding board member.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day for everyone in the building. Dinner nightly for anyone in the community, no questions asked. Wednesday lunch is paused for deep cleaning. Saturdays and Sundays, outside lunch is paused (other orgs cover it), but dinner continues. Trader Joe's is a major donor — $400k/year in food goods per store, purchasing intentionally for giving away.
Annual — held the day before Easter. Podiatrists, medical professionals, and volunteers wash feet, pray over people, provide new shoes and socks. Not promoted to media. Michael described it as one of the most spiritually thick events they do.
One of Michael's favorite stories. During a construction season, the chapel cross was propped in a corner. A guest speaker didn't show for a 6pm chapel. The guys asked Michael to step in. He taught on purpose. Six men gave their lives to the Lord. One of them couldn't take his eyes off the cross in the corner. Michael asked him what he was seeing. The man said: "He did that for me."
Michael grabbed a Sharpie and invited the men to sign their names on the cross. It became the practice — anyone who gives their life to the Lord at WCRM signs the cross. The plan was to paint over it annually and start fresh. He couldn't bring himself to do it. People who moved away contact them on social media to ask if their name is still there. It is.
A woman who walked the same stretch of sidewalk in front of the mission every day for years — back and forth, talking to herself, never really engaging. Staff prayed for her daily. Eventually she opened up. She was from Bosco. There had been a fire in her trailer. She lost her children in it. Her family had been searching for her for eight years. She walked the street to stay visible to traffic — it was her place of safety. WCRM tracked down her sister. She got into treatment and was reunited with her family.
"You don't know what causes people."
The night of the hurricane, WCRM had just baptized 18–19 people. The baptistry was full. Power went out, water went out. 140 men, women, and children inside with no ability to flush. Michael's son, who works there, climbed through a fallen tree that had crushed three cars in the parking lot — all empty. He came inside and started helping in the dark.
They used the water from the baptistry to flush the toilets while the crisis played out. WCRM was the only shelter in Asheville that didn't close. They kept feeding 500–600 people a day through the outage.
Michael's most immediate ask: couples willing to come hold babies and read to toddlers in Abba's House. He specifically needs men — many of these children have no positive male presence. He wants them to hear a man's voice, feel a man's heartbeat, hear a man pray over them. It also models a standard for the mothers.
Other natural entry points:
"There's no reason for us to try to recreate this. You guys are doing a great job. We want to know where our people are already connected — and go deeper there."
Barry (WCRM board chair, SCC member) is the connection point between the two organizations. Elders will meet to discuss financial support and volunteering opportunities. Gordon is the lead on exploring a Celebrate Recovery site at or near WCRM — the CR national directors coming to SCC end of April is a real window for that conversation.