On Sunday morning, Feb. 22, parishioners going to Mass at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist found a surprise - for some, not a pleasant one.

To get in the ornate doors of the historic sanctuary on Lafayette Square, they had to first step over a dozen homeless people, sprawled out right there on the front steps in the shadows of the spires, huddled within cardboard box "tents" lined with blankets.

Well, homeless for a night anyway. The people in the boxes were actually about a dozen members of the Catholic social services group JustFaith and their guests, raising awareness to the plight of the homeless through an annual "Box City" event.

"I don't pretend that one night sleeping out puts me in touch with realities of being homeless," explains Sister Jackie Griffith, director of Social Services for the Savannah Catholic Diocese.

"It's meant to be only an introduction to a way of life that we hope people will continue, to lead them both spiritually and in compassion or solidarity," she says. "We chose the location of the Cathedral because it's downtown and we wanted to be the in spirals of cathedral while we know there are folks sleeping out in camps, and underneath the bridge."

While homelessness is a continuing issue in Savannah, the severe economic downturn has changed its complexion. Local shelters are no longer primarily the province of elderly male drifters.

"When you think of a homeless person you think of an older unshaven guy," says Robert Ludgate, a member of the local Unitarian Universalist Beloved Community who joined JustFaith members on the cathedral steps.

"But things in the economy out there are now putting women and children in the same situation. It may not be substance abuse or mental illness, more and more it's the economy."

For their sleepout, Justfaith picked the wintry February night for a reason. "If we did it during balmy spring weather it wouldn't be much of a learning experience," says Sister Jackie.

But it's not only the weather itself that tells the tale, she says. It's learning about the extraordinary preparations that homeless people must make just to provide themselves the most basic shelter from the elements.

"At first it's like, gosh you have to drag all this extra stuff with you, a blanket or sleeping bag," says Sister Jackie. "It really gives you the sense of preparing to sleep out. It gives a sense of having to put your shelter together."

Indeed, the lengths to which homeless people must go to stay warm in the winter can be shocking - even disturbing - to those willing to take a closer look.

Michael Johnson, a parishioner at Sacred Heart who helped organize the Justfaith sleepouts, recounts his experience working with the homeless in Manhattan, near his former home of Croton-on-Hudson, N.Y.

He was doing what's known as a "midnight run" -- providing warm food and drink to homeless people as they bed down for the night.

"I was doing my first midnight run - it was a real eye-opener," Johnson remembers. "I was astounded at the little nooks and crannies people would find to spend the night out on the street."

This particular Manhattan night was frigid, "chin-shivering" cold, he says.

"I went over to a clear plastic bag full of newspapers, and didn't see anybody, so I walked off. Someone that was with me said, 'No, there's somebody in there.'"

Sure enough, Johnson says, a homeless woman was somewhere inside the makeshift bundle, a plastic bag lined with newspapers as insulation.

"She had straws like snorkels sticking out of the bag, so she could breathe without suffocating," he says in amazement. "And she weren't coming out for anything until the morning."

Johnson brought her some soup and a sandwich, but when he came by in the morning it was still there, beside her shelter. "When it's really cold like that, once they get themselves settled in and get some heat built up in there, they won't budge until morning comes."

Johnson describes the differences between the two metro areas, one very large and northern, the other smaller and in the South.

"There's a much larger percentage of homeless in New York. You see much more of it. But I don't think Savannah is as insulated from problem. Savannah has a very good network for the homeless but it's still incomplete. When it's really cold the shelters just do not have room for them."

In addition to camping out on the steps, the JustFaith Box City campers received "midnight runs" of their own, an idea Johnson incorporated from the similar events he helped coordinate in New York. "It's a good opportunity for people who aren't able to sleep out to help, for example if they've got children at home," says Sister Jackie.

The scene on the steps at about 11 p.m. that Saturday night was typical downtown Savannah: Partiers driving to and from bars, some yelling out at the "homeless" people. CAT buses grinding out their nightly routes.

The noise would continue deep into the night. It was cold out - but not cold enough to keep Savannah from partying.

"This is very different from camping," says Johnson. "It's amazing how noisy the city is when you're sleeping on the street. You hear every noise. It's a very uneasy sleep."

The Box City event actually culminated the next morning, when the tenters left their cardboard shelters and walked the few feet inside the Cathedral for Mass.

After Mass, they walked to the Social Apostolate, where Sister Pauline O'Brien fed them breakfast and led discussion on what they'd learned, adding in her own experience from years of serving the homeless and disadvantaged.

"Sister Pauline feeds folks who are homeless every day," says Sister Jackie. "The idea is to go to Mass and nourish our spirit, and then go to the Social Apostolate and nourish our bodies."

For Robert Ludgate, the experience and the subsequent reflection bordered on the profound.

"I thought about things I never really questioned, like when I'd see someone digging in a dumpster for food, or passed out on a bench. Why is that person where they are? What led them to be there?" he asks.

"Substance abuse and mental health issues may be part of it. But part of it a lack of compassion on our part. We just don't see them."

Ludgate says that in the middle of the night, a young couple walked up the steps, sat down right near the sleeping Box City tenters - and rolled a fat joint.

"They sat on the steps and smoked that one, and then rolled another one," Ludgate laughs. "Not one time did they even look at us, or acknowledge us in any way."

While Ludgate allows that perhaps "they were so stoned it didn't even register," he also feels there was something deeper at work. "They probably thought, there's no way these people will call the cops. They safe that they could ignore us."

It was much harder for churchgoers the next morning to ignore the tenters, however.

"It was almost funny," Ludgate remembers. "The next morning so many people didn't come up the steps at all - they went around and came up the stairs on the side so they wouldn't have to walk amidst us."

Ludgate jokingly says that for next year's Box City sleepout, "we'll get some police tape and block off the side steps so they'll be forced to come up the front."

Ludgate says - with some sadness - that the vast majority of parishioners ignored them, with a few exceptions.

"One elderly African-American couple did make eye contact, and said, 'Good morning, God bless you,' and I responded back the same way," he says.

"Then an older white couple came by. The woman walked up to me and said, 'I presume you're out here to bring attention to the homeless?'"

When Ludgate said yes, the woman replied, "Too bad you're not doing something about the unborn."

"So I asked her, what would that look like if we did that?" Ludgate says. "She never responded."

In any case, after Mass the campers were ready for their hot breakfast at the Social Apostolate.

"Sister Pauline had breakfast ready for us, a pan of grits, eggs, bacon, pancakes," Ludgates says.

"And the best cup of coffee I've had in years."