VENTING - Why we're called to be here

O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,

That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!

-- Julius Caesar, Act 3 Sc. 1

When I started writing this piece on Saturday, I was still slightly radioactive over a situation we had to deal with at The Lord’s Rain. The Shakespeare quote kept bubbling to the surface after seeing one of our regulars get carted off to hospital, evidently on a bad trip.

Lesley is one of the regulars at The Lord’s Rain, a 40-something woman who at one time was probably very attractive. She’s also remarkably intelligent – as indeed are the majority of the people we see at The Lord’s Rain and Gospel Mission upstairs. But drugs and street-life have robbed all of that from her: her teeth are gone, she has AIDS, she has open sores on her face that she has to be admonished not to pick at; she, along with many others in the area, reminds me of a scene in a cartoon where a deranged sailor rushes off a ship and screams, “I was a human being once!”

At any rate, Lesley came in yesterday, acting about as normal as we ever do see her. After a while, she went into the bathroom, leaving behind her coat and bag, as we require people to do, to try to reduce the chances that they’ll do drugs when they’re back there or in the showers. I went back to tend to the laundry, and realized she was still there.

“Are you OK?” I called.

The response was a cross between a groan and a gargle – taken individually, they’re not good signs; taken together, it was even worse. She told me she wanted to get to her doctor, but she didn’t have his number. The only number I know in a situation like that is 911, and I dialled it.

The amazingly impressive thing about emergency personnel working the Downtown East Side is their speed and their compassion. It’s a popular and populist thing to suggest that police and paramedics tend to regard a street person as “just another junkie”, but in seven years of personal observation, I have never seen that. They are tough when they have to be – as I saw when they took down Axel three years ago after I’d pointed him out as the one who took a piece of re-bar to a fellow in the alley across from the Mission – but the streaks of compassion and friendliness restore your faith in the way they do things and wonder where the “activists” get their stuff.

The paramedics were there within a few minutes and by then, Lesley was only semi-coherent. The 911 operator asked what drugs she’d been taking, and Lesley painstakingly wrote out a list of them – mostly her AIDS “cocktail” – and then explained patiently to the paramedics that they would have to speak very quietly and very slowly so she could understand what they were saying. She had very little control over her movements, which made it impossible to get a reading on her blood pressure. We walked her out to the ambulance, strapped her into the stretcher and they drove off.

St Paul’s Hospital would be the most likely destination, and when I went through my own health issues a couple of years ago, I saw first-hand their dealings with “street people” (it’s also one of the leading facilities for AIDS treatment, which would make it the best place to take her, as well). They would likely give her a stern talking-to about street drugs and “bringing it on herself”, but would also do whatever it took to at least stabilize her and keep her alive. It’s a mixture of toughness and compassion.

But Saturday, after the ambulance had left, I hit cracking point. Angry? Frustrated? You better believe it! But where do you start?

Do you get angry at the circumstances that led Lesley to that point? How about the society that’s taken this laissez-faire attitude towards drugs? (It’s so easy to sneer at the US “war on drugs”, but we in Canada have a lot to answer for with the “non-aggression pact” we seem to have – and students of history and World War II will understand the full implications of that.)

Maybe you could rail against the amount of money, energy, time and resources spent chasing “cures” rather than attacking the root causes; or against the dealers, pimps and absent parents; or against the societal attitudes that decided it would violate her rights to force her into treatment?

Where do you start? Heck – where do you finish?

Sunday afternoon, I drove down Hastings Street and passed five ambulances and one fire department first-response unit, all with their lights flashing. I can’t help wondering what would have happened if there had been a fire or a heart attack while the paramedics were attending to Lesley or if one of the victims had to wait for a bed in ER because Lesley was taking one up.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not about to advocate for an emergency care system that “respects persons” and writes off certain people because they were largely to blame for their condition. What makes me angry and frustrated is that Lesley’s situation could have been prevented, but there’s such a negative response to people who suggest that we should try to stop these problems before they start, actually teaching kids values and hope and the social heresy that we can and should turn to God to get us through tough times. People advocating abstinence or “Just Say No” are denounced as naive and self-righteous; that’s as may be, but I believe that if we give people something to “Just Say Yes” to, “Just Say No” does not become an issue.

And even in this, the Lord is putting things into perspective – praise Him. “At least she had a place to come to,” He quietly reminded me as I was about to start punching the walls inside The Lord’s Rain.

Right as always. The Lord’s Rain was her safe place, as it’s meant to be. If she’d had that bad trip – or the chest pains she complained about – anywhere else, what would she have done? Where would she have gone?

I don’t think it over-states the case to say that we – meaning you, our supporters, because you’re part of this – have someone; at least, helped to give one more person another chance at life, another chance to turn around; another chance to feel the love that is so much a part of The Lord’s Rain. The Lord’s Rain was built on love: it was not built to satisfy a government requirement or as a make-work project; it was built because God put it on the hearts of all those associated with it that this was something needed in the area. More importantly, once He had set the idea in motion, He made sure it came to pass, often through miraculous ways. Incidents like this with Lesley remind one just how needed it is. Remembering how so many others have found safe haven and encouragement at 327 Carrall Street reinforces that.

It's important to remember that, and the successes we have, even as we keep up the search for others to work with us: those to open The Lord’s Rain on the other three early mornings a week, to help run “Ladies Day” (Tuesdays, 9-Noon) and to fill in on other mornings as needed. I know the Lord of the Harvest is tapping people on the shoulder -- just as His Son is knocking on the doors of a lot of people (Rev. 3:20) -- and sooner or later, those people will say, "hello?"

One of those people who did answer the bell is Randall, who has emerged as a vital member of our leadership team; almost immediately the enemy tried to bring him under when he was diagnosed early this year with cancer. (As 'tis said, if you're not taking flak, you're not over the target.) I have heard from him occasionally: his neighbour tells me he’s had surgery to remove the tumor and has been going almost daily for follow-up treatment. I haven’t heard his prognosis, so it’s still anybody’s guess as to when he’ll return to action, so please keep him in prayer.