He was a frequent sight on the Downtown East Side. Very short grey hair, a pot belly, shambling walk, usually two or three days' stubble; and invariably wearing some article of clothing that proclaimed, "JESUS IS LORD". Usually, the clothing in question was a yellow puffy vest, with a large Cross drawn on the back in felt marker. Sometimes, it would be a sweatshirt or a ball cap, but the message, if you thought long enough about it, was unwavering: "no matter what I look like to you, Jesus is what it's all about". Barry Babcook, our senior pastor, has been at Gospel Mission for 17 years and Clifford "Barry" Smith had been there since long before that.
Barry Smith died last Friday. He had a number of health issues, but his heart got to him first: suffered a heart attack a couple of weeks ago and drifted in and out of consciousness at St Paul's Hospital until late Friday night, when God said, "come on home".
The fact that he loved the Lord, loved to worship and share his faith was unmistakable. I remember he would often be the only one in the congregation who would stand during Worship time at our Saturday night services, sometimes just raising his arms with his eyes closed; other times mouthing the words.
He could be seen around Oppenheimer Park, praying for people specifically or in general, or for the area as a whole. He was one of those guys who could cite book, chapter, and verse of the Bible, which frustrated the heck out of me, since there are times when I think I have to look up Genesis 1:1. He would get into, shall we say, lively discussions of Scripture, either in the weekly Bible studies or sitting around the table in The Lord's Rain, going over some interpretation with Ross or old Joe Trepanier, none of whom was likely to give an inch when it came to their interpretation.
He was something of an enigma: cranky at times -- perfectly understandable, given his health issues -- other times, coming out with an out-of-left-field compliment or a bright word and a laugh. He was a loner and had no family that we knew of -- a fact that was driven home when Janet had to put herself on the hospital documents as "next of kin" -- and when you get down to it, the people in the missions on the DTES were his family, fractious and fluid as that might be at times.
He'll be missed a lot. He was someone who was just... there. And now he's not. But this I'm sure of: that like the beggar Lazarus, he's now in Abraham's arms; the sickness is gone, the pain and loneliness are over, and he's doing what he's always loved to do: praise the Lord.
