My former roommate, Patrick, and I used to joke about mind-altering drugs by dropping into our best radio voices and saying, "Better living through chemistry".
Odd, isn't it, how things we used to think were funny are no longer so?
It's been said that drugs are not the problem on the Downtown East Side, they're the solution. Whether it's prescription anti-psychotic meds, methadone or the illicit drugs dealt in back alleys, they're seen as the solution for the myriad problems plaguing our friends and neighbors here.
The Saturday before last, Lorraine walked into The Lord's Rain. "Can I talk to you when you have a minute?" she asked. "Sure," I said. A moment later, Barbara, a woman who's had numerous bits of bad news lately -- the loss of two brothers and problems with her liver (she's supposed to go for surgery on Thursday) -- came in. She went straight to the point. "I'm really upset," she said. "You know M. (name deleted), the fat woman who sits outside the Rainier [Hotel, a couple of doors away]?"
I nodded.
"She started saying some terrible things about you," Barb went on. "She started swearing and cursing you. It really hurt."
Lorraine came over. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. We're really mad, 'cause you're one of us -- you're family -- she can't talk about you like that."
Well, she was; and I've come to realize that M's behavior is tied inextricably to the type and dosage of prescription medication she takes. She's bright and beaming at some times; foul-mouthed and paranoid at others. I went to great lengths one morning to tell her that, no, people weren't talking about her behind her back and no, they weren't conspiring to ruin her or giving her "lethal injections" (as she called it) every two weeks. It evidently had little effect.
So I told them that M. was obviously off her meds and they shouldn't hold that against her. And in the meantime, we needed to pray for her - which is what we did, calling forgiveness, love and grace into the situation.
One of the greatest rewards of this Ministry is to be regarded as "family" and "one of us". When I started at Rainbow Mission 10 years ago, I couldn't help wondering if people looked at me as some guy trying to ease his own guilt by Doing Good For The Poor. It didn't take long for that feeling to be replaced by the sense that there are people around here who have your back, but it's still refreshing to be reminded time to time.
As for M., Lorraine told me a couple of days later that she had been taken to hospital for more treatment. Then, this past Friday, I saw M. sitting in a restaurant next door to the Rainier, eating lunch with an aunt. Now, M. was bright and smiling. Later that afternoon, I was standing outside the Mission when she pulled up in a taxi. "Who needs TransLink? My doctor paid for this! [She often makes reference to my former job.] I just got another shot," she added as she got out, pointing to the small band-aid on her arm.
The next morning, as I was heading upstairs to prepare the sandwiches, I overheard one of our new volunteers, Ken, say to her, "watch your language, M." I came back down a couple of minutes later to see M. leaving. Apparently, the new meds had already worn off.
M's case is another of those that leave one wondering about the way we treat the mentally ill. There's a distaste for "warehousing" people with "issues", conjuring up images of abuse and neglect at insane asylums from a century ago, or of people being committed against their will because it's "convenient" for society to push them away. Or is it any better to put them into open society and leave them to their own devices -- with some philosophy that they should have the right to decide for themselves whether they need treatment or intervention?
Some might say that de-institutionalizing them reminds us of a part of reality we might prefer to ignore; others say it turns these people into side-show exhibits. After a while, they become just one more thing to ignore on the streets.
(An interesting statistic turned up in today's Province that says that 20% of police calls in Vancouver and 25% of police time is taken up with calls involving the mentally ill. A case in point: the incident I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, in which a fellow was found in Pigeon Park, picking through a pile of sewage, garbage and needles, trying to find ... who knows? Two cops arrived on the scene and assessed his mental state, let him go, then stood watch over the pile until city workers could arrive to clean it up.)
And are the meds really the solution, or a convenience?
I merely ask. All I could see from M's case, was that they got her home from the doctor's office and through the next night; but that was about it.
The fact is, the mentally ill -- like M. -- are one of those great assignments from God: to love the unlovely. You look at pretty much any problem in somebody's life, it's because someone didn't love them. Maybe it was because of physical appearance, maybe their way of thinking went against the grain, maybe their brain just didn't function as well as others'. Lack of love breeds more lack of love, and Jesus' commandment to us is simple: love your neighbor as you, yourself, are loved by God. I may not be a mental health professional, but it doesn't take a university degree to love someone. So if M. is talking hatefully about me, let my response be Love. And if she's bright and beaming and cheerful towards me, let my response be Love.
And to respond to my question about the meds, I hear the coda from the late Larry Norman's song, "Don't ask me for answers; I only have one:/That a man leaves his darkness when he follows the Son."
***
Ken, whom I mentioned above, is another new volunteer who went from being served to serving. He looks to be in his 60s, and has been part of a team of Hastings Central residents, hired by Yes We Can! (aka The Bottle Depot) to keep the streets and alleys clean. He has a background in serving: he and his former wife -- who was one of the prison guards when he was doing time some years ago -- owned a lodge and cafe in the Cariboo for a few years. He has brought with him a new clientele: other middle-aged-to-older men, who have already started calling him "Pastor Ken".
I'm not laughing when I write that: people who have done time for far worse (Murph the Surf, Chuck Colson*, e.g.) have found the Lord while inside and gone on to inspire many people, so who knows what God has in store for Ken? It's great to have him on the team. Ken has agreed to share his story for my "In His image, too ..." video project, so stay tuned.
*(One may not agree with Mr Colson's politics, but if that's all you know of him, then you don't know the half of what he did for people. I found his radio messages both Grace-filled and challenging: I didn't agree with everything, but he got me thinking and re-assessing my Christian view.)
***
It's a new record!
When I think of the phrase "new record", I hear the Electric Light Orchestra's "Living Thing" in my mind -- which was on their album "A New World Record" -- so I shall now have those sforzato strings chops playing in my brain for the next 24 hours as I tell you that The Lord's Rain hosted 21 showers yesterday -- a new record for a single day (old one was 13, I believe). Considering they came in a 2-1/2-hour time period and we have four shower stalls, as Gary, our volunteer, pointed out that's one crazy-busy morning!
When I think of the phrase "new record", I hear the Electric Light Orchestra's "Living Thing" in my mind -- which was on their album "A New World Record" -- so I shall now have those sforzato strings chops playing in my brain for the next 24 hours as I tell you that The Lord's Rain hosted 21 showers yesterday -- a new record for a single day (old one was 13, I believe). Considering they came in a 2-1/2-hour time period and we have four shower stalls, as Gary, our volunteer, pointed out that's one crazy-busy morning!
