Gospel Mission and the 3 P's

In one of his sermons on Living Truth, Charles Price talked about the three items in the Ark of the Covenant: the stone tablets containing God's Law, a jar of manna and Aaron's staff. Each represents a different aspect of our relationship with God. The tablets represent God's purpose, the manna represents His provision; Aaron's staff represents His power: this is the staff that blossomed and bore almonds while the staves of the representatives of the other 11 tribes of Israel remained sticks; Aaron's staff manifested God's power and life through Him.

Does that not apply to Gospel Mission? God's purpose has been playing out pretty much since the Mission was founded in 1929, in the Mission's principle of "God's food first" and its emphasis on being a place of Worship, ministry of the Gospel and demonstration of the love of Christ.

God's provision is represented in numerous ways, particularly in The Lord's Rain. It provides a place to meet a Basic Human Need, which is to be clean; but the fact that the facility has always met its rent and utility bills, often through miracles (OK: consistently through miracles), shows how God has made sure the ministry's worldly needs are being met.

And now we come to God's power. From what I've been hearing and reading on the Gospel Mission Society Facebook page, that has been descending, big-time, on the Mission. I'm getting reports of healings, people receiving the Holy Spirit, and other demonstrations of God's love and grace. It bruises my ego to say it, but it's happened since I was moved out (by God, I should point out) and Wesley Chadwick was moved in. (God has His way of moving us around like chess pieces: we usually have no idea what He's doing at the time, but He eventually shows us when we need to know it.)

This is exactly what God has shown me the Mission would be doing, and exactly what the Downtown East Side needs. It doesn`t need more money, more programs or more handouts: it needs a dose of the Holy Spirit and the Gospel, straight-no-chaser, to bring the hope people need to keep moving forward and turn their lives around -- for His name's sake.

Gospel Mission is an Ark in another way: like Noah's Ark. Years ago, God showed me that there would be Revival on the Downtown East Side with the Holy Spirit coming in like a flood, rising up and catching people unawares in its tide. The Cross would be the Ark for people to grab onto to avoid being swept away and drowned, and so long as Gospel Mission puts the Cross and all It represents first -- God, Jesus, Redemption, Forgiveness, Grace -- people will find the refuge and the hope they need there. With the manifestation now of God's power, going with His provision and purpose, we're seeing the two types of "ark" melding into one.

How to turn the Tim's incident into something good

The media in Vancouver has been abuzz lately with news that the manager of a downtown Tim Horton's outlet dumped water all over a man who was sleeping on the sidewalk. The doughnut chain has apologized, the manager will likely be pilloried, and some are calling for a boycott of Tim's.

But maybe there's a way to make a more lasting benefit out of a nasty incident.

To begin with, having spent over 10 years dealing with people who "live rough" on the Downtown East Side, I know they can be pretty difficult at times. Chances are, things escalated to a point where the Tim's manager acted out of frustration. As is so often the case with social media, the climactic incident is all that gets reported: we don't see the build-up. Were the case to go through the "usual legal process", we might get a completely different picture.

Trust me: there have been some instances over the years, where people around the Mission have pushed my buttons.

This isn't to defend the way it was handled. Clearly, this fellow could use more face-to-face time with those who live rough.

So I have a modest proposal.

Rather than fire the manager or send him to sensitivity training (the western-democratic, PC equivalent of "re-education camps"), have him volunteer for one or two mornings a week at The Lord's Rain. That's the showers facility run by Gospel Mission Society (not Union Gospel) next to Pigeon Park. It's open Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday from 6:30 until 9 AM or so. People can come in to have a shower or wash up and shave at the sinks; or just have a coffee and hang out.

It would be the ideal place for this manager to bring his talents -- serving customers -- and learn who these people really are. An old Anglican minister said to me many years ago, "You can never hate a man once you have talked to him." And so it can be here.

After all, what would punishment do, besides make the fellow defensive? He's already been pilloried in the media and his side of the story hasn't come out. And what would a boycott do, except assuage some people's sense of righteous indignation? It would fizzle after a while. And what would a cash donation to a charity do? That would be forgotten soon -- except for the tax receipt at the end of the year.

But think of it: the manager spends a couple of hours with us, then heads to work and has a completely different understanding of the people on the street. He passes that compassion on to the people he knows -- including his own staff -- and they start spreading it around. Maybe some of them start volunteering, themselves.

Talk about a Tim's "double-double"!

(If you want to know more about The Lord's Rain and volunteering, feel free to contact me.)

"Better Living through Chemistry!" and a New Daily Record!

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! 

This prayer's a no-brainer -- really!

As I write this, it is Thursday afternoon and I have been sitting guard over The Lord's Rain since about 8am. There was a breakin overnight: someone managed to smash through the security glass panel in our front door (the kind with wire mesh embedded), open the door and get in. They were going after our large-screen TV, which we use to "pipe" the Carrall Street Church services from upstairs, so that people with disabilities can take part.

They even brought a golf club cart to carry it.

Anyway, they didn't get it. They got the TV off the wall and onto the floor, but took off -- probably because they heard the sirens. The police arrived even before our friend Ian got here: he lives nearby and was called when the intrusion alarm went off. 

Police say they got excellent-quality prints, so they may well catch these people. And now, I'm waiting for the glass-repair people to show up. 

So ... my prayer request to you: forgiveness for the people who did this and a revelation of God to bring them to repentance. Also, that the repairs won't be too costly and that we'll get the TV re-installed quickly so it can continue to serve our people. (The TV is intact, except for the input connectors, which were broken off inside the jacks.)

Farewell to the leader - Barry Babcook, 1957-2014

Over the past several years, I've written quite a few "farewells" to people we have known through The Lord's Rain and Gospel Mission and who have passed on, like Barry Smith, "Junior", Tina, Pete, Richard's "ol' lady", and others.

I never thought I'd be writing this one.

Barry Babcook, senior pastor at Gospel Mission for the past 18 years, died Monday night at the age of 56. About a month ago, he was diagnosed with cancer in multiple parts of his body. It's hard to say why it went unnoticed for so long -- what symptoms were noticed were put down to other things; but by the time he went for surgery to remove the tumor from his colon, it was so far advanced there was nothing doctors could do except leave him sedated and on life support.

That was on Saturday. This afternoon, they removed the life support, and just after 7 pm, he was gone.

Barry had actually ministered on the Downtown East Side since he was a teenager, freshly delivered from some pretty evil stuff, himself. He started out as a street preacher -- his wife, Judy, recalls that their first date was preaching in Gastown on a Saturday night. Barry's "sermons" mainly consisted of declaring, "Jesus loves you!" to the alcoholics and homeless. I never heard him preach on hellfire and damnation -- although he never denied that part of it -- but he kept coming back to that simple, eternal message that, whatever the "world" might think of you, God loves you to the end. I see other street preachers around Vancouver -- usually on Granville Mall -- who hit the "sinners burn in hell" message pretty hard, and I wonder how many people they're really reaching and how many just walk on by, their ears dull of hearing and their eyes closed (Matt. 13:15). But I know this: countless people came to know the Lord because of Barry's loving, persistent message.

Barry and Judy ministered for several years in Taiwan, while Barry taught English. They adopted their two children -- Sheri from Taiwan, Anthony from a reserve on Northern Vancouver Island. Judy leads Worship at the Gospel Mission Sunday services, Sheri cooks in the kitchen and Anthony, who has grown into a strong young man of God (and a rock through this recent time) often preaches the sermon. Barry was also one of the driving forces behind The Rock Church, which would meet in the Mission on Sunday evenings: he called it a "Jesus jam session", with music, prayer, teaching and general all-around Worship.  

Some of the other uses for 327 Carrall
have been less "convenient" for us
than the grocery store.

One of the temptations on the Downtown East Side is to get caught up in the politics and activism there. With so much despair in the area, it's easy to cry out about injustice and inequality and demand that someone else do something about it; sometimes, that involves defying the laws of the land. The problem is, the Bible commands us to obey those laws, regardless of how we feel about those laws. Barry somehow managed to stay above that, emerging more as an "actionist" -- someone who does what he or she can to address those issues -- and I believe that's what has made Gospel Mission unique and helped it thrive over the years. 

Not that there weren't battles -- maybe "skirmishes" is a better word. In recent years, the Sunday street market -- where people from the area gather in Pigeon Park to hawk items of questionable provenance -- has been a particular bugaboo. Barry constantly had to make sure the pathway to the Mission door was kept clear so people could come to the services; he also had to pester City Hall to install portable toilets so people wouldn't relieve themselves in the alley. Inside the building, he had to deal with the anarchist "resistance" group that occupied one of the ground floor spaces for several years, and before that, the space was a needle exchange and a "supervised" drug injection site, before that was made legal and moved elsewhere. Barry prayed constantly for the people involved with those endeavors, that they would come to know the Lord. As many of you know, the night that he changed his prayer to pray that the new tenants would be Christians was one of the early signs that The Lord's Rain should come into being. That was the same night that I had mentioned to Amelia that it would be great if there was some way to provide showers for people in the area because obviously, anything that was available wasn't adequate.

With a variety of skilled tradespeople
stepping up to build The Lord's Rain,
Barry helped keep things coordinated.

It was in the building of The Lord's Rain that Barry's gifts came into play. He was an electrician by trade and a handyman -- you could say that he held the Mission together, literally as well as figuratively. If something needed to be fixed, he got it done, even if it was, technically, the landlord's responsibility. With The Lord's Rain, if I was the one who received the direction, like Moses, Barry was Bezaleel, the one skilled in the crafts needed to build it (Exodus, chapter 31). Barry was the one who put out the "fleece" (see the explanation below), that is, asking for a specific sign that it should go ahead: "So long as the money is there," he said, "we're in." 

Barry (thinks): "I'm nuts.
That's it: I must be nuts."

Barry knew the practical side of things. As we took over the space, Barry started scoping out the work to be done right away. As the project progressed and I raised funds and preened for the cameras, he quarterbacked things, knowing exactly what was needed, what questions to ask, what permits we required and how to get it all. He worked with people like Brodie Collins (plumber), Murray Scott (building contractor), and Gerry Wall and his sons, Brandon and Jordan (also builders) to coordinate the tasks. He ensured that every permit was in order, every inspection done.

The accidental archaeologist

And there was the physical work, like jackhammering through the century-old concrete foundation to replace the pipe from the city water main. When he finally cracked through, he dug down with his hands, and as he reached the pipe, discovered two things: an oyster shell and a handful of ashes.

The 300 block Carrall Street is on the site of what had been an aboriginal village around the time Vancouver was founded. And 331 Carrall Street was built in 1888, two years after the Great Vancouver Fire. You didn't need a history degree to figure out where those ashes came from. 

300-blk Carrall St., before the fire

We joked that if any antiquarians heard about it, they'd slap a stop-work order on us. Still, to be on the safe side, we took a moment to touch the ashes and the shell and connect with history, then put them back. Once the pipe was replaced, the section was re-concreted.

Barry may have shied away from the spotlight, but when we hit our financial crisis a year ago, he was able to reach out to the right people for funding we needed to stay afloat until something more secure could come in. Just before Christmas, he sent a concise but compelling letter to churches in the Apostolic Church of Pentecost, which founded Gospel Mission in 1929, detailing the current fund-matching arrangement with the R. Howard Webster Foundation. The response has been a true blessing.

Gospel Mission/The Lord's Rain today

In Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, Mark Antony states, "The evil that men do lives after them/The good is oft interrèd with their bones." That doesn't apply with Barry. I can't think of any "evil" associated with Barry, and won't, even after the initial grief has worn off; the good he has done will continue to live and manifest in ways we could never imagine. It starts with the people he directly witnessed to and counselled over nearly 40 years, continues with the hope those people gained and the others they have affected as a result; it's particularly so with The Lord's Rain, where countless people will be blessed by that outreach for years and years to come.

As we stood around in Barry's room at Ridge Meadows Hospital Monday morning, Anthony, and Stan Powers, pastor at Sonrise Church in Surrey and secretary of the Gospel Mission Society Board, recalled a piece of Scripture, which we all agreed was Barry's "life verse".

By this we know love, because He laid down His life for us. And we also ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. But whoever has this world's goods, and sees his brother in need, and shuts up his heart from him, how does the love of God abide in him? My little children, let us not love in word or in tongue, but in deed and in truth. And by this we know that we are of the truth, and shall assure our hearts before Him.

-- 1 John 3:16-18

-------

* 

"Putting out a fleece" refers to asking God for a specific sign that He will bless something that seems unlikely otherwise. 

In the Book of Judges, Gideon believes God has called him to go to battle against the Midianites, even though his own army is seriously outnumbered. So he tells God that he will set out a fleece overnight: if, in the morning, the fleece is wet and the ground around it dry, he'll know God will give them victory. The next day, 

the ground is dry, but Gideon

 wrings a bowlful of water out of the fleece. 

Note: there is still time to have your financial contribution doubled through the Webster Foundation's fund-matching plan. Funds raised through March 31, 2014 will be matched up to $10,000. You can donate online at www.gospelmission.net, or mail a cheque to  

Gospel Mission Society, PO Box 98802 The W PO, Vancouver, BC V6B 0M4

A great "AHA!" - What is the opposite of poverty?

And when John had heard in prison about the works of Christ, he sent two of his disciples and said to Him, "Are You the coming One, or do we look for another?"

Jesus answered and said to them, 'Go and tell John the things which you hear and see: the blind see and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up and the poor have the Gospel preached to them. And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me.'"
-- Matt. 11:2-6

We feed them, we give them shelters: what's missing?

Something has been bugging me for quite a few years, now. On the Downtown East Side -- and indeed, in impoverished areas in general -- there is always talk of "social justice": housing the homeless, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, etc. etc. The talk in Vancouver became particularly loud and fervent during the 2010 Winter Olympics, when a movement called "Share the Gold" (I think it was) was founded, purportedly to raise awareness about the poverty issues manifesting in the very shadow of two of the main Olympic venues (three, if you include the North Shore mountains, where many of the skiing events were held).

Some churches got involved (this is not to be confused with "More Than Gold", an international Christ-based outreach to take advantage of the huge influx of people in the region and bring the Gospel to them by any means possible), so I rang up one of the organizers to see if I could be involved.

I explained that, during my ministry on the DTES, I had learned that the big problem there -- beyond housing, food, income, etc. -- was a lack of hope; by bringing the Gospel to the people in that neighborhood, we can restore the hope they need to turn their lives around. I offered to share that perspective with them.

"I affirm what you're doing," the chap said, "but ..."

I can't remember exactly what came after the "but", but it had something to do with the need to focus attention on the problems and demand something be done about it -- especially with all the wealth supposedly generated by the Olympics.

(I can't stand it, by the way, when someone says they "affirm" something. Very patronizing, don't you think?)

Mind you, I'm not one to condemn anyone for being patronizing -- lately, I've looked at feeding programs and shelters and clothing giveaways and thought, "anyone can do that -- where's Jesus in all this?" I've held my tongue, because I kept thinking those thoughts themselves seemed judgmental and self-righteous. But that didn't stop my feeling there was something missing.

Then came the Aha! moment this morning. Look at how Jesus affirms the presence of God among them:

Blind can't see ... and now they do.

Deaf can't hear ... and now they do.

Lepers are unclean ... and now they're cleansed.

Lame can't walk ... and now they do.

The dead are no longer alive ... and now they are.

The poor ... have the Gospel preached to them.

Jesus lists poverty alongside blindness, deafness, leprosy, lameness and death; and while He lists sight, hearing, cleansing, walking and life as the opposites of those first five, He states that hearing the Gospel is the opposite of being poor.

And note that He doesn't say "poor in spirit," as He says in Matthew 5:3 -- and which some say is a qualifier for His concept of poor. As I read that, He's talking about poor in spirit and poor in worldly resources.

Without the Gospel, where is the hope people need to move forward? Without that intangible "something" to strive for, how can people press towards the greatness that God has for them, when the world is writing them off as incurable? As we preach the Gospel to the poor, help them to know Jesus intimately and to trust in God with all they have, we help them to seek God and His Kingdom; as we do that, all the physical needs they have will be met. That's a solid promise from the Lord (Matt. 7:7-11) with no ifs, ands or buts.

More to the point, withholding the Gospel judges the poor by saying they're not worthy of a better life -- and who would want to be accused of that? "The destruction of the poor is their poverty" (Prov. 10:15).

And that's what's missing. That may explain why, five years after "Share the Gold" and "Riot 2010"; four years after the Occupy movement attempted to overthrow the world order, we still have abject poverty less than three miles away from multi-million-dollar homes and the world's wealth is still pretty much in the hands of a handful of people. In both instances, preaching the Gospel was not part of the equation. 

As human beings, we're wired to want to fix things that don't seem right to us. But as followers of Christ, we have to re-wire ourselves so that the first priority is to preach the Gospel and minister Hope; and trust God to be good to His Word and provide all the things that are needed.

"You're Good People!"

I noticed the boy first. Clean-cut, good-looking, he politely, almost shyly, asked where he could hand in a pair of dirty socks and get a clean pair. He motioned towards the sign, “Vancouver Sock Exchange”.

I found a pair in one of our bins. They were clean, but didn’t match.

“That’s OK,” he said. “They’ll usually be covered by my shoes, anyway.”

“If anyone asks, tell them you’ve got another pair, just like them.” I’m such a wit.

Then I noticed the girl. Beautiful, and together, they could have been that quiet, sweet couple who got together in high school and never split up.

Danilo nudged me. “Teenagers?” he said. “Must be,” I replied.

They each had a large suitcase with a bedroll and spent their time organizing their things. I think they had showers. The boy told me later that they had spent the night at Triage, an emergency shelter. I’ve had very little dealings with Triage, but what I’ve seen is a kind, compassionate staff that goes above and beyond to try to give people a dry alternative to spending the night on the street. I remember carrying one drugged-out girl into the building and the staff arranging a couple of comfy chairs and finding a blanket for her because they had no beds available. The sense I get is that they will do anything in their power to keep from turning someone away.

“We need to get back to Alert Bay,” the boy said. “I came down here for treatment and now we’re waiting for Harbour Light to open to see if they can help us with the ticket back.” He went out around 9, and the girl stayed behind with the luggage. By 10 o’clock closing time, he hadn’t come back, so she got up to leave.

“You’ve probably noticed that you’ve stumbled into a church,” I said as we stepped outside the door. “Do you mind if I pray over you?”

“No. Please.”

It was brief: for protection, a safe trip home, health ... she smiled, “thanks. You guys are good people!”

I hope and pray that we don’t see them again.

The Lord’s Rain serves so many people in so many different ways: longtime residents of the Downtown East Side who find a community place where they can be themselves; people who see their stay on the DTES as a temporary stop while they get a foothold on life; people in need of a place to come when they are literally “just passing through”. I don’t know what the boy was getting treatment for, but if it was some kind of addiction, perhaps the experience of coming into The Lord’s Rain and meeting what his girlfriend called “good people”, can help provide the hope that fills the void.

+++

You Can Observe A Lot Just By Watching dep’t

Turnaround in one’s life doesn’t necessarily relate to financial or social circumstances. The first and most lasting sign of turnaround appears to be in one’s attitude, particularly when it comes to “owning” the issues and events in their lives. Simply put, those who own their issues, who admit that they messed up and bear responsibility for the setbacks (and I don’t mean saying, “I wrong to trust those people!”), are more likely to turn around. Those, whose problems are always the fault of someone else, are not. You see the effects of the attitudinal change in different ways, but the bottom line is, they’re a whole lot more pleasant to have around. It’s wonderful to watch.

+++

got jobs?

There are a couple of guys I know at the Mission who are in need of work. Due to age and certain infirmities, they’re somewhat limited in the amount they can lift and so forth, but they’re smart and, I believe, reliable. That’s the best recommendation I can give them, but I’m passing along a desire for some leads for them for part-time or casual work in the Vancouver area. If you think you can help, please reply to this email and I’ll help make the connection.

+++

Scripture

A verse in Jeremiah is one of many that sum up the importance, in God’s eyes, of serving the poor. The message is given to one of the sons of Josiah, king of Judah; the son has been solely concerned with the finery of being a prince. God tells him, through the prophet (Jer. 22:15),

“Did not your father eat and drink and do justice and righteousness? Then it was well with him. (16) He judged the cause of the poor and needy; then it was well. Was not this knowing Me?”

That really needs no further interpretation. 

InSite and a more positive response

This is a mea culpa, of sorts -- a repentance for allowing the Good News of Jesus Christ, which Gospel Mission has been promoting for nearly 85 years, to get clouded with a political matter.

The CBC is running a feature today on the tenth anniversary of InSite, the supervised drug-injection facility in Vancouver. Initially, it was located in 327 Carrall Street, on the ground floor of the building that has housed Gospel Mission since the 1940s. That same site is now The Lord's Rain; I would call that a case of God redeeming an entire building -- bravo for the ironies He sends us! 

A CBC reporter called us a couple of weeks ago, asking if she could interview one of the proponents of InSite at The Lord’s Rain -- going “back to where it all began”, as it were. But we turned her down, and in the process gave her an earful about our opposition to the facility and its concept. Certainly, we've made no secret of our feelings about the facility.

She called me yesterday, asking for our statement on the opposition to it. Barry, Janet and I had come up with an agreed-on message: that we see no good in InSite and that the money spent on the facility would have been better spent on recovery programs and detox facilities. That's the message I delivered to her.

But on reflection, I realize that I missed an opportunity to say not what we’re against, but what we are for. 

(I have to be careful here, lest I appear to be throwing Barry and Janet under the bus: I did help craft the message and none of us raised this point at the time; but, while I can't speak for them, I believe that, if any of us had raised it, we would have agreed on it.)

So for the record, what are we for?

•          We are for lives turning around
•          We are for second chances
•          We are for healing (not just reducing harm but eliminating it)
•          We are for hope
•          We are for Christ, because it’s in Him – and only Him – that all these things can be achieved.

Anything that doesn’t provide for that is in opposition.  (There’s no shortage of things to be against these days: Jesus gives us a focus on something to be for.)

There are many things that cannot be fixed quickly and can’t be fixed at all, using human strength, but with Jesus, anything is possible. Jesus is the one-size-fits-all solution because He is exactly what every one of us needs to address our unique situation. Whether it’s drug addiction, mental illness, poverty, bad decisions leading to bad situations; even a general emptiness in life – the feeling that something is missing – He is the only Way.

Our job is to promote that message: a positive message – not the negative one of what we’re against.

The Lord’s Rain has accomplished a lot because of that positive message and God’s Will for people to know His Son and be healed of all things.

And that's what we're for.

School Days, the Fear Factor and How God Took Over 327 Carrall

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about Marty, a former schoolteacher who essentially "lost it all" to drugs and booze and has been battling his way back. He has not been able to regain his standing as a public school teacher, but he decided recently to train to teach English as a Second Language and made a marvellous arrangement, in which the housing society that oversees his apartment will front him the tuition cost.

The funding has now come through, and Marty is about to start his course, the first part of which is offered online through the University of Victoria. Over the past couple of days, Marty's talked about re-connecting with the discipline required to take the course -- especially when it's online, with no one hanging over your shoulder, hectoring you on -- and the fear.

"Drugs take away everything," Marty said today. "I mean everything -- including any shred of self-confidence. I've been clean for seven months now, but I still have these fears. Can I do it? Will I be up for the job?" He talked of a 12-step program he'd been on, and how "courage" was one of the key points. "Courage doesn't mean being fearless," he said, "it means facing your fears and dealing with them.

"When I messed-up with drugs and I had to meet the Superintendent (of schools), my (AA) sponsor went with me and we sat outside in his car and prayed about it. I went in, all prepared to get fired -- and walked out with substitute hours! Totally not what I expected! Then we went to my bank manager, because I'd been kiting cheques. Again, we said a prayer in the car and I walked in there -- I figured he was going to call the cops and I was prepared to go to jail. Instead, he gave me a $20-a-month repayment plan."

In the Bible, fear, I pointed out, also precedes a move of God. Anytime something really big is about to happen -- a voice from a burning bush, for example, or the announcement of the birth of the Messiah -- the humans who see it have to be told, "fear not". 

Marty has a lot of support in his corner as he seizes yet another second chance. He knows it. And it's starting to sound like he's believing in himself again, too.

===

Herbie is also about to answer the bell -- the school bell, that is -- and his fear is manifesting in a slightly different way. If you've seen the video presentation about The Lord's Rain, you'll see Herbie in the clips of the Volunteers. He's identified as Robert Lowe, which is his real name, but became known as "Herbie" when he jokingly used that name on a snooker scoresheet. Bad knees kiboshed his career as a plumber, leading to his arrival on the Downtown East Side, but he's pitched in on occasion, when something has gone awry with the plumbing around The Lord's Rain. About a year and a half ago, having gone from served to serving at The Lord's Rain, he determined to go into social work. He set about getting his high school diploma (he was a few credits short of graduation), then started applying for funding to take courses at Douglas College. The college accepted him, the funding came through, and he started last week.

His big fear was getting to the campus. His courses are located at the campus in Coquitlam, 20 miles from the Downtown East Side. He plans to move out there, but for the time-being, he's had to rely on public transit, which takes about an hour and 10 minutes by bus. So along with his preparations, he started in July, diligently studying the bus schedules (the TransLink website is wonderful for that) to determine what time the bus comes by Hastings and Carrall so he could get to the college by 8AM.

The guy is seriously pumped about going back to school and helping others.

He even dyed his hair.

===

There's a common factor to Herbie's and Marty's current experiences: the knowledge that God has given them another Second Chance. They're grabbing it and working it for all it's worth. Would that more of us their age could combine life experience, Herbie's and Marty's determination, and even a soupçon of the exuberance of today's Generation N (N-titled): truly, as GB Shaw said, youth is wasted on the young.

===

On the DTES, youth is just plain wasted. A new group of people has been arriving over the summer -- many of them, as I've said before, young girls newly arrived from someplace else, having been convinced their parents were "stifling them" and that the Big City would have much more opportunity for her.

And if you believe that, I have some watches you might want to see ...

Today, a new one turned up. I had been talking with Marty and turned around in time to see this stunningly beautiful, impeccably-dressed brunette pick up a coffee and start to leave. She was accompanied by a young man. He was the sort of chap that, if my daughter were to bring him home, I would go out and buy an assortment of guns, just to be able to spread them on the kitchen table and clean them elaborately, all the while telling the young man how much I loved my daughter and would be REALLY upset if she ever got hurt.

I digress.

"Too hot for down here," Justin -- a new volunteer -- remarked as they left.

Danilo laughed. "You both reacted - him [Justin] like a young man ... and you like a human." (I think he met "humanitarian" or "humane": sometimes, Danilo's English can be inadvertently comical.) There are myriad things one wants to do when seeing someone new on the scene, knowing what the "scene" does to young, vital, beautiful people in a very few years: you want to scream at her, show before-and-after pictures, hogtie her and throw her into a darkened van and rush her back home; but all one really can do is pray. Maybe even now, her dad is heading down to the area, to bring her home and work through whatever made her want to run away.

Danilo has seen more than a few before-and-after scenarios. "You know Maggie?" he said, referring to a prematurely aged woman who hobbles around, pushing a wheelchair and lives in a doorway on Cordova Street. "I remember she was like that [girl] -- pretty. Now look at her." 

(Maggie's Place is a disused doorway in a new restaurant at the corner of Cordova and Carrall. Unlike Pidgin, just across Carrall Street, it and another new, higher-end restaurant in the same building, have escaped the calumny and constant protesting of the DTES activists.)

As always, we need to lift up girls like this one -- and young men like the one she was in -- in prayer. Intercessory prayer can do great things when physical actions fall flat; and distance means nothing.

===

Bravo for Life's Ironies Dep't. -- 'You wanna know how drugs can wreck someone?" Marty asked me. "There's a guy I know. He was messed-up on crack, managed to beat the habit, get a job and move into a better apartment. And the place he moved into, has a strict no-drugs policy. But as he got more money, he started having 'friends' over - and they'd get high. So he got evicted and he's back on the street." 

I've also seen the gradual destruction of one of the most promising people I've ever met: Mike, who was part of an award-winning school choir, but whose life gradually spun downwards because of drugs. Articulate to the point of getting hung up in his own vocabulary while trying to make a point, he would often be the only one -- aside from Amelia and me -- singing during Praise and Worship at Gospel Mission. But much of the time when I see him now, he's spaced-out on drugs; compounding the tragedy is his unwavering support for InSite -- the supervised drug-injection facility on the Downtown East Side. Occasionally, he's worn a T-shirt with the legend, "InSite Saves Lives" -- an Orwellian lie if ever I've heard one: the people who use the facility are already dead -- their lives surrendered to drugs; any hope that would spur them to recover, stripped away by a society that has tacitly told them that they will always be drug addicts so we might as well make it "safe" to use them. It was also Mike who told me that, by not taking part in the mob scene at the courthouse a couple of years ago, to intimidate a judge to rule that InSite was a "necessary health service" and hence had to receive federal funding, he missed out on $35.00.

I bring this up not simply to rant again about my passionate opposition to InSite and the concept of "harm reduction": as a Christian, I know that Jesus is about harm elimination and healing -- not keeping people enslaved to addiction. But there's a connection between The Lord's Rain and InSite that we don't often talk about.

From its beginnings as a Klondike-era saloon, our little space at 327 Carrall Street has seen some dark times -- probably none darker than its brief stint, 10 years ago, as a supervised drug injection site -- the forerunner of InSite.

Perversely -- but almost predictably -- Canada's public broadcaster is preparing to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the "safe" injection site, and this week, a CBC Radio reporter called to ask if she could interview one of the proponents of InSite at The Lord's Rain, "to get an idea of what the place looked like."

I explained to her that The Lord's Rain looks nothing like it did during the injection-site days, nor in the time that followed until we took it over. I'm afraid the poor woman got quite an earful from both Barry and me -- Barry is even more passionate about this topic than I am -- and frankly, the metamorphosis of 327 Carrall would be a story, in and of itself. But I don't think that's her assignment.

The fact is, between the illegal shooting gallery and the "anti-poverty" (anarchist) groups which occupied the place, 327 Carrall has seen some pretty dark scenes. Barry constantly prayed for Godliness to come over the space and its tenants, and in bringing The Lord's Rain to pass, God has certainly answered that prayer. From being a focal point for despair, rebellion and lawlessness, that space has become a reflection of light and love and a source of hope in Christ. Like anything that has gone through repentance and renewal, the occupation by the supervised injection site might as well have never happened.

Unclear on the Concept ...

... a little venting: don't mind me ...

I heard a theological postulate today that absolutely made me cringe. A friend of mine related a teaching she'd heard from a theologian who’s also something of an activist on the Downtown East Side. He re-told the parable of The Good Samaritan as “The Good Drug Dealer”. The idea, apparently, was to illustrate the extent to which Samaritans were reviled in Jesus’ time.

Nice try, but …

I have written in the past that the Downtown East Side is Vancouver’s Samaria, but this is not what I mean. The warping of this parable may give us an idea of the antipathy towards Samaritans, but I think this theologian owes the Samaritans an apology for comparing them to drug dealers. After all, Samaritans did not choose to be Samaritans, but no matter how you slice it, drug dealers are in that occupation by choice. Their sole purpose is to make money for themselves, and they have little concern for the people whose lives are ruined or cut short because of that “purpose”.

The flip side of this polemic is even more chilling: that’s the idea that we should consider drug dealers to be like Samaritans – downtrodden and discriminated against by virtue of their place in society. It sounds like the prelude to a clever civil liberties lawyer's argument for a mistrial on the basis of chronic harassment.

Now, if this theologian had used the story of Zacchaeus in Luke 19:1-10 instead, that would have been an interesting parallel. Zacchaeus was a tax collector, and in those days, tax collectors were reviled for ripping off people, handing over money to the Romans and raking down a fair bit of it for themselves. Zacchaeus was so short, he had to climb a tree to get a look at Jesus as He walked by; Jesus spotted him and invited Himself over for dinner. By the time Jesus gets to Zacchaeus’ place, Zacchaeus has repented, is restoring to those he has robbed four times over, and gives half of his goods to the poor. If we substituted “drug dealer” for “tax collector”, that would have made for a great story of redemption.

Or was this theologian trying to make us feel warm-fuzzies for drug dealers and decide they’re really not so bad and are just misunderstood like Samaritans and we should let our daughters marry one?

In the words of Sam Goldwyn, “include me out”.

This is the same kind of thinking that leads purported Christian leaders to have a choir sing "Amazing Grace" when a court case involving InSite is heard: as if it's God's will for His people to be kept in a drugged-out zombie state, so long as it's "clean"; or to side with the "Occupy" movement, when Scripture calls on us to submit to authority, no matter how "bad" it may seem to us. I wonder if this is why it's so hard to get churches outside the DTES to get involved with ministry there?

She just happened …

What brought her to the city was some sort of scholarship –

Some fancy New York fashion institute.

Her junkie boyfriend took to crime which took up too much of her time:

It only took a year until she took a different route.

-- “She Just Happened”, Mighty Mighty Bosstones

I’ve found myself slipping into my anecdotage this past month. It was partly to do with turning 57 and explaining to people that yes, I am old enough to collect my pension, albeit a “reduced” one; but also to do with meeting up with my high school grad class for our 40-year reunion.

The experience was fun, but it was tempered more than somewhat by the discovery that 17 of our classmates – well over 10% of our total number – have already passed away. One of my friends noted sadly that, with the women, it appears that cancer took many of them; many of the guys died from drugs.

And then there was Vicky. Murder, we were told.

According to one of the few people who had any contact with her after graduation, she had fallen in with a seedy crowd. I had heard that she had found employment “displaying her shape”, as Damon Runyon delicately described it, at various clubs around the city. At the time, I had simply said, “hmm”, but didn’t think much of it.

But at the time, I didn’t know what that crowd could be like, and apparently, neither did Vicky. I don’t know any more about the circumstances, and I don’t think I want to – the more I’ve thought about it over the past couple of weeks, the more I’ve remembered how dear she was to me. The idea of her being killed by someone else’s hand is something I don’t want to contemplate.

Vicky and I were never an “item”, although I did ask her in 11^th grade if she’d “go around” with me. She laughed in my face, not unkindly, kissed me on the cheek and said it would be best to keep it as “just friends”. Cool: I was no stranger to rejection and she was a nice friend, anyway. At least she was honest. 

Vicky was the partner for my first "stage kiss". In 10th grade, we played boyfriend-girlfriend (I was the boy) in a student drama festival production. In one of those ironic situations that can only happen in high school, I was cast as her father in My Fair Lady the next year: Alfred P. Doolittle to her Eliza (although I pulled out of the production due to schoolwork); and the year after that, she played my aunt in Arsenic and Old Lace. 

In fact, Vicky learned Cockney for her role of Eliza and would use it outside of rehearsals. In class, she would mutter, “I ‘ave ter git me pensoh” in that accent. Even now, I hear Vicky’s voice when I look for a “pensoh” to do the weekend crossword, although I had long since forgotten why that phrase and voice were so embedded in my mind.

So while we weren't "involved", Vicky and I were fairly close friends and she opened up to me in ways you could only open up to a good friend. We sat together in Socials 11, talking about places we wanted to go to and things we wanted to do with our lives. Over the phone, she once read me a poem she’d written: “it’s not about anything I've done,” she said, as if she needed to explain something beforehand; there’s no doubt that the line, “and then he impales you with his sword of love,” did require some background.

It was about a year or so after grad that I heard my “good friend” was doing a strip act. That was the last I heard of her until I saw her name on the list of “angels” passed around by the organizer the reunion.

What just happened?

She just happened, she just happened to cross my mind.

Without warning, she crossed my mind:

What just happened to me?

The other night, I found myself letting out a heavy sigh from time to time, for no apparent reason. I hope my wife will forgive me.

Not to diminish what it was

Well, there’s no reason to, because

Ago, it was so long and away, it seems so far.

Whom are we kidding, guys?

This spring has brought a new crop of people into The Lord’s Rain, although the new young women have not started arriving. High school isn’t finished yet, so I suppose that influx is a month away, as girls, talented, confused and starry-eyed, fall in with guys who promise easy money and “things”, so long as they “do a little work for them”.

One of the new girls: the guy in the shades
appears to be "with her".

Other “she”s have just happened to cross my mind lately: women who would come into The Lord’s Rain and then, not come in anymore. Shannon, Leanne, Chrissy, Charlotte, Cherie, “Little One”, who was the first woman to have shower at The Lord’s Rain: have they stopped coming because their lives have turned around and they’ve moved away? Or have they, like Vicky, run afoul of their “boyfriends”?

Jade

(On reflection, Shannon is a slightly different case: she was a bright light at the Mission, overcoming her own issues to talk to others and, if nothing else, expressing a pure love to them that reached out in ways I couldn’t seem to. She and her husband, Brannon, found a place on the south end – a considerable distance away from the DTES – where it was quiet and Brannon could rest and take care of his various kidney and liver problems. The last word I got about Chrissy is that she goes to Ontario for extended periods to see her family.)

Jade, who came in to Ladies’ Day at The Lord’s Rain when it first launched on Friday nights in 2008, died of blood poisoning a few months later.

I have hopes for Davona. It’s now three years since I saw her with her baby, Shine. We collided in Waterfront Station, which is sufficiently removed from the DTES that, it appears, she has turned things around.

This leads, by a grand leap in thought process, to musing about the Great Stupid Question about the disappearances of women from the DTES a decade ago. By “stupid question”, I refer to something a former colleague in Victoria radio, the late Joe Easingwood, used to say: “The only ‘stupid question’ is the one that doesn’t get asked.” In all the finger-pointing at police for the way they handled those cases, I never heard anyone address the question of how those women wound up on the DTES in the first place. Why had they left their homes? Why were they reduced to selling their bodies to get drugs? 

Why, indeed, did Vicky get lured into a world that eventually took her life?

(Another "stupid question" is, where were the media, which leapt all over the revelations but didn't start digging until relatively late in the game? I remember getting a call from one of the women's relatives in 2002, when I was assignment editor at a station in Victoria. Because the answers had to come from Vancouver Police and we had limited resources as it was, I seem to recall we decided to "leave it to the Vancouver stations". Maybe I should have pushed to get our Vancouver reporter to do some digging. I wonder ... But if I was getting calls in 2002, how many reporters were getting similar calls at that time or earlier? What happened with the story then?)

Of course, the view from the bleachers is always clearer than the view on the field. I remember the experience of a woman I knew in Victoria about twenty years ago, whose daughter fell in with “the bad crowd”. Shari was a single mother, raising two children and holding down a job, so she wasn't at home when school let out. Her son had activities like sports that kept him occupied, but the girl quickly found other "interests", and it wasn't long before certain young men started convincing her that her mom didn't really love her but they could give her something her mom couldn't. 

Shari tried everything she could think of, including showing up at one hangout with her (large and imposing) boyfriend and a camera, snapping pictures of everything and everyone before dragging the girl home. It made a lot of people nervous, at least for a time. There was even a “scared straight” session with Victoria Police, in which one cop told the girl, “I carry a gun, and I won’t tangle with those guys!”, but the impact was only temporary. The lure of the vast opportunities in Vancouver and a nice trip to Hawai’i with some very nice gentlemen, coupled with the repeated conviction that she was being denied something on the home front, proved irresistible.

(Another flashback takes me to the killing of Reena Virk 20 years ago in Victoria: the crowd she had fallen in with -- and which ultimately turned on her like a murder of crows attacking an injured member -- had also convinced her that her parents were preventing her from "living".)

It's tough - especially when parents who try to "train up a child in the way he (or she) should go" (Proverbs 22:6) are portrayed as "stifling" their children and denying them their freedom. 

So while that “unasked question” may appear to be rhetorical and not a little judgmental, there are answers, and none of them is simple.