Thank you, Ken!

There's nothing like a dressing-down from a judge to put your life on-track.

"Mr Franklin, you are not a career bank robber. You are a drug addict."

Ken Franklin was up before the beak for pulling 14 bank jobs in a short period, getting more money to buy more drugs. He had fallen in with the dealers and pimps while in a halfway house (yes, the facility intended to get convicts ready to return to society) and, seeing the "cornflakes boxes full of cash" they would bring in and needing to finance his habit, started his spree. Being of slight stature, he also wanted to show that You Don't Mess Around With Ken.

There was also something about the thrill of the chase that Ken found addictive, but when the law finally caught up with him, the words of Judge Harry Boyle made the reality all too clear. 

​

Ken carried a photocopy of that clipping with him in a shirt pocket everywhere he went.

By the time I got to know Ken, he had cleaned up and was part of the street cleanup team hired by The Bottle Depot to pick up trash around the Downtown East Side and would come into The Lord's Rain on his coffee break. One morning in 2011, I had to announce to the group that we had to limit the number of pastries we handed out to two per person. Believe it or not, I felt like I had to apologize for the new regulation, but Ken spoke up as if he was speaking for everyone and said, "That's OK: we appreciate everything you do."

That wasn't the only gesture of support. When he heard on the radio in 2013, that I had been let go from TransLink, he came into The Lord's Rain and growled, "you deserve better". Hello? Someone in a down-and-out area, telling me that I deserved better? Truly, there was something, well, different about Ken.

Earlier this year, Ken asked if he could volunteer at The Lord's Rain. "I got a lot of time on my hands," he said, "and I'd like to help out." He quickly showed he was a natural leader, taking charge without being pushy and showing by example how to treat "customers". As time went on, he told me how he had been Saved while in prison for the robberies, thanks to the female prison guard he eventually married. They had bought and operated the coffee shop at the 108 Mile Guest Ranch in the Cariboo, and it was there that he developed this knack for dealing with people. It was something Danilo sorely needed, and he was starting to develop it, working with Ken.

​

For Gary, has the responsibility of making sure The Lord's Rain is open at 6:30am, Ken was a welcome addition, a reliable extra pair of eyes to welcome the people. He treated everyone with unfailing respect, and it was never better demonstrated than when a mentally ill man "went off" on him one morning a few weeks ago, standing almost nose-to-nose with Ken and threatening him. Ken stood his ground but did not "return evil for evil". His mates on the cleanup crew started calling him Pastor Ken, but with respect rather than mockery, and there was a distinctly different, more up-beat, vibe around The Lord's Rain when he was serving.

In the past few weeks, though, Ken missed the occasional morning, then would come in and tell us he had been ill and couldn't get out of bed. He started losing weight and had trouble eating. "I'm scared," he confided. "I don't know what's wrong." "Have you seen a doctor?" "Not yet." I don't know if he ever did.

No one on the street-cleaning crew saw him for a week, which was unusual. Finally, this past Friday, someone went through the door at his hotel and found his body. It appears he had been gone for about four days.

Dying alone and unnoticed in a skid row hotel: certainly not an uncommon occurrence on the Downtown East Side, and my first thought was to say to Ken, "you deserve better". But while I miss him terribly, and I know the others do, it's tough to be sad because I have a really good idea where he is now, where there is no pain or sickness and he gets a reward that none of us deserves. As The Newsboys put it in their song, "The day he bought those pine pajamas/His check was good with God"*. 

Ken shared his story for a video project I've been working on, called "In His Image, Too ...", and which is currently airing on LivingStrongTV.com, a Christian internet TV station. You'll find the interview here, and Ken's portion begins around 14:30. Unless this part was edited for time, he says at one point that he would like to help others in some way with his own testimony and hope to inspire them in their lives. Judging by the way some of the guys talked about him on Saturday, as the news spread, I'd say he's done that.

Thank you, Ken!

____

*from "Breakfast", by Steve Taylor and Peter Furler

"I'd have to kill you all!"

No ... that wasn't a verbal threat -- not when it was spoken. It was Denise's way of politely declining a request.

Let me explain. 

Late last year, I mentioned that I was starting a project to record and preserve the stories of people on the Downtown East Side -- where they came from, where they were going when something went sideways in their lives, what they saw themselves doing a year down the road. The project is called "In His Image, Too ...", and the idea is to make the point that there are really a lot of similarities between the haves and the have-nots in our society -- or, as I've said before, any one of us is one slip-up away from winding up on Skid Row. If more people hear their stories and realize that, then maybe they'll be more motivated to help lift others out of poverty.

I started the project by getting Kris Cronk to talk and the result was promising. But it's been difficult convincing others to tell their stories, and the reason becomes very apparent: for many, it's too painful to go back over the past. That's the way Maggie put it, when I asked her if she'd share (Maggie is a 50-something woman who lived in the doorway of a restaurant for about a year while her SRO hotel room was renovated); Richard grew up in the notorious Indian Residential School system, and boiled his experience down to one word: "unspeakable"; others just shake their head; some give dark hints about what might happen if the wrong people were to see their faces; Junior laughed sardonically and muttered something about having 3 AK-47s at home that he might use some time. 

Then there was Denise, a lovely woman, now in her 50s and still quite pretty despite having lost most of her teeth. She works at one of the women's centres on the DTES, helping other women who have gone through experiences similar to hers.

Would she share those experiences for the camera? "Oh, no!" she said. "Someone in one of those 'groups' asked me to tell my story and I said, 'Forget it! I'd have to kill you all!'"

I don't think they're unaware that their stories could help others, but it's hard for so many people to talk about their past. So many of them try to escape it: why go back and revisit it? 

I have another reason for wanting to collect these stories: I've had too many people die in that area -- like Tina, Barry Smith, Pete -- without others knowing what really neat people they are. This project might help.

An internet TV outlet has offered to broadcast two of these videos, and maybe more. LivingStrongTV.com is based in South Carolina and its mission and the concept of "In His Image, Too ..." appear to fit nicely. I'm currently editing a second video and this half-hour show should be put together by the end of the week. I'll let you know when it's online.

(CRASS PROMOTION ALERT: I'm currently using an online crowdfunding tool to cover the production costs. If you have a mind to, please take a look at the website: http://www.faithlauncher.com/projects/761-in-his-image-too#/.)

===

If "In His Image, Too ..." is an attempt to alter preconceptions about people on the DTES, Kris' new project is another. He brings in some additional income by selling "Megaphone" magazine on the street. "Megaphone" is a "street paper" -- basically, a mouthpiece for the urban poor -- and people like Kris sell it for $2 a pop. Kris' turf is around Dunsmuir and Seymour streets, in the downtown business area and close to some of the English-language schools that serve foreign students. Many of these students tend to gather outside a 7-11 store at that corner during their breaks, smoking and chatting and practicing their new language.

One day a couple of months ago, Kris saw some of the newcomers on a walking tour, and they passed by a panhandler. The guide told them, "you'll see these people: don't give them money, because they'll only spend it on drugs."

Kris was peeved. It hurt, he told me, because he felt that was unnecessarily putting fear and a wrong idea into the heads of the newcomers, and he decided to do something to counter it. He's met some of the teachers at those schools, so he went to one of them to ask her if he could give a talk to her class about the "real realities" of the streets of Vancouver. She agreed, and he's now given one talk, has another scheduled for the coming week, and other teachers are interested, too. 

Kris has also written "The PESt Handbook", where PESt means "Pre-Emptive Strike". He describes it as hints for dealing with panhandlers so that they don't become a nuisance. Carry extra cigarettes, for example; keep a couple of $2 coins on-hand and offer it before the person asks, and then on subsequent encounters, they'll be less likely to bother you. The over-arching principle, Kris says, is not to judge people. 

I certainly agree with the premise, although I'm not sure about some of his solutions. Still, here's a great example of someone going beyond complaining about society's attitudes and actually doing something about the situation. Good on 'im.

===

The loss of Robin Williams gets one thinking about depression. Heaven knows, I've felt depressed, but I look at the state of people who've been pushed beyond the brink -- like Williams and my old friend Peter -- and I figure I must be OK. This much I do know: hanging out with "the guys" around the Mission has been a great anti-depressant. This isn't to say that when I feel down, I look for someone in worse shape than I am so I'll feel better; it's that so many people I know there have a lot of reason to be depressed and they somehow keep smiling and joking and hanging in.

Johnny is a case in point. He was Tina's boyfriend/husband/ol' man (marriage has rather a loose definition on the DTES), and we had to rally round him when she died suddenly two years ago. He's in his late 50s and still works, doing janitorial jobs. He came into The Lord's Rain this morning and announced he'd met a woman he'd been involved with 20 years ago and the two of them had found a place in the East End -- far away from the DTES, which was a relief to him. Cecil is missing one leg and gets around on a wheelchair: I don't hear him complain - he's generally good to have around. 

And then there's Bandit, who turned up at The Lord's Rain last Friday.

"Hey - you don't got no pants on!" 

Danilo, with his keen powers of observation, had spotted the essential deficiency in this man's wardrobe. He was tall, skinny, with a scraggly beard, wearing a black t-shirt and, aside from what appeared to be a pair of Depends, that was about it.

Oh, yes - shoes. He did have shoes on.

"Why don't I find you a pair of pants?" I offered. "Sounds like a great idea," he replied.

All I could find was a pair of women's slacks. "I'm not sure what kind of fashion statement we're making here," I said. "Hey - I'll make 'em work! Thanks!"

He pulled on the slacks one-handed, and I realized his left arm was useless, hanging from his shoulder like a clump of over-boiled linguine.

He came in the next morning, wearing the same t-shirt and a pair of filthy jeans. "I found these in the laundry pile," he said. "I better do a wash soon." 

"What's your name, bro'?"

"Around here, they call me 'Bandit'."

"Bandit."

"Yeah." He moved his shoulders from side to side, making the left arm swing like a pendulum. "This thing's useless, eh? So they started calling me ... [I said it with him] 'One-Armed Bandit'."

He explained that he'd lost the use of the arm when a motorcycle hit him about 15 years ago. He said it with that touch of irony that says that there was nothing he could do about it, so might as well laugh. 

And so it is with many of the people in the area: an ability to keep going when so much of The World might wonder what they had to live for. In a roundabout way, it reminds me of Paul's words to the Colossians: "To them [that is, to His saints, or those who believe] God willed to make known what are the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles: which is Christ in you, the hope of glory." The operative word is "hope".

"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. 

The "Worst" kind of violence?

A message board outside a church near my place currently (at least, as of Sunday) displays the aphorism, "Poverty is the worst kind of violence".

I've spent the past couple of days muttering, "what the heck does that mean?". It's a little like eating spicy food that still needs salt: something is missing there.

To begin with, the word "violence" generally has some negative connotations, and when I hear a term used like that, it's often in the context that someone else is guilty of it.

But whom are we accusing?

Lest we cudgel our brains into porridge over this, let's remind ourselves that even Jesus, the Son of God, acknowledges that there will always be poverty. That's why one of His commandments to His followers is to take care of the poor. Not eradicate poverty (which is one of those well-meaning, world-based "goals" that seems laudable, but because it's impossible to achieve, can bring a sense of futility and despair when that goal is never reached), but lift the poor out of the mire to make room for and set an example for the others who, inevitably, will slip. Just as God sends storms and illness and other trials to strengthen our faith and increase our reliance on Him; just as He created good and evil, darkness and light, I believe poverty is one of His creations so that those who are not impoverished can carry out that commandment and so that we can all learn how interdependant we are on one another and on God.

So if we make a statement like, "poverty is the worst kind of violence," are we not leveling an accusation at God?

"The poor," Jesus says, "ye shall have always." He never says they'll be the same poor. An area like the Downtown East Side should be a flow-through point, where people come for a time, and then get on with life. Missions like ours exist to get people turned around and back on track. Sadly, the DTES has become less of a thoroughfare and more of a dead end, with bodies and lives piling up.

Rather than look at poverty as being violence, I believe it's an opportunity from God: an opportunity to help and be helped and to see His glory, no matter what. I remember a fellow who came in often to Rainbow Mission (which closed at the end of 2006) and whom I still see from time to time -- Abraham Jones is his name -- and he once gave a testimony: "I thank God that I don't have a roof over my head tonight. I thank God that I don't know where my next meal is coming from. I thank God that I don't have a job." The inference was that he knew he could rely on God through anything and he was grateful for the opportunity; it's easy to glorify Him when things look good, but to do so when things look bad requires a whole lot of faith.

So is poverty "violence"? No. Keeping people in poverty, whether by ignoring them (like the rich dude in Jesus' parable, who ignores the pleas of the beggar Lazarus) or creating institutions that deny them hope and the truth of the Gospel, is closer -- definitely, an offence to God.

The story goes that a newspaper surveyed its readers about 100 years ago with the question, "what is the greatest threat to mankind?" The great author, GK Chesterton, submitted a simple, two-word response: "I am."

Let me turn that on its ear. What is the greatest asset of mankind?

You are.

We are.
 

Shouldn't do it to a dog ...

The outrage du jour in British Columbia lately has been the slaughter of sled dogs by a sled-dog tour operator in Whistler. Apparently, these dogs were deemed expendable when the company experienced a downturn after the initial post-Olympics surge in business.

It's a horrifying case, both in and of itself and also in the exercise in "rush to judgment". There's been this outpouring of anger -- including death threats -- against the company, the person who did the killing (who's just been granted worker's compensation benefits for post-traumatic stress disorder) and the Olympic games; there's even been a Facebook page set up (oooh! a Facebook page! Now they're really in trouble!)

Interestingly, none of this outrage seems to be directed at the general public - the tourists who created a perceived demand for this service in the first place. It's a little like demanding Big Macs and Quarter-Pounders and then complaining that the South American forests have been destroyed to increase beef cattle lands.

Mind you, God is not impressed, either: A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast: but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. (Proverbs 12:10 KJV)

(Reading this, Temple Grandin is definitely more in line with the will of God than most animal-rights activists: reputedly, one of her key observations about cattle management was that in dying, animals provide us with food, so we have to treat them with respect while they're alive. But I digress ...)

But one of the sidebars to this outrage has been people pointing to the lack of outrage when it comes to inhumane efforts against people -- like the deaths of 21 children who were under the care of the Ministry of Children and Families. The province's Child Advocate identified those, and I can tell you, there wasn't anywhere near the public outcry over that than there has been over the dogs.

And let me add this to the mix: where is the outrage over the human condition on Vancouver's Skid Road? Why have so many Christians, who are called to reach out to the poor and destitute, abrogated that responsibility and handed it off to a vast socio-political experiment in not-so-benign neglect? Solutions like harm-reduction and mixing affordable and market housing run counter to the will of God:

• mixed-use housing is not a bad idea, per se, but as I pointed out in my previous post, it keeps drug addicts in the very area where their problems are all around them. They need to move -- like Abram was instructed by God -- to a different place, so they can move towards the promise God as for them
• (it also provides developers an excellent opportunity to promise an affordable housing component in their plans and then, when sales go sideways -- as happened with Olympic Village -- cry poverty and demand to be released from their promise)
• as I've said numerous times before, Jesus was not into harm reduction; He was (and still is) into harm elimination -- total healing, not just band-aids
• drug advocates rail that the US "War on Drugs" has been a failure, but the peace treaty with drugs we have in this society has led to the problems on Skid Road today -- the reason why people are terrified of walking through the area between Chinatown and Gastown. Neither works, because of the spirit behind them: the spirit of a "quick fix".
• The US approach is to try to drop the Monty Python 16-ton weight on the drug industry;
• the approach we see in Canada is to make life easier for the addicts: lots of social housing, clean needles and a "safe place to shoot up";
• the court system fails to back up law enforcement officers;
• the news media glamorize pushers by publicizing the dollar value of drug seizures and printing photos of gang leaders who look like they belong more in GQ than Hotel Crowbar

The devil provides quick fixes; God provides solutions.

God's solution involves recognizing that drug addicts and the mentally ill are fallen human beings like all of us -- everyone has a different response mechanism and theirs has involved a more spectacular crash. It's the duty before God for all of us to reach out with love and hope that overpower the need for the drugs.

I'm not just talking about the addicts. I grieve for the dealers and enforcers and lookouts I see on the street outside Gospel Mission: lurking about in their hoodies, talking on cell phones, swaggering back and forth looking as tough as they can, talking among themselves as if they're old friends, but you know deep down, none of them trusts the others. What will their lives be like in 5, 10, 20 years -- if they're still alive? Believe it or not, we as Christians have a duty to reach out to them, too.

But where is the outrage? Do we really care more for sled dogs than for other humans? Jesus told us there'd be days like these -- when "because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold" (Matt. 24:12 KJV) -- as the world awaits His return.

Or is this lack of outrage really because deep down, we're convicted that -- to use Walt Kelly's overworked line from Pogo -- we have met the enemy and he is us?

Some heresy about the DTES

There’s been a lot of talk lately about development on Vancouver’s Downtown East Side, with people concerned that “gentrification” (the bogeyman du jour in that section of town) will push the poor out of the area as housing prices rise; and then where would they go?



Unfortunately, the response from some of the advocates for affordable housing – as in the Vancouver Sun op-ed piece on Feb. 2  – makes the case that mixing social strata doesn’t work and demands that unnamed people and entities build more single-room occupancy (SRO) spaces and upgrade existing ones. The advocates don’t actually say who should pay for this, although I’m sure that, if asked, we would hear the usual responses: “the city can afford to spend millions on bike lanes” ... “the province can spend $600 million on a new roof for BC Place, but ...” ... yadda-yadda-yadda ...

Here’s a piece of heresy: what’s so great about keeping the poor on the Downtown East Side?

Really: isn’t this build-more-social-housing-on-the-DTES position little more than a call to perpetuate the ghetto?

This comes from ministering, observing and talking with people in the area, and for no compensation and with a sole interest, if I may say so myself, in seeing people’s lives change, turn around and move forward. Let's get real: this is Skid Road, a cauldron of despair, drugs, crime and prostitution; why would we want to pursue policies and strategies that don’t help people move on and instead make it easier for them to stay in that cauldron?

Perhaps it’s because there can be a buck in it for people who advocate that approach. But that would be cynical. Moi?

See, the first thing we need to do is stop glamorizing the place, and we've been doing that since the 1970s when the term Downtown East Side started getting traction. I remember thinking the term was kinda cool – a sort of New York cachet – like “Lower East Side” or “The Village”. These days, someone’s trying to coin “SoMa” for a stretch of Main Street (“South Main”, get it?): kind of like “SoHo” – South of Houston Street – in New York. (Vancouver has a history of wanting to be Just Like The Big Cities – so long as it’s not Toronto – and that goes back over a century, when architecture like the Dominion Building on Hastings resembled some of the buildings of the time in San Francisco. Unfortunately, a lot of its treatment of poor people resembles New York as depicted in “How The Other Half Lives” – in 1878.)

Next, we need to turn up our BS detectors when someone comes along with an idea they claim will “help” or “humanize” the “homeless”. Look at the people whose political and/or personal careers have been built on being “advocates” for the poor. Now consider the fruits of their labor. Recently, the UBC Museum of Anthropology cancelled an exhibit of portraits of the women who went missing from the Downtown East Side over a 10-year period. That was one of the wisest things a public body could have done, as it was responding to a couple of advocacy groups, which complained that the exhibit was primarily an exercise in self-promotion by the artist.

Only when we de-glamorize the area do we see that we are dealing with human beings, not subjects in a social experiment. Nor are they numbers on a “homelessness audit”: figures for a politician to point to and declare that’s his or her goal to have new rooms in fleabag “hotels” provided during their term in office.

We have to face the reality that the heart of the problems on the Downtown East Side is drugs. That, in itself, is not a big revelation, but the focus has strayed away from the need to get people off drugs. Do that, and you’re on your way to alleviating problems of health, crime, prostitution and the general fear people have of the area. We’ve tried the experiment of making it easier and “healthier” for people to take drugs, and it has not worked. For all its self-generated statistical evidence of success, the current approach of “harm reduction”, including places like InSite (the heroin equivalent of filter-tipped cigarettes), has not worked. Take a walk along Hastings between Cambie and Gore and tell me it’s made the streets safer (the way it was sold to the public almost a decade ago) and given people a new chance at life.

I believe we need to consider forced recovery treatment, not as a “punishment” for being a drug addict, but as duty of society to its people. The civil libertarians would claim that addicts are being denied their rights and that people have a choice to be addicts or quit, but I submit that someone who is lurching along the street, bent double, looking for a grain of crack that someone might have dropped and foregoing food for the sake of another hit has already lost that freedom of choice. It’s not their fault: it’s the insidious and deadly nature of the drugs.

There are three important elements, I believe, to changing people’s lives in this way:

1. Get them into treatment – real treatment programs, using proven techniques, that involve quitting and staying off

2. Help them develop a relationship with God through Jesus Christ. By doing that, they have something to focus on, rather something to turn away from. It’s the principle of “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you.” In this case, “all these things” means the “pleasure” derived from drug-taking.

3. Set up the treatment program anywhere but the Downtown East Side. If you want to get clean, get out of the cesspool. And stay out. Probably the best venue is a farm-like atmosphere or something else related to good, solid, productive work. Access should be severely limited. I can hear the howls of “concentration camp” now from the civil libertarians, but I’ve long since stopped believing they’re actually on the side of the poor (see above).

As I’ve said before, the problem on Skid Road is not homelessness. It’s hope-lessness. We need to restore hope – that intangible reason for carrying on; the liberating knowledge that none of us is capable of turning our lives around without Jesus. He is the hope that people need: the unconditional love that never fails – never has and never will.

And yes, I do see the results of that message as I see people start to rise up out of the ashes, get off the drugs ... or even start to smile again. But it’s tough to reinforce that message when the world around them – even people like mayors, members of Parliament and those who claim to be acting in their best interests – keep taking positions that such people, because they’re mentally ill and/or drug-addicted, are entitled to remain drug addicts, living on Skid Road.

It is not in our interest as a society to let any of our people live this way. God has not given up on these people: neither should we. If you talk with anyone in the Skid Road area, you’ll find they all have their stories, they all have experiences ... and they all have brains and things they can contribute. I meet artists, teachers, academics, working stiffs, chefs: people who’ve made one or two really bad mistakes and have wound up broke, on drugs or mentally ill. These people have gifts and talents to contribute and we as a society are denying ourselves those gifts.

Who among us hasn’t made a mistake? Who among us is without sin? Or are we actually being subtly self-righteous and judgmental, figuring they “made their choices” and are “paying the price”? Wracked with societal guilt, we then wail and gnash our teeth and ride off madly in all directions trying to “do something”. We forget – or ignore – the fact that Jesus already “paid the price” for everybody’s mistakes and then instructed us to reach out and help those whose fall was longer and harder than ours.