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.
 

Cindy's story Pt 1

There have been some people who come into The Lord's Rain who make me cringe. They're an attitude on two legs, constantly demanding things we don't have or things we won't give (one guy came in four days in a row for a pair of gloves and after we cut him off on day 2, he actually bulled his way behind the desk to get another pair -- kind of like a cat that knows there's a piece of salmon somewhere in that bag; I've stopped being astonished at the brazenness - I just say, "gerrahtavit!" and physically remove the person). Recently, I wrote about Cherie and I think I've mentioned Nelson, one who asked for prayer, and about whom Shannon said, "that guy positively glowed when you prayed for him!"

Cindy is another such person. A year ago, I suspected she was shooting-up in one of the showers, so I called the ambulance. As we continued to yell at her to come out of the shower, she suddenly burst out, stark naked, asking if we were satisfied yet - she'd come out. She got dressed and stumbled out and when police caught up with her, she was weaving into traffic on Hastings in her sock feet.

But in the past four months, she's been coming back to The Lord's Rain - and a very changed person, to boot. Since we "formally introduced" each other, she's never failed to call me by name; she always says "please" and "thank you" and has a pleasant greeting for us when she comes in.

Yesterday, she said, "does God talk to you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Does He ever tell you to do things you really don't want to do?"

"Oh- yeah!" and I told her one of my experiences. "What about you?"

"I think so. I think He's told me to minister to other people. I'm scared to do that."

"Who isn't? But you know: He'll never give you more than you can handle. You might take on more than you can handle, but He won't give it to you; so keep listening and know that He'll give you the strength you need."

"Just baby steps," John put in. "One leads to another and then another ..."

"And you'll be surprised how easy it is, once you take that first step."

So we prayed for strength for her, and the conversation took a different tack. She talked a bit about how her mother had raised her with a bit of knowledge of the Bible and how even in her addiction, if she did something wrong, her conscience wouldn't give her peace until she'd made it right. She told us she'd had a baby, but had given it up for adoption, and how she felt for the single mothers on the Downtown East Side.

She held up a Christian magazine we had there. "Can I take this with me?" "Sure," I said. "I haven't been able to read because of my addiction," she went on. "The other day, I found a Spanish Bible in the bushes by the park. Just having it with me, I felt changes inside. Then I met a single mom who reads Spanish, so I gave it to her."

"You see what happened?" I said, "God's already got you ministering to someone."

She told me she had a tattered Bible of her own at home. "This woman down the hall knocked on my door the other night and asked if I had a pipe and a lighter. I said no, but she came in and started breaking up her dope to share it. She was doing it right over my Bible -- using it like a table -- and something inside me said, 'isn't anything sacred to you?' So I said, 'don't do your dope over that! That's a Bible!' And then she said, 'well, I guess I can't share my dope with you if you don't have a pipe and a lighter.' and she went out. There was a time I'd've gone crazy -- run after her, or go out and do anything to get a hit. But that time - I just knew I had to take a stand: something had to be sacred to me."

There are others now -- and will be more in the future -- who make me cringe when I see them -- as Cindy did up till six months ago, but seeing the changes in Cindy show that transformation is possible, with sufficient prayer and patience. In June, it will be six years since I first started ministering at Rainbow Mission, and while I went down hoping to see an Azusa Street-type revival, I know now that if I'd actually expected that, I'd have been out of there long ago. And if it had happened, I probably would have been out of there long ago, too, taking credit as the "catalyst" for the revival. But the changes that we are seeing in people's lives over time are truly God At Work ... and you know they're real and lasting.

Pastor Cal Weber at Westpointe Christian Centre had an interesting analogy recently: he said that water running over a rock has the same effect as a hammer -- it just takes longer. (It also does a more complete job, eventually reducing that rock to sand, when someone using a hammer might be satisfied with just having a bunch of smaller rocks. Sand, you can re-shape in any way you like; small rocks -- not so easy.)

That would be why the whole concept of The Lord's Rain involves running water.

See? Here is water ...

I get to baptize someone today.

Bernice first came to Gospel Mission just after last Christmas with an amazing healing testimony. While in Winnipeg, she fell ill, and the doctors were somewhat at a loss as to what to do. Her mother and grandmother are Christian leaders on their reservation and started praying over her -- the power-packed healing prayers that Charismatics can get into -- and Bernice, miraculously, recovered.

Since then, she's come to the Mission often, if not exactly regularly. She's talked about her marriage and things that have happened between her and her husband -- which haven't been all pleasant, from the sounds of things, but she doesn't go into detail, and she seems to have struck a balance between forgiveness and wisdom.

A couple of weeks ago, she came up and said she wanted to be baptized, and she wanted me to do it. We're doing it today at the Mission, where there's a baptismal tank.

About an hour ago, it hit me, that this is quite an honour. The act of being baptized is many things:

-- a public declaration of faith and acceptance of new life in Christ

-- the actual physical "washing" of one's life and emerging clean and renewed

-- the act of emulating Jesus' death, descent to Hell and His resurrection

That last one, of course, wasn't the kind of baptism performed by John the Baptist, but the first two were -- even the "new life in Christ" part, although I doubt many of the people who came to John at the river understood it. But what else could account for the new life, as they repented of their sins and then had their lives washed clean by the dunking in the river?

Even Jesus -- the One who had no sins to wash away -- got baptized.

And to be the one presiding over that baptism is both an honour and a responsibility. I'm honoured that Bernice specifically asked me to do it; it's also a responsibility to help disciple her and be there if she has questions or worries or concerns or just something to share in the years to come. It's a responsibility to say the Right Words or pray the Right Things over her -- and for that, I'll have to put it all in the Holy Spirit's hands and let Him guide me.

I'm grateful for a sermon Cal Weber preached at Westpointe a few weeks ago, talking about the Ethiopian eunuch who was led to the Lord and baptized by Philip the Evangelist. Cal pointed out that being black, from a different country and culture, and missing the "male parts", the eunuch would likely have been barred from worshipping at the Temple in Jerusalem -- which is why the eunuch was on that road in the first place. Yet the message of the Gospel is that Jesus sacrificed Himself to remove any impediment anyone might have to a relationship with God. Those who may have been rejected by The World are more than welcome with Jesus.

Like it or not, being a native Indian woman living off the reservation and on Vancouver's Downtown East Side, one might say Bernice is in a position of being similarly rejected. By being baptized and declaring she's surrendering her life to Jesus, she's saying that what The World thinks doesn't matter anymore.

Even those who don't immediately pigeon-hole a native woman on the Downtown East Side in a certain way often look on her with pity, as a victim of something. Bernice is also saying that she's refusing to be a victim, but rather is an overcomer. Read what it says in the second and third chapters of the Book of Revelation about what God promises to overcomers. God loves victims and has compassion for them, but He sent His Son to give us the power to overcome the things that victimize us. Today, Bernice acknowledges to the world that she has received that new life, that "overcomer" status ... that power.

Candy (cont'd)

Some photos are coming in of Candy -- along with a clarification. First, a classic photo of Candy -- classic in that she's with a baby or other small human, in this case Eve, with her daddy, Sharveen (Claudia, Eve's mom, sent this one in). Heather noted that Candy really rediscovered her childhood through Christ -- and, by extension, through Heather's kids. Relating to kids was something Candy did particularly well.

Here's her birthday -- her natural birthday, I should point out. Candy celebrated her "re-birthday" too -- the date of her becoming Born Again in Christ. It's a significant date for many people, especially when they want to re-affirm 2 Cor. 5:17 ("if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature ...."), and I'm sure Candy used that as a conversation opener more than once ("How old are you?" "Five.").

Mind you, Candy would probably also tell you it's a good way to double-up on the cake.

She stopped wearing the head-scarf (right) a couple of months ago: the front of her head had been shaved for surgery, but her hair grew back up front as it got longer at the back.

Cal wrote in with a clarification of Candy's testimony, to wit:

I think Candy came to our doorstep during the day, according to Heather, 1-1:30pm, but stayed the night, actually for several weeks... Our version of what the gunmen were after was drug money (they came to her place at night and she hid till after noon before feeling safe to make it to our place) but Candy didn't have any...

Keep the pictures and memories coming ...

Dharm Makwana, a reporter with 24 Hours, saw the blog and called to find out more. He's interested in seeing what people come forward with recollections of Candy's ministering to them on SkyTrain (or transit in general).

Candy

My friend Candy died this morning.

There was a moment, around 10 past 1 this morning (nearly 8 hours before she finally breathed her last), when I realized, "my God, this is it" ... turning back to the bed to say goodbye one last time. Like the late Larry Norman in his last week a year ago, it was party time in the hospice room when Amelia and I arrived. Some techno-music was blasting away on the stereo (apparently, Cal's and Heather's daughters believed it was a significant "totally Candy" song), and we all knew that everything that could be said had been said, and as she was leaving this chapter of Eternity with no regrets, we were letting her go with no regrets.

Just last Wednesday, Amelia and I had wheeled her out into the garden at St Michael's hospice in Burnaby. She couldn't talk, but her grip on our hands was tight, and she could still crack a smile and manipulate one eyebrow. So we sat there, reading the Bible, singing worship songs, and breathing in the fresh air of the garden and looking at the flowers. Heather joined us and we spent this beautiful evening -- the 4 of us -- chatting and praying and loving our friend.

Now, here we were, the time closing in on midnight, watching our friend. She was already in the arms of Jesus ... breathing on her own, but irreversibly asleep and gradually growing colder from the extremities inward ... already gone, and "they" were just turning out the lights. But for a selfish instant, as I bent over her to kiss her forehead, I realized that this was It: the last time I'd see her alive ... and that that raucous laugh, her whoops of joy, her shouts of "Hallelujah!" and her sudden, unprovoked utterance, "thank you, Jesus!" would not be heard again at Westpointe.

Who was I kidding? They hadn't been heard in about 2 months, since just before she had yet another seizure and was bunged into Burnaby General Hospital to wait for a palliative bed ... and then space in the hospice. But saying that last goodbye was like hearing the cell door clang shut ... at least, it was to me.

I remember first meeting her. Who could forget first meeting Candy? I'd decided to stop driving past Westpointe and actually go in ... and there she was, this 50-something woman with ever-changing hair colour and a demeanour closer to an 8-year-old ... utterly delighting in praising the Lord, serving the Lord, and testifying about the Lord. Early on, I learned that she'd been a drug addict ... hooked on heroin for the most part ... abandoned by her family and raised by bikers in Montreal from age 11. And saved by Jesus when she was about 53, and aside from letting out a loud whoop if she saw or heard a Harley-Davidson go by (she had no time or patience for "rice rockets" -- Japanese motorbikes -- especially the ones that tried to masquerade as Harleys) ... but that was pretty much the only link with her past that she maintained ...

I asked her early on if she'd give her testimony at Gospel Mission. "No way, man," she said. "I'm never going back down there!" She was afraid she'd fall ... or run into someone she knew. I told her the invitation would always be open, and then -- almost a year ago now -- Nathan Weber -- Pastor Cal's son -- spoke a prophecy over her that she would return to the DTES and give her testimony.

About four months ago, she did just that. Heather -- Cal's wife -- called to ask if they could come down. They sat at the back (and no, Candy didn't meet anyone she knew) and finally, I asked if she'd come up and share her experience with the others. A very nervous Candy stepped forward and took the mike; and after almost drying solid (and if you knew Candy, you'd understand how rare an occurence that would be!), she started telling her story.

She told of the bikers and the drugs and the abandonment as a child. She told of living on the streets and hanging out on Granville Mall, which was the "heroin district" -- compared with the "crack district" on the DTES. She told of Heather and Cal ministering to her and preaching Jesus. And she told of the night two hoods burst into her dingy apartment and stuck a gun to her head.

"They were looking for a guy and thought I knew him and knew where he was," she said. "I didn't, but they didn't believe me. One of the guys cocked the gun and I said, 'Jesus, if You get me out of this, I'll give my life to You.'"

He pulled the trigger.

The gun jammed.

Twice.

The hoods ran off, and Candy was out the door as soon as it was safe. To hear her tell it, her feet hardly touched ground as she raced over to Cal and Heather's and - even though it was very late at night - received Jesus at last.

Some might question whether we can make a deal with God like that: promise to serve Him if He gets you out of a jam. But God knows our hearts -- whether we genuinely have made a commitment or whether we're just trying to say anything to get out of a pickle. He knew Candy's. She became the fiercest, loudest, most joyful enemy of the enemy you ever saw. Living is the best revenge, and she took her revenge on the devil for all those locust-devoured years by living for Jesus and doing her touchdown dance on Satan's face at every opportunity.

She was already ravaged by Hepatitis-C, acquired through intravenous drug use, and she had good days and bad days, but she never let on. Even when the radiation and chemotherapy were draining her and the steroids were making her puff up like that marshmallow guy she rarely gave in to the pain and discomfort. And she wouldn't let us feel sorry for her.

There are so many images of Candy. Seeing her unbridled delight when my wife Amelia was baptized. I'll let Amelia tell the story herself if she wants, but the picture is here ......

One that I never saw, but she described it to me, was how she would sit on the floor of SkyTrain as it travelled over SkyBridge -- the bridge over the Fraser River between New Westminster and Surrey -- because she was to deathly afraid of heights. She'd take SkyTrain practically anywhere -- usually to Surrey -- and talk to people, tell them about Jesus, and pray for them. Pastor Jon Boyd said last night that people actually would seek her out, to get more prayer.

Then there was the time when she was clearly in pain one Sunday morning. A friend of ours came in and sat beside Amelia and me ... terribly despondent ... and put her head in her hands. Candy came over and sat in the row in front, turned around, laid a hand on our friend's shoulders and started praying for her. I remembered that scene -- someone in pain, reaching out to pray for someone else -- when I was in hospital in February: get your head out of yourself, I told myself then, and find someone else to pray for.

Who knows what seeds Candy has sown in her brief but intense walk with God? The good farmer plants the seed, then moves on to a new furrow. He doesn't stand over it and watch it come up. Sometimes, he's blessed to see the finished product when it's ready for harvest.

Here's another memory: just before Amelia's and my wedding, Jon and I were in the prayer room at Westpointe. He went out. I followed him a couple of minutes later, suddenly paranoid that Amelia and the others wouldn't think to look for me in the prayer room to tell me they were ready and so they'd be waiting out in the fellowship hall or (worse) start without me. A strange, First Night At The Theatre hush sat over the church as I sat down next to dad. Suddenly, a loud "WHOOOOO!" came from a few rows back. And there ended the hush.

Even when you're reading the Word and walking in the Word and trying to live the Word, you still get brought up short by situations like Candy's. Why would God let her drag through 40 years of drugs and bikers and street life then save her in spectacular fashion, turn her loose on an unsuspecting world of sinners and then let her contract brain cancer and die? Where's the justice in that?

Sunday morning at Westpointe, the Lord started giving an answer. He told me that what's important is that Candy ran her race, and ran it hard and well since the day she leapt off the wrong track she'd been on and got onto the right track.

But why would He take her? I believe it's because we needed to see a woman who could face adversity and refuse to curse God and die. We needed to see the power of redemption and renewal in Christ -- and Candy's was an electrifying testimony.

We needed to see someone totally uninhibited when it came to witnessing Christ and unconditional in her commitment. We needed to see that, no matter who we are and what we think we're supposed to be doing, God has the timetable in His hands and we can't assume we have any more or less time than any others. What we choose to do with that time is what's important.

And possibly above all, we needed to see -- while so many of us are at an age when we can understand it -- what it looks like for someone to face the end of this life fearlessly, in the confidence of their relationship with God through Jesus Christ. Candy defanged death: it has no sting, it shall have no dominion.

May we all have that same confidence when it comes our turn.