The Lord's Rain at 5: meeting a Basic Human Need

April 30 marks the 5th anniversary of the opening of The Lord's Rain -- the outreach at Gospel Mission that provides showers to people on the Downtown East Side -- and the surprises keep coming.

When the project was first touted back in the fall of 2007, at least one reporter pointed out that it was meeting a Basic Human Need -- namely, to be clean. Certainly, that was the most noticeable thing about the DTES when I first arrived at Rainbow Mission in 2004: the smell of stale urine and BO. How could people live in that filth day after day?

And as we learned in the years since then, people can't. "Street people" or no, they're human like anyone else, and there's a basic need to be clean.

But as I was reflecting on the past five years this morning, something else hit me. The Lord's Rain was not intended to be evangelical, and we definitely do not shove religion at people who walk in. But intent and reality are often two completely different things. (I like to think of Joe Adamson's comment about the Marx Brothers movie, "Duck Soup": "if we could get on the complicated Los Angeles freeway system and, simply by not intending to go to Santa Monica, not go there, 'intent' would be all we'd need."*)

The fact is, people come into The Lord's Rain, and even though they might never set foot in an actual church -- including Gospel Mission -- they still want to talk about God and Jesus. They ask about the Bible. They bounce ideas off us on things they'd read or heard, sometimes years before. They ask for prayer. So, while we may have intended The Lord's Rain to show the Love of Christ through works, we do wind up ministering to them through the Word. Maybe we'll tell them everything is going to be OK; or we might tell them they need to change or re-think what they're doing; but we'll always let them know, either by word or deed or both, that no matter what, God still loves them.

And that's what hit me: The Lord's Rain has been fulfilling another Basic Human Need. At their foundation, people need to know that God has not abandoned them. I think even the hardest-core atheist would feel some sense of relief to hear that message.

On the DTES, you could excuse people for feeling like they've been rejected by society, their families, their friends; a nasty little voice can keep telling them, "you brought this on yourself!"; but if they can be reminded that God is still there and that they're just as worthy of Jesus' sacrifice on the Cross as anybody else, there is still a glimmer of hope in their lives.

===
Leah Bolton, the bright young videographer at JoyTV10, has done a piece on the logo contest at The Lord's Rain. You can check it out at www.joytv10.ca/news, where you'll find a selection of videos. Scroll down about half a dozen and you'll find it. The deadline is now a week away (April 30), and prizes include a gift certificate to Army & Navy and tickets to a Vancouver Canadians ballgame.

===
Funding is a constant issue for The Lord's Rain, and donations from our usual sources -- individuals, certain churches and the occasional contribution from a corporation or its foundation -- have fallen off lately. Rent, utilities and contingencies come to about $2000.00 a month, which isn't that much -- unless you don't have it. I look at it as 200 people donating $10 a month, and I could do the "Starbucks-onomics" thing and say something like, "that's two lattes a month at Starbucks", but that would be cloyingly simplistic and sound too much like the Public TV begathons I used to do in Seattle.

However ... if you would like to make a donation, please go to www.gospelmission.net for details on donating online. PayPal works really well. Think of it less as "giving away money" and more as investing in people in Vancouver.

--
*from Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Sometimes Zeppo, by Joe Adamson.

People Moving Forward ... and a contest

It's hard to believe it's almost quarter-past 2013 -- and harder still to believe it's spring, with snow penning in my mother-in-law in Toronto and the weather here (at least, this past Wednesday, as I started to write this) reminding one of the Two Ronnies gag: "today's weather will be hot in Stott, cool in Goule, choking in Woking ... and those living in Lissing Down are advised to carry an umbrella." And for those coming into The Lord's Rain, the hot showers and/or coffee have been a relief and a blessing.

 

It was similarly awful weather a couple of weeks ago, when I accompanied Frank to OnSite. OnSite is the cousin of InSite, the "safe" drug-injection facility on the Downtown East Side, where nurses keep vigil over people as they shoot up their drug(s) of choice. If someone feels they finally want to take a crack (pun intended) at kicking the habit, they can go across the foyer to OnSite, to see if they have any beds available. Frank has been trying to beat his addiction for years, so this was his latest attempt. I offered to walk there with him and give him moral support. It was 8:30 when we talked and OnSite didn't open until 10, so I told Frank I'd meet him at The Lord's Rain at quarter-to and we'd walk up together. I had a twofold reason: supporting Frank, also to see what was inside the place. As I've expressed before, I'm skeptical of the "harm-reduction" approach, so even a cursory look would be instructive. 

 

It was a good sign when Frank came back to The Lord's Rain at 9:30 -- he was serious. We walked up and stood in line: other addicts, waiting to get their hit. A couple of them started banging on the window around 9:58 (the slight peevishness shown when the coffee isn't quite ready at The Lord's Rain is positively virtuous patience by comparison) and when the door finally opened, they all surged through and were directed to a door leading to the injection rooms. When Frank said he wanted to go to OnSite, he was sent to another counter. Two people ahead of him were told to "come back tomorrow," which was not a good sign; Frank went up and was told the same. I hazarded a question. "What treatment method do you use here?" "Oh, a number of things," was the reply, "like acupuncture, meditation, whatever the client thinks will work." "Does anyone help them make that decision?" "Oh, yes: we have counsellors here."

 

I didn't ask anything more, because I was afraid they might think I was spying and that might have affected Frank's situation, so I just nodded and Frank and I left. We agreed to meet there the next day, just before 10.

 

Frank was there before I was and this time I stayed outside while he went in. There was a curtain over the window looking into the OnSite reception area, but I found an opening and peered through. It gave me a good view of the front desk and I saw Frank wait in line, then step up. A few words were exchanged, and then he turned away and went to a different part of the building and through a door. Had he gotten lucky? I waited another 10 minutes as the rain intensified. A guy standing next to the door was calling out, "jib-jib-jib!" -- "jib" is the street term for crystal meth, and I couldn't tell whether he was selling or looking to buy. Finally, when Frank didn't come out, I squelched away, figuring he had gotten in.

 

That was Thursday. The following Tuesday, Frank was back at The Lord's Rain. "What happened?" I asked. "They said, 'come back tomorrow'." "Did you?" "No." He didn't explain where he went when he went through that other door.

 

I haven't seen Frank since. It strikes me that that particular facility is built on the premise that drug addicts have freedom of choice: that they can choose to come off the stuff, and until they do, the "clean" shooting gallery will keep them alive. Then, when they make that decision that enough's enough, there's a facility to help them. On top of that, the treatment facility gives them a choice as to how to be treated.

 

But doesn't being an addict, by definition, mean that they've surrendered freedom of choice? Anchor House, a treatment facility I visited in Brooklyn in 2007, recognizes that, and the house rules are strict. Pastor Roger Jamison took me around the residential portion. In one room, one of the beds wasn't properly made. "This room is a freakin' mess!" he growled at the man sitting at a desk, reading a Bible. "Get this place cleaned up!" The man jumped-to, right away. In another, there was some artwork on the walls that might best be described as bizarre. "What do you make of that?" Roger asked. "Demonic," I said. I'm not one to look for a demon behind every bush (largely because if you do that, you could miss the ram in the bush), but there was little mistaking it in this case. Roger got on his walkie-talkie. "Can you tell (so-and-so) I want to see him in my office?" Roger extends tough love -- and discipline the residents never had while growing up. The Anchor House premise is that people can get well and don't have to be consigned forever to the life of the addict, but they have no freedom of choice at that point. Eventually, though, as they recover, they get back their freedom of choice, along with their families and their lives. (By the way, the nightly Word-and-Worship service ROCKS!)

 

Do I believe addicts should be forced into recovery? I'm not so sure. Part of me still feels that it has to begin with the person wanting to break out of that existence, and that we have to be ready to support him or her not just with treatment plans but with prayer and encouragement so they know that a better life is not only desirable, it's possible.

 

(How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb? Just one - but the light bulb has to truly want to change!)

 

But the Anchor House experience makes me wonder. As I recall, Anchor House residents are generally people who've been arrested for crimes and are given the choice of the program or jail. Hobson's Choice, really.

 

What I do know is, we as a society can do a whole lot better at helping people who have crashed and burned -- like those on the DTES -- to regain their lives; and I don't think you accomplish that by surrounding them of ways of making the cycle easier -- or "safer". I believe that removes the hope that they can ever be anything but drug addicts. Mind you, if enough people step up to the plate and instill hope in these individuals, you could have a safe injection site on every corner and they'd all be empty.

 

Selah.

 

As for Frank, it's hard to say: he may turn up again; he may try to get into Union Gospel's program. He's been beaten up so much by his addiction -- not to mention his family and himself -- who knows how many more knocks he can take?

 

***

We've been watching others going through their struggles to get clean and free. Michael is planning to go to Day-tox -- another program aimed at helping people get off their substances. Mike's is mainly alcohol, and at age 41, he has an inflamed pancreas and liver trouble -- and some other symptoms he described to me the other day sound a lot like what I went through when my gall bladder finally said no mas! to the fat and salt I'd been loading-up. He suffered a broken collarbone a while back, and the doctors decided not to repair it surgically: they feel that, because he's an alcoholic, there's too much danger that he could fall, re-break the bone, and get an infection. It's not the first time I've heard of that medical decision, but for Mike, it means constant pain and a bone that sticks up crazily beside his shoulder.

 

However, it was also a wake-up call to get serious about recovery. He's also looking into Wagner Hills Farm, which is a Scripture-based recovery program in the Fraser Valley. Stay tuned, and keep him in prayer, as well.

 

Marty is someone else trying to reclaim his life. He was suspended from his job as a teacher for drug use, and a number of other life challenges also took their toll. It's hard to say how well he has the habit under control now, but he's still determined to turn things around. "I thought I could do construction," he told me the other day, "but I'm way outta shape and that's a young man's job. But teaching is what I love." He's putting out feelers to teach ESL or adult literacy around the DTES. We've seen him quite ill, and we've seen him at his best: through it all, he does have a ready laugh (some of my more obscure one-liners in my sermons might go over everyone else's heads, but I can always count on Marty to crack up). We pull for everyone who comes into The Lord's Rain, but one can't help but have extra-high hopes for Marty.

 

And then there's Herbie. Bad knees -- and painkillers -- pretty much shot down his career as a plumber, but over the past year and a half, he's been working hard at building his academic credits. He's setting his sights on social work, and has been learning a lot just by volunteering at The Lord's Rain. Tuesday morning, I gave him directions on how to take SkyTrain to Douglas College in New Westminster, so he could personally hand in his application for courses. He still has to line up grants and scholarships through the various options available on the DTES, but he is a wonderful example of dogged determination and I have no doubt he'll succeed.

 

The trick is to shut out the voices that say, "you can't" -- and sadly, there are plenty of those around the DTES, physical voices as well as endless yammering in one's own head. People can learn from the example of a fellow I heard from this morning. Stu (not his real name) has quite a testimony, which includes a "turnaround encounter" with Jesus Christ, just as he was about to take that Final Step off the Lion's Gate Bridge several years ago. A couple of workplace injuries left him in a great deal of pain and hobbling around, but he was determined to be useful. But there were those voices -- "you can't" -- and finally, Stu simply separated himself from the area. Now, he's been building up a small business doing renovations and installations, and his past is exactly where it belongs: passed.

 

My former employers at the BC Electric Railway Company unveiled a strategic plan just over a year ago, called "Moving Forward": a detailed description of the improvements needed to the region's integrated transportation system. It also -- and this is the really important part -- counted the cost. I think about that expression when I think of the guys around The Lord's Rain who are so determined to bust out of the cycle of poverty and addiction -- especially the part about counting the cost. In many ways, the "cost" involves pushing through pain and frustration, and also giving up that notion of free will, at least until they're free enough to have a will.

 

***

I've mentioned this before: there is an amazing amount of creative talent on the Downtown East Side. A fellow named Dale astonished us one night with his guitar-playing. We had a guest worship leader who sang and played the guitar. After the service, Dale came up and shyly asked if he could try the guitar. Sure, she said. We continued cleaning up, and suddenly, there came the familiar riffs from "Taking Care of Business". Dale, it turned out, was a brilliant rock guitarist, and for a few more weeks, our cleanup time was accompanied by his playing. He never played outside that very private situation. We contemplated getting him a guitar, but because he was homeless and his shopping cart would often get stolen, we figured that wouldn't be a good idea.

 

(Dale was one of the inspirations for The Lord's Rain. Before just about every service, he would make a bee-line for the laundry tubs at the back of the Mission and wash himself, drying his hair with a dish cloth. Ironically, he has never taken a shower at The Lord's Rain.)

 

But there are also many brilliant artists -- many of them Native, who draw and paint wonderful images and scenes. So over the next few weeks, we're hoping to tap that talent with a contest: design a logo for The Lord's Rain. This is Pastor Janet's brainchild, and the submission deadline is April 30 -- the 5th anniversary of the opening of The Lord's Rain. A panel of judges will choose the winner, and the winning design will go on letterhead and signage and anything else appropriate. Some great sponsors have donated prizes, too: a home-made birdhouse, courtesy Janet's uncle, a gift certificate to Army and Navy, and a prize pack from the Vancouver Canadians baseball club.

 

By the way, if you'd like to see some examples of this creative talent, check out www.indianartfromtheedge.com -- it's a project by Marylee Stephenson, specifically to promote and sell work by DTES aboriginal artists, many of whom we know personally at The Lord's Rain. I've always thought their work was undervalued, and now, someone is taking steps to fix that.

 

Gentrification is not a four-letter word!

The high gate used to be a drop-site for drugs and stolen property.

Today's Province newspaper gives front-page treatment to a situation that's been brewing for the past week or so on the Downtown East Side: protests over a new restaurant, Pidgin, right across the street from Gospel Mission/The Lord's Rain.





The windows are about 2/3 blacked-out from view from the street,
so I played "Secret Sam" with my BlackBerry to get a look inside.



The Province article is very well-balanced (I think the editorial is bang-on, too), as it quotes a couple of regulars in the area -- like John, whose family has run Wing's Cafe (in the same building at the Mission) since the 50s, and some of those who hang out at Pigeon Park -- as saying the protesters "aren't from around here" and it makes me wonder why they've singled out Pidgin when there are at least 4 other new restaurants within the same block -- Nelson the Seagull and Rainier Provisions in the Rainier Hotel building, the resurrected Save-On Meats a bit further west on Hastings, and Acme Cafe a couple of doors past that.

Maybe it's because Pidgin has posted a statement on its windows that hits the "gentrification" issue head-on. See, there's a fear that the current incursion into the DTES by developers, buying and renovating delapidated properties will drive out the poor. As it is, the new developments have included a lot of low-cost housing and quite a few of the people who come into The Lord's Rain have found clean, new homes in these developments.

Rather than a bogeyman, gentrification is a unique opportunity -- it's a point I've made before and it's the notice Pidgin posted in its windows makes the same point -- an opportunity for two distinct groups of people to get to know each other. Let's face it: the image most people outside the DTES have of the area is the "Canada's Worst Postal Code" label hung on it by the activists. Were they to spend any time there -- say, having a nice dinner -- they might actually see something different. They'd see human beings, like themselves, only with a key difference: they made mistakes that they were not able to recover from as elegantly as others.

Who knows? Maybe while walking from the parking space on Cordova Street or the bus stop on Hastings, the restaurant patrons might strike up a conversation with the gang in Pigeon Park, and as an old Anglican minister once said to me, "you can never hate a man once you've talked to him."

Certainly, the menu at Pidgin could attract a "different" kind of crowd. If you're into trying out "cured steelhead, asian pear, ginger, sesame" ($13) or " beef tataki, black garlic, gruyère, woodear, wasabi mayo, chips" ($14), you would be attracted to the place. You might not be so inclined if they were just another burger-and-fries place.

So foodies and others get a first-hand look -- not the story getting fed by the activists -- and then start considering solutions that step outside the gimme-gimme answers the activists keep pushing. They might even see Gospel Mission and The Lord's Rain across the street, which has been ministering to people in the area since the Great Depression and changing lives in a positive way (without taking any taxpayer money).

And maybe that's what the protesters don't want. A quote in the Province article may say more than the speaker really wanted to: “The rich don’t need another playground down here in a poor area.” Is it that they want it to stay segregated? Do they want to see the DTES stay the way it's been for most of the past 40-odd years: a cauldron of despair, drugs and living death, ignored by the well-to-do. After all, if people start seeing what it's really like and start coming up with solutions that actually might raise more people out of poverty, there won't be as great a need for activists with demands which I believe are unreasonable and unachievable -- and at the very least, require someone else to spend the money.

You have to wonder why.

"Please Pray for Me"

Barry Babcook, the senior pastor at Gospel Mission, uses two expressions about The Lord's Rain -- sort of a mission statement (pun not intended -- oh, OK, maybe it was): "soft evangelism" and "Jesus with the skin on". Translation: while it's all-Jesus-all-the-time upstairs in Gospel Mission, we don't push our faith onto the people who come into The Lord's Rain. And yet ...
 

There's a list of "simple rules" posted on the cork board in The Lord's Rain. One of them states, "Prayer given when asked" -- the implication being that if you don't ask, we won't jump all over you; but if you do ask, we're there, with all the faith and fervor we possess. I'm constantly amazed at the way people have absolutely no reservation about asking us to pray over them -- and it doesn't seem to matter what their background happens to be.
 

Jeet, for example, comes from a Sikh family, which has basically disowned him. Drugs, gambling and women have landed him on the Downtown East Side; being over 60 makes it a strong possibility that he will stay there. He's asked me several times about the possibility of getting a job where I work, but as soon as the zero-tolerance policy on drug use comes up, he cools off on the idea. "You can tell 'em I'm OK," he's suggested. "NO," I've replied. "I like the drugs too much," he's said on other occasions.
 

At times, he's asked for prayer -- "A quick one-minuter for all issues" -- until one day, I did what I've never done before: I refused. "Look," I said, "I'm not a sooth-sayer; I'm not a shaman. God needs to hear from you directly, and Jesus Christ came so you could have access through Him to the Father. I can agree with you, I can lift you up, but until you make the move and stick with it, the only one this is benefiting is me."
 

I don't often play the bad cop, but this was a case where I felt it was necessary: a wake-up call of sorts, making the point that he can't talk about turning his life around, continue with his lifestyle and then expect someone else to ask God to heal him. Fortunately, John Sharp, who has exponentially more patience than I do, is very capable as the good cop, and has hung in with Jeet as a friend and a friendly face, putting up with his talk of drugs and horses -- half braggadocio, half pleading for someone to condemn him. It's almost like he's saying, "I make no apologies for my life, but won't someone please kick me in the rear?" So Jeet keeps coming around ... and doggone it if there haven't been changes coming over his life. He's a bit calmer, more sociable with others; and when I pray for him, he responds with a simple prayer of his own -- usually along the lines of "O Lord, bless John and Drew". Perhaps my mild rebuke -- if you can call it that -- had a positive effect.
 

And there are others who ask for prayer: you wonder, too, how much they're willing or able to take their own steps to break out of their situations, but you hear distinctly from the Lord, "that's not your call: just pray with them". Poco is depressed because her friends and family are dying off; Robert is trying to beat his alcohol addiction but a lack of funds is keeping him from getting into the treatment he needs. (Both are part of what John calls the "Listerine Gang", hanging out in Pigeon Park, slugging back Listerine cut with rubbing alcohol -- "the taste people hate twice a day", but the third or fourth time, you barely notice it.)
 

For Poco, the prayer is what I believe is one of the most encouraging things you can say to a person in that area: "God is keeping you around for a reason, so we pray that He will protect her and reveal to her what that reason is". With Robert, we pray healing for the problem -- which is not the lack of funding or even the booze, but the deep-down reason that has led Robert to that point. And we declare that God has broken down the barriers -- real and perceived -- between Robert and recovery. We might not know what the root problem is and we might not know what to do if we did, but God knows, can address it, and will address it when we call Him into the situation.
 

There is an intimacy about one-on-one prayer. The person asking for it has humbled himself (or herself) by admitting that the problems he has are way too big for him to handle, and that they're also out of reach of anything The Man can do: programs, handouts, whatever. Then, he humbles himself even further by admitting that to another person. Consider: isn't it when we are vulnerable that Jesus comes into our lives? When we think we have all our stuff together and we don't need Him, He'll stand back. Of course, that Pride leaves an opening that, as Howie Meeker would say, you could drive a truck through.
 

James -- Jesus' half-brother -- writes that we are to pray for one another, that we may be healed. Praying for Poco and Robert plants seeds of faith and love: the much-needed reminder that God doesn't make junk and that they're worthy of His attention. It's really easy to lose sight of that on the Downtown East Side. How and when that seed will blossom into a physical manifestation remains to be seen, but I'm confident that something will happen; the timing and nature of that "something" are up to God.
 

So a couple of weeks ago, Jeet asks me for a prayer again. We're standing outside The Lord's Rain, and I speak healing over him for his bronchitis and also that God will dig down to the roots of Jeet's difficulties and wash them clean in the Blood of Jesus. Jeet responds with a very touching, fervent prayer of his own, and as we're standing there, a fellow I'd never seen before comes up to us and stands there, expectantly. Jeet finishes his prayer and says, "I think this fellow wants you, too."
 

"I need prayer," the new fellow says. "Anything in particular?" I ask. He shakes his head, "just ... just ... " and his sentence tails off. So I pray over him for healing -- symptoms and cause, whether we know the cause or not -- and for God to reveal Himself to ... to ... "what's your name, brother?"
 

"Mohammed."
 

INNER VOICE: "no kidding ..."
 

And we continue the prayer. He is evidently grateful: he hugs me and we go separate ways. Seeds planted, indeed.

Hair Days (good & bad), quakes and high IQs

Craig walked in the other morning, looking like something one of my cats had left on the doormat (you don’t want to know). “Morning,” he managed to say.

“Nice‘do’, Craig,” I said. “Want some gel to keep it that way?”

“Took me eight hours to get it to go like this,” he replied.

Indeed, Craig was sporting that pulled-through-a-hedge-backwards look that can only be accomplished by a cheap bed or an expensive stylist. Chances are, some latter-day Vidal Sassoon or Paul da Costa in the gentrifying Downtown East Side has already spotted Greg’s hair and thought, “hmm ...”

===

Debbie, on the other hand, is spending extra time on her hair. I think I’ve mentioned her before: bent double from a severe curvature of the spine, once pretty, but now toothless and weaning herself off heroin through methadone, she still has some self-esteem left – as evidenced by the tattoo on one wrist: “FN 99”, which she says means, “Darn Near 100%”. Or something like that.

Anyway, Debbie is one of a growing group of regulars who come in regularly to make full use of this facility. Danilo already knows her routine and sets it up as soon as she walks in: soap, shampoo, two towels, conditioner ... and gel. (That’s how I knew we had gel for Craig if he wanted it.) Then, after the shower, the blow dryer and a brush, both of which live behind our reception counter. (The brushes and combs are kept in a Barbicide jar, which our friends at Hair Mode in North Vancouver donated (they didn’t ask for the plug, by the way, but I thought it was about time we thanked them); between that and the sit-down shower supplied by Andrew Sheret when we built the place, Debbie is able to do the washing-up she needs.)

===

“You got a phone? I need to call my mom to see if she’s OK.”

Almost overshadowed by the unbelievable destruction of Sandy along the Atlantic Coast was the fact that a couple of days before, there had been a major earthquake in Haida Gwaii – formerly the Queen Charlotte Islands – off the north coast of BC. It registered 7.7. The one asking for a phone was Darrell, a native man whose home town and family are in Haida Gwaii, and just a couple of weeks ago, he was telling me that there is never a day when there isn’t an earthquake there. So beyond the media reporting – which may well have been affected by the fact that it happened on a Saturday night, there was no NHL hockey to report on and a tsunami warning was attached – a good measure of the quake, I figured, would be Darrell’s attitude.

We don’t have a public phone, but I handed him my BlackBerry. If it was causing Darrell concern, it had to be serious. As it turned out, his mother was pretty shaken up by the event, and they had just had a major after-shock. That's why the phone call was so important: it’s not as if Darrell could just zip over and see her in person: it’s a 7-hour ferry ride from Prince Rupert to Skidegate – cost $35 if you’re a walk-on passenger – and of course, you have to get to Rupert in the first place– in the neighbourhood of $250 on Greyhound. It’s amazing how you can be so separated and still be in the same province.

===

“So tell me,” the bus driver said, “what’s the education level like there?” Being one of the front-of-camera spokespeople for the BC Electric Railway Company, which has supported my ministry habit for going on seven years now, front line staff tend to recognize me and strike up conversations. This transit operator (to use the correct industry term) was curious as to why I had been turning up on his #19 bus at 6:20am lately.

“Actually,”I replied, “there are some pretty darn intelligent people there.”

“You know, I’m not surprised,” he said. “You just never know, do you? Something goes wrong ...”

True, that. The email I passed around on Friday, appealing for cold-weather items to be donated to the Vancouver Police horse patrol for the men living in Stanley Park, reminded me of that fact. I’ve known a couple of the guys in the park – 21^st-Century hobos, in fact, living their lives, trying not to have to rely on The Man to get by; if it means kipping in a hollow tree or with a tarp hung between a couple of branches, so be it. We had a fellow who used to come into The Lord’s Rain regularly, bringing his back pack. He might shower-up or just sit and have a coffee and chat, then hike back to Stanley Park and vanish. He was on a “quest” – mainly to find his head again: he never actually told us what had happened. He eventually did, moved back to Winnipeg and when last heard from, he was working with at-risk youth in the Even Windier City.

As the bus driver noted, many of “the guys” are remarkably well-read. A lot of them know their Scripture and some of their questions and insights are amazing. I think I’ve mentioned Guy before: a fellow who came into the old Rainbow Mission and who laid an alternative interpretation of the story of the “Rich Young Ruler” on me that blew my socks off. I was just launching into the standard commentary about choosing the things of the world over eternal life with Jesus, and Guy piped up from the back and said, “what if he was sad because he had so many things he didn’t think he could ever get rid of them all?” I’ve never thought of that passage the same way again.

There’s Ron, who spends his days pushing a cart around the back alleys, gleaning whatever he can and often fixing things up and then selling them to second-hand shops, but is a voracious reader. He invariably has his nose in a book, even during the services at Gospel Mission upstairs. But that doesn’t worry me and I’ve never considered it rude: both Amelia and I can tell that he’s listening to the service and often, he too will come over and share some very poignant observation from Scripture. Mario is another who has often asked questions about Scripture that have sent me scrambling to the prayer closet to ask the Lord about it.

Ron still has all his marbles. Len, on the other hand, drifts in and out of coherence. He is – or was – a Professional Engineer, and still puts “P.Eng.”after his name, and spends a lot of time writing things on 3”x5” slips of paper and occasionally pins them up on the cork board. His sentences are usually well-constructed, except the actual words have absolutely no connection to one another.

Case in point: we had a brief hailstorm a couple of weeks ago, but when I called it “hail”,Len corrected me and said they were “ice pellets”.

“What’s the diff?” I asked.

There was a long pause, while Len tried to concentrate. “I’ll ... I’ll let you know.”

A few minutes later, he handed Danilo a slip of paper to hand to me.

CHANGE IN BAROMETRIC PRESSURE BY ICE PELLETS AFFECTS THE SYR OPS.

“Huh?”I said. At first, I thought it was a conspiracy-theory reference – he’s fond of those.

“You know,” he said, “air pressure changes and the sy rops move differently in the tree.”

“Oh– syrup!” I said. “Got it,” I lied. (I considered saying I felt like a sap but thought better of it.)

And yet it’s not as if Len is totally out of touch. A couple of years ago, a guy we’d never seen before got angry because I wouldn’t give him more than the two pastries we allot to each person. The long and short of it was, he cursed a blue streak; I kept my cool (something I'm not accustomed to doing), looked him square in the eye and calmly told him that if he didn’t like our rules, there was a great big city out there where I was sure he could find another free coffee, he kicked the reception desk, threw his cup of coffee at me (missed) and stormed out. John immediately started praying for him.

The place had gone quiet, as the others watched to see how this would be handled. A few minutes later, Len handed me one of his slips of paper.

“GRACE AND FORGIVENESS – NOW ON DISPLAY AT THE LORD’S RAIN”

===

You've probably noted the common theme this time has been the older guys. They can break my heart -- possibly because I'm a middle-aged guy, myself, and there's a lot of commonality among us. These guys have had jobs, lived a long time, and have made one or two mistakes that were handled ... well ... differently. Sure, it's easy to say, "they brought it on themselves" -- except, well, aren't we all just one slip-up away from being in the same boat? Are the mistakes I've made along the road from there to here any "better" than theirs?

But as the bus driver said, you never know what might cause them to throw a piston and wind up on the DTES. Are they too smart for their own good? Is it like Jackson Browne’s lyric, “Was I unwise to leave [my eyes] open for so long?” The really sad part is when they themselves say, "I brought it on myself," and that's when they need someone to tell them that God has long since forgiven them, even if they haven't, and has provided a Way for them to break away from the shackles of the past. They need to know that trouble is only temporary, so do not adjust your faith. That's particularly important at a time of life when "temporary" can look more and more like "constant".

God has His reasons for things, and we need to keep asking Him what He's up to. I've had "someones" like that in my own life, telling me those things, and I'm sure you have, too.

We have to get on with our job and work while it’s still the daytime: help those as much as we can and underscore it all with Hope. Sometimes, knowing that there is a turnaround available is enough of a turnaround, right there.

Another farewell to a friend ...

He was a frequent sight on the Downtown East Side. Very short grey hair, a pot belly, shambling walk, usually two or three days' stubble; and invariably wearing some article of clothing that proclaimed, "JESUS IS LORD". Usually, the clothing in question was a yellow puffy vest, with a large Cross drawn on the back in felt marker. Sometimes, it would be a sweatshirt or a ball cap, but the message, if you thought long enough about it, was unwavering: "no matter what I look like to you, Jesus is what it's all about". Barry Babcook, our senior pastor, has been at Gospel Mission for 17 years and Clifford "Barry" Smith had been there since long before that.
 

Barry Smith died last Friday. He had a number of health issues, but his heart got to him first: suffered a heart attack a couple of weeks ago and drifted in and out of consciousness at St Paul's Hospital until late Friday night, when God said, "come on home".
 

The fact that he loved the Lord, loved to worship and share his faith was unmistakable. I remember he would often be the only one in the congregation who would stand during Worship time at our Saturday night services, sometimes just raising his arms with his eyes closed; other times mouthing the words.
 

He could be seen around Oppenheimer Park, praying for people specifically or in general, or for the area as a whole. He was one of those guys who could cite book, chapter, and verse of the Bible, which frustrated the heck out of me, since there are times when I think I have to look up Genesis 1:1. He would get into, shall we say, lively discussions of Scripture, either in the weekly Bible studies or sitting around the table in The Lord's Rain, going over some interpretation with Ross or old Joe Trepanier, none of whom was likely to give an inch when it came to their interpretation.
 

He was something of an enigma: cranky at times -- perfectly understandable, given his health issues -- other times, coming out with an out-of-left-field compliment or a bright word and a laugh. He was a loner and had no family that we knew of -- a fact that was driven home when Janet had to put herself on the hospital documents as "next of kin" -- and when you get down to it, the people in the missions on the DTES were his family, fractious and fluid as that might be at times.
 

He'll be missed a lot. He was someone who was just... there. And now he's not. But this I'm sure of: that like the beggar Lazarus, he's now in Abraham's arms; the sickness is gone, the pain and loneliness are over, and he's doing what he's always loved to do: praise the Lord.

 

Unity Happens

Those of you who've been following the saga of The Lord's Rain from its beginnings, almost 5 years ago, may recall that in the earliest days of the project -- when we were armed with a great idea but no money -- we approached a wealthy Christian businessman to see if he would underwrite the whole project. A slam dunk, we figured: I wrote a smasher of a letter and fired it off (snailmail, of course, to show we were serious) and waited for the invitation to lunch, where, probably between the main course and dessert, said wealthy Christian businessman would say, "oh -- before I forget," reach into the inside pocket of his suit coat and discreetly hand over a ridiculously large check.

Instead, I got a phone call from the businessman's personal assistant, who told me with not much room to manoeuvre that the answer was "no".

"Our board gave it prayerful consideration," she said, "but decided this was not something they could support. One of the things that really concerns the board," she went on, "is the lack of unity among ministries on the Downtown East Side. There doesn't seem to be much cohesiveness. It would be great if you and others ministering there could pull together and come up with a coherent game plan to attack the situation there."

I mumbled something that sounded like agreement and thanked her for considering the proposal.

Unity. On the surface, it's a noble sentiment, and when you have so many different groups with different approaches, it's easy to decry a lack of unity and withhold any support until "everyone gets together".

But on the DTES, there are so many issues that need to be addressed, it seems that the best way to achieve unity is to stick to your own knitting and stay out of everybody else's way. Remember the exchange between Peter and Jesus in John 21: "Lord, what about this man (John)?" Jesus said to him, "If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you? You follow Me." -- [John 21:21-22].  You could get so hung up on unity that you lose sight of the real goal.

Now it's worth pointing out that getting turned down by this fellow's company was one of the best things that could have happened and I do believe that the Board had prayed about it and was led by the Holy Spirit in its decision. It reminded us that this was God's project and He -- not we -- would determine how it was going to be built and how it was to be funded, and it certainly was not to be by one person. As things unfolded over the next few months, it became evident that this was God's project and He -- not we -- would determine how it was going to be built and funded. A lot of different people with different gifts stepped up to do their part, contributing towards a common goal.

Unity -- God's version. Truly, His ways are not our ways.

If the construction of The Lord's Rain is Exhibit A of His version of unity, Exhibit B is Kris. Kris comes in very early most mornings -- often before 7 -- to shower and shave (including his head) and get off to his job hawking The Megaphone. The Megaphone is a periodical published by, for and about the people on the DTES. The stories are human-interest and a good way to get a feel for the vibe of the place, although the approach tends to be activist-oriented, which, as I've said before, I personally don't agree with. But it gives the area a voice -- and it gives people like Kris a job and a chance to mingle with the rest of the people of the city.

 

The photo here shows a recent high point for Kris, throwing out the first ball at a Vancouver Canadians baseball game. (My BlackBerry doesn't have a zoom lens, so take my word for it -- that's Kris on the mound at Nat Bailey Stadium.) Kris got this honour by winning a contest among Megaphone sellers, to come up with a slogan for the paper. He won with "Often Imitated, Never Duplicated".

I daresay I was a little disappointed that they didn't announce why Kris got to throw out the first pitch. There were a couple of little boys who also got to throw first pitches - one was celebrating his birthday and I'm not sure why the other was there. I'd have thought maybe a one-liner about, "now throwing out the first pitch - representing 'The Megaphone', the voice of the Downtown East Side ... Kris Cronk!", might have been in order. That's just the PA announcer in me -- I didn't hear Kris complain, so it's all good.

Kris represents a connection with another organization -- an opportunity to get to know and understand what they're doing and through that, achieving a form of unity towards a common goal -- if not a common approach. Someone connected with The Megaphone is now connected with The Lord's Rain.

Exhibit C is Buzzard. He has a real name, but he introduces himself as Buzzard -- or Buzz. Buzz writes the newsletter for Mission: Possible, another Christian ministry on the DTES. I have to confess, I know absolutely nothing about Mission: Possible -- aside from the name and the fact that a lot of people speak highly of it. He's started coming to the Saturday night services at Gospel Mission and now another connection is starting to form. Where it goes from here, only God knows.

The moral of the story: "unity" is not something you can impose on a situation. It happens, given time; and we're gradually seeing it come together on the DTES.

===
People to pray for ... Cheryl is a 40-something woman who's been coming into The Lord's Rain for quite a few years. She's sometimes quite "with it", and sometimes incoherent from the drugs; something of a loner, often with a very blank expression on her face. Last week, Amelia and I spotted her on Robson Street -- a fair distance from the DTES -- and we said hi. She had that blank expression. "I'm going swimming," she said. "In the ocean." Then she became animated and clasped her hands together. "PLEASE pray for me!" And she walked off. That was almost a week ago and we haven't seen her since. (I contacted a couple of friends at the Coroner's Service and Vancouver Police: they haven't pulled any bodies out of the water lately.) In a previous email, I mentioned how hard it is to get information about people on the DTES in a timely fashion, so I have no idea whom to ask. This is one of those cases where one has to call on the Lord to protect someone.

I've mentioned Jamie before -- a man who's had a remarkable turnaround from being homeless, an alcoholic and picking bottles out of dumpsters. Now he has a job, a place in Burnaby -- far away from the DTES -- and a woman he loves; but he's going through one of those "wilderness" periods, when it seems God has taken the training wheels off one's life and things can be a bit wobbly while you find your balance. He's even told me that he wants to go back to the days of being a "binner", with his old drinking buddies. Kind of like the Israelites, wanting to go back to Egypt, rather than wander with Moses towards the Promised Land. ("What? You mean this New Life thing is not all jam and smooth sailing forevermore?") At least he's calling and talking about it. If the phone calls stop coming, then I'll really be worried.

===

The Lord's Rain is approaching another milestone, which I expect we'll hit this month (if not this week). It will be shower #3000, thanks largely to the fact that we're now open 6 mornings a week. That's only been in the past few months, but the number of showers (I think I mentioned, we use the Cro-Magnon Accounting System to keep track) has increased dramatically, not just from being open more often but from more people hearing about it. Thank you, as always, for your support -- in the myriad ways you support this.

And there, friends, is Exhibit D.