When people know ...

In the six years that we've been working on The Lord's Rain, there's a phenomenon I've seen repeatedly: when people know about it, they want to support it. People want to help out with the situation on the Downtown East Side, but in tight economic times, they want to make sure their money has an impact. When they see a facility dedicated to helping the urban poor and that is demonstrably helping to bring change to people's lives, they want to get on board.

In 2013, we nearly had to close The Lord's Rain due to lack of funding, but all it took was a little bit of media exposure, and people rallied round. Less than a week after stories broke in Metro and on CityTV, we had enough to keep going for over another year. Other items on Radio-Canada and in The Province helped a lot, too.

Now, a new financial blessing will provide another opportunity for people to contribute, knowing that their dollars will be doubled. The R. Howard Webster Foundation is providing a grant of $10,000.00, and is offering to match funds raised between now and March 31, 2014, up to an additional $10,000.00. In other words, this could generate as much as $30,000.00 -- enough to keep The Lord's Rain alive until almost the end of 2015. 

What I really like about this, is that it helps us meet short-term financial needs (the arrangement takes effect in June, when another grant is due to run out) while maintaining what I believe has been the key to the success of The Lord's Rain: "collaborative caring". The Lord's Rain has been built and sustained by many people and organizations, bringing what they can, as they can, motivated by a desire to provide hope to people in an area where hope is the most precious commodity.

I intend to start visiting churches and other organizations with the presentation I gave at Westpointe last summer, and if you are led to make a donation, you can do so online at www.gospelmission.net or by mail. Donations specifically marked for "The Lord's Rain" will go towards the fund-matching program. Please make your cheque or money order payable to Gospel Mission Society, and we have a new mailing address:

Gospel Mission Society,

PO Box 98802

The W PO*

Vancouver, BC V6B 0G0

The name of the game is instilling hope in people: Hope in Christ -- the recognition that their situations are not as good as it gets. Without Hope, why would anyone try to get off drugs, seek treatment for their issues, move forward in their lives? The Downtown East Side is too full of hope-destroying things -- reminders of the past, temptations of the present and deniers of the future -- and people need something else to grasp onto. The Lord's Rain helps people find that "something else".

---

*Yes, that's "The W PO". Sounds like a plumbing fixture, but it's a post office (PO) located in a complex called "The W", which was built out of the ruins of the Woodward's Department Store, a block away from the Mission. Part of the complex is the iconic neon "W", perched on an Eiffel Tower-like structure on the roof. Hence, "The W", rather than "The Woodwards Complex". It's likely that, as Vancouverites get more familiar and less talkative, it will become known as "The Dub" ... and eventually, simply "The".

Farewell to a friend

2014 starts off with some sad news.

I've mentioned before that one of the ignition points for The Lord's Rain was the day -- two days before the deadline to have funding lined up to take over the ground floor space in our building -- that two phone calls came in. The day before, we had all of $60 set aside for the project to build showers. It was the fall of 2007 and the idea was still incubating. Barry and I had put out a "fleece", à la Gideon -- asking God for a confirming sign -- that, so long as the money was there, we had a "go" project.

And we were prepared to walk away from the idea if the money hadn't come in by mid-December.

Two days before the deadline, there were two phone calls, with pledges totaling $4,000.00. 

One of those calls came from Don Low. Barry and I looked Heavenward and said, "Right then -- we'll take that as a 'yes'."

I didn't know Don and his wife, Joyce, very well. They had been members of Westpointe when I first started going there in 2006, but they were distinctive: certainly the oldest couple there -- Don was in his late 80s at the time -- and they always wore "Sunday best" to church. Don was also distinctive for his puckish sense of humor: he told Amelia and me one time about singing in a Gospel quartet with three Baptist mates in the Royal Canadian Air Force during WW2. They never missed a chance to take the mickey out of him for being Pentecostal, and he, apparently, gave as good as he got. That sense of humor stood him in good stead through these doctrinal differences, since that group still got together to sing long after the war.

Don passed away just before New Year's at the age of 90 or 91. He was a true gentleman, and he and Joyce continued to support The Lord's Rain over the years, with prayer, quiet encouragement and timely contributions. I'm sure Don's legacy takes many forms in many different areas, but The Lord's Rain is part of it, and will stand the Downtown East Side has benefited -- and will continue to do so -- from his and Joyce's kindness, generosity and prayers.

"Thank you," somehow, doesn't begin to say it.

Everyone Has A Story

We gotta get outta this place

If it's the last thing we ever do

We gotta get outta this place

'Cause girl, there's a better life for me and you

Those words by that eminent Worship band, Eric Burdon and the Animals, have Biblical connections, whether wittingly or unwittingly. Throughout the Bible, we read about people whose lives moved forward when they moved on. Abram (as he was then called) was commanded by God to leave his home in Ur near what was later Babylon and go to a different and potentially hostile place. "Arise, Joseph," Gabriel told the carpenter, "take Mary and the Babe to Egypt and stay there until those who seek His life have died." The other Joseph, he of the coat of many colors, was forcibly removed from his comfortable place as Jacob's favorite son: sold to some passing merchants and later in Egypt traded for purple, incense, and a eunuch to be named later.*

I ran into Albert this past Sunday. With his slightly misshapen head and speech impediment caused by having no teeth, he could easily be written off as a "typical" Downtown East Sider, possibly with a lower-than-average IQ.

He's not. Trust me.

He used to be a regular at The Lord's Rain. Polite, kindly, unassuming; he would come in and shower and shave and hang about to chat with us. Then one day, he announced proudly that he had a new place and was moving in.

The new place is in a condo project at 1st Avenue and Main Street. 1st is a few blocks beyond what I would call the outside edge of the Downtown East Side, and as I understand it, the project got the goahead, in part, because of the "social housing" component. Albert has a small, self-contained studio apartment - and so we don't see him in the neighbourhood much anymore.

I was waiting for a bus to go to church and Albert was en route to First Baptist Church, where they lay on a big breakfast for the poor on Sundays (not sure if it's every Sunday or certain ones, like just before Welfare Wednesday). We chatted a bit about where we were going and what the breakfast was like, and then I asked him, "So how's the new place working out?"

"It's great," he said. "I got my own kitchen and bathroom and it's really clean."

I mentioned that another chap I knew also had a place in the same building but there had been problems with drug addicts and dealers.

"Maybe on his floor," Albert replied. "Our (electronic key) cards only get us onto our floor. Mine's great."

The other fellow had pointed out that the dealers had managed to disable some of the locking functions and were able to move about.

"I've complained [to the people in charge of screening the residents] about the situation," Albert went on, "but they tell us, 'addicts need a place to live, too'."

"So do you," I pointed out.

Albert gave a sort of "it is what it is" shrug, and, with my bus arriving, we said our goodbyes.

Probably the biggest advantage to Albert's place is that IT'S NOT ON THE DOWNTOWN EAST SIDE. Many of the people I meet there would like nothing better than to get the heck out of there. As I wrote on another occasion, Marty summed it up by saying it's too easy to fall back into drugs, when all it takes is a phone call and maybe a half-block walk from your front door. Why would we want to keep people in such proximity to the very things, both the physical presence and the spiritual reminders, of the current state they're in? Life's troubles are only temporary, but in that environment, the present seems so permanent.

The paradox is that there are so many dedicated services on the Downtown East Side for the mentally ill, addicted and chronically sick -- people whose personal stories include workplace injuries from which they've never recovered, diabetes or the effects of longterm alcohol use. Moving away can make those safety nets seem out of reach. But surely there's a way to make those nets mobile and give at least some of the people who need them a better chance at breathing free.

Some years ago at the old Rainbow Mission, I preached a message called "If you don't go -- you won't grow!" One fellow piped up, "What if the only place where you feel like you're accepted is the place you're in?"

He had me there, although from a pure "faith perspective", if God sends you to a place (and that's one of the keys to Abram's experience), then it doesn't matter if people in the area "accept" you or not. Scripture tells us that Abram/Abraham gradually earned the respect of the Canaanites. In this day and age, we're expected to be more accepting of people, so that question should be our problem -- not his. 

***

"You can never hate a man," an old Anglican priest once told me, "once you've talked to him." One of the keys to breaking down that artificial barrier around the DTES is to hear the stories of the people who live there. If you click here, you'll find Segment 1 of an exercise to that end. It's called, "In His image, too ...", and the first installment is the story of Kris Cronk. Over the months to come, you'll see more people who come into The Lord's Rain, telling their stories.

The trick, of course, is to get them to talk. I asked Maggie, a woman who's lived most of the last two years in a doorway on Cordova Street (she finally moved indoors this past week): "No," she said, "it's far too emotional." Ron and Gerald both said, "I'll get back to you." Richard, whose background includes residential schools, has only one word for that experience: "Unspeakable."

Then you get people like Marty. "Great idea," he said. "It'll help clear away some preconceived notions people have about this area." Exactly.

And Kris is eager to get others to do it. He found that, in telling his story -- which he has been doing for Megaphone Magazine -- he's managed to deal with the issues he grew up with and find a way to move forward. He also discovered a talent for writing that he never knew he had. So as more people tell their stories for the camera, I'll let you know when they're posted.

***

"They thought I was dead."

Mike re-surfaced this morning. He is one of many "Mike"s in the area, and the last time I saw him, he was dreadfully sick from alcohol abuse. He had been hoping to get into a recovery program, and part of our prayer that day was for that to happen. Clearly, he was sick of being sick. He was also terrified that he was past the point of no return and was going to die soon.

That was seven months ago. Today, he walked into The Lord's Rain: he was clear-eyed and quiet and one could sense he was different. He had managed to get into recovery, although I didn't ask what program. But apparently none of his friends in the area knew he had gone, so when they didn't see him for a while, they filed a Missing Person report.

"Shows they care about you," I said. "AND ... it shows you stuck with the program."

"Yep," he said. "I'm clean now. My color is back ... I was SO sick, man!"

I reminded him that he'd always have support with us. I hope he realizes that with us, and his friends he apparently didn't know he had, he's not alone in his struggle. Please keep Mike in prayer: he's won a key battle, but the enemy doesn't go away quietly.

***

*OK ... I made that part up ...

A lesson in sharing and caring

We had a "moment" this morning outside The Lord's Rain. Justin and I were standing outside the door, chatting, when a little boy and his daddy came up to us. The boy reached into a bag and pulled out a Hallowe'en treat for each of us.

And they walked on.

They had approached from Hastings Street, and it wasn't hard to figure out what was going on. After a successful night of trick-or-treating, Daddy took the little one (he was maybe 5 or 6 - 7 at most) for a walk through the area where the poor people live. Not only did he see a world considerably different from the one he was growing up in, but it was a chance for him to share what had been given to him and get a glimpse of what it's like when you reach out to others with kindness and absolutely no expectation of anything in return.

Lord, bless that dad for doing that. I don't know his name -- God does -- and there were no cameras or anyone to publicize the event. It was a "just because" thing, sowing seeds not only with the child, but with the people he met on that walk. Who knows what fruit those seeds will produce in years to come?

Harold and Vicky; and good news for Maggie

Bart shook his head. “A man drink like you do,” he said, “he gone die!”

The Kid thought about that for a moment, then said, “When?”

-- from “Blazing Saddles”, 1974 (slightly novelized version)

“He’s been drinkin’ rub,” Sheila said, “and some o’ that!” she added, pointing to an empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

I passed the information on to the ambulance dispatcher. It was Friday morning, and Bruce (who can be seen on our video presentation about The Lord’s Rain) had come into the ministry to get me to call 9-1-1. “Someone’s havin’ a seizure,” he said.

“Rub” is rubbing alcohol, which is usually watered-down or mixed with Listerine, but Sheila insisted that Ashley had been drinking his straight. Ashley was lying on one of the benches, twitching slightly on his left side. He was breathing normally, a fact confirmed when the dispatcher had me watch him and say “now” whenever he took a breath. But the ambulance was on its way and got there in a couple of minutes.

Before they got there, Ashley came to and managed to sit up. “I’m epileptic,” he told me, and a couple of the others said, “he’s OK – he doesn’t need an ambulance.” But Sheila laid down the law. “They need to check him out,” she declared.

It turned out that one of the paramedics knew the patient. “Have another seizure, Ashley?” Ashley nodded. “Want to go to the hospital and get checked out?” “Yeah, I wanna go,” Ashley replied. They walked him to the ambulance and helped him in. As we watched him, Sheila pointed with her foot to the bottle of Jack, almost in wonder at the amount Ashley had put away.

Again, I marvelled at the compassion shown by the paramedics. Not only did one of them know Ashley’s name, but also remembered that he had a broken collarbone, which had not been repaired – probably for the same reason Jim Ritchie hadn’t had surgery to repair his collarbone: too much risk that he would fall, break it again, and get infected.

On Saturday, I strolled over to Pigeon Park again, and there was Ashley, sitting on the same bench, slugging back something from a bottle. I asked him what happened at the hospital. He didn’t really know. “That was Thursday,” he said.

“Friday.”

“No – Thursday. I woke up at home this morning.”

 Nothing I could say would shift him from that belief. Apparently, he’d lost a day due to the stroke.

“Hey – I’m alive,” he said, smiling and taking a pull on a bottle of something dark and strong-looking.

A couple of the others at the park came over and chatted and one, whom I’d never seen before, said, “thank you for praying for us.”

What can one say, besides “you’re welcome”?

I’ve said before: The Lord’s Rain has been serving basic human needs beyond the need to be physically clean. People anywhere – especially in a place like the Downtown East Side – have a basic need to know that they’re in right standing with God. Being prayed for goes a long way to that end.

Anyone can do that, too – although it’s important to offer the prayers in the hope-against-hope that knowing how much God loves them will gradually provide greater comfort than rubbing alcohol, Jack Daniels and whatever Ashley had in that bottle.

===

The word “gradually” is important. My friend, Cal Weber, who leads Campus Ministry at the BCIT (BC Institute of Technology), once noted that water, flowing over a rock, has the same impact as a sledgehammer; it just takes longer. But when the job is done, the rock is completely worn away, without the big chunks a sledgehammer leaves behind. So it is with Ministry.

===

It is six weeks, now, since Vicky, one of our regulars, came into The Lord’s Rain. She bypassed the coffee line, looked at John, Danilo and me and burst into tears. “Harold died this morning,” she said.

Harold was her male companion (for want of a better term: they weren’t married, and “boyfriend” sounds trivial, especially under the circumstances), and she had woken up that morning to find he had passed away in the bed beside her.

On Friday, Vicky was back at The Lord’s Rain, still grieving, carrying with her the little leaflet from the memorial service. She poured her heart out to John, which was actually a good choice, as he had had a similar experience – waking up one morning to find his roommate dead on the kitchen floor – and he is known to people in the area as an excellent listener.

---

How about a little good news?

I have mentioned Maggie before, although I’ve only seen her in The Lord’s Rain once. A very small woman, somewhere between age 45 and 60, she gets around by pushing a wheelchair (although she recently got a walker, which is easier to handle). For the past couple of years, she’s had a little camp in a doorway on Cordova Street, just around the corner from The Lord’s Rain. Last year, the space was renovated into a restaurant and delicatessen, but the proprietors let Maggie stay in the doorway, which isn’t being used, anyway. A gate was installed and Maggie was given the key. Little by little, her camp has grown, with pillows, a sleeping bag and books, and people drop off food for her, or she goes out to find a meal from one of the outreaches.

On Friday, she called me over. “I’m moving into my new place in December,” she announced.

It turns out, she’s had a room at a single-room-occupancy (SRO) hotel called the Marble Arch, which is just outside the DTES. “I’ve been payin’ rent there,” she said, “but I refused to go back until they fixed the place up. It was declared number-one-worst place in the city.”

But now, it appears, the renovations have been done. “I got new furniture and a kitchen with a microwave that works!” It appears that she’d been paying rent for her room at Marble Arch, which held it for her in the mean time. Disabled and ravaged by drug abuse (it’s hard to say which followed the other ) and occasionally subjected to verbal abuse, like the guy who yelled at her, “you brought it on yourself!”, as he blew her off, Maggie is about due for a break.

===

(Do you remember a song from the 1980s, called “The Way It Is,” by Bruce Hornsby and The Range? The opening verse describes a homeless guy begging on the street, and someone drives by in a car shouting, “get a job!” We all nodded sagely and opined how awful that was and how true and but it must be someone else who had such a stinking attitude. To borrow Walt Kelly’s overused line, we have met the enemy, and he is us.)

===

An article in today’s Vancouver Sun makes interesting reading. It’s on a national study that’s just been released on housing for the mentally ill, and suggests mentally ill people tend to “do better” living in self-contained apartments scattered around the city, rather than in SROs concentrated in a particular area. They benefit, the study suggests, from being around healthier people and socializing more. Interestingly, the NIMBY factor among people already living in these neighbourhoods is not as pervasive as some might have thought.

It reminds me of a remark our friend Marty made a few months ago. “It’s too easy [on the DTES]. I can call a dealer any time, then take two steps outside my door and meet him.” Others consider “getting the heck outta Dodge” to be a main goal in life. The important thing is to impart sufficient hope to them that they will, like Maggie, see that a breakthrough is not just desirable, it’s possible.

"You're Good People!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please.”

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

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

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

+++

You Can Observe A Lot Just By Watching dep’t

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

+++

got jobs?

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

+++

Scripture

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

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

That really needs no further interpretation. 

InSite and a more positive response

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

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

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

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

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

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

So for the record, what are we for?

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

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

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

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

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

And that's what we're for.