RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES! (of DUH Magazine)

It's been a long time since the last post, but lots has happened in the interim -- including the news that a study was being launched to see if changing the way welfare is distributed might change drug use habits. It riffs off the conclusion of another study that found that a sudden increase in the amount of available cash appears to lead to an increase in drug use.

What was your first clue, Sherlock? It's axiomatic around the Downtown East Side, that in the couple of days after "Welfare Wednesday", you will see more whacked-out people -- and more-whacked-out people. Our Wednesday night Bible studies at Gospel Mission were turned over to prayer sessions on the last Wednesday of the month, because that was when the Downtown East Side needed prayer the most.

So now, someone apparently got paid to do a study that reached that same conclusion. There are times when I wonder if I'm in the wrong line of work. Forgive me, Lord: that's the worldly (and cynical) part of me coming out.

The new study is to see if the habits of drug addicts will change if they get their dole differently. Some will stay with the monthly payments, but others will be paid twice a month by direct deposit. Will they be less likely to OD if they don't get these sudden cash windfalls? 

The idea appears to have merit, although I can see that there could be logistical issues, such as the cost of changing the system and whether it should be changed for all welfare recipients or just those identified as drug addicts. For now though, Question 1 would have to be, Would it work? 

But I can't help thinking that our citizens would be better served if we took the funds earmarked for these studies and simply GOT PEOPLE OFF DRUGS! Officialdom has lost sight of the fact that recovery is possible -- ever since former mayor Sam Sullivan said, in essence, that drug addicts have as much chance of recovering as he had of getting out of his wheelchair, it seems like health officials have given up. I remember taking Frank from The Lord's Rain to InSite, to see if he could get into OnSite, their recovery facility. They told him, "there's no room: come back tomorrow."

The fact that they did not give him a list of the recovery programs that are available and that work, tells one how serious they are about the health of addicts. 

The fact is, people do recover, and I ran into one such example last week in Abbotsford. An old friend from radio days in Victoria, Jim Leith, had invited me to a monthly luncheon laid on by his church, Immanuel Fellowship Baptist, to give a presentation on The Lord's Rain. As it turned out, one of them had a lot of first-hand experience about The Lord's Rain.

Dave had been a Saturday-morning regular up until a few years ago, and then he just stopped coming around. As I've said before, that can be either really good news -- or really bad news. In Dave's case, it was good news. 

"I heard someone was going to be talking about it here, and I had to come!" he said, as he hugged me. Dave had learned about Immanuel's Friday Night Recovery Program and got plugged-in. Now, he's been sober for three years, clear-eyed, re-connected with his family, joy emanating from his pores; and he praises Jesus for the new life with every opportunity. 

I had planned to end the presentation with a video clip of people talking about what The Lord's Rain has done for them. With Dave there, that wasn't necessary. Not that I'd claim credit for The Lord's Rain for Dave's turnaround, but people can see, first-hand, that people in that situation can, and do, get out of it. I can't describe the exhilarating feeling of seeing someone who's made that turnaround.

Part of his turnaround came by getting the heck out of the DTES, with its constant reminders of the source of his grief and the nattering voice of the enemy, trying to tell him he can never change. Also working in his favor were his own desire to get rid of the addiction(s) and the dedication of one of the leaders of their Friday Night Recovery Program -- a man named John, a former biker and addict, who has walked beside Dave throughout the process. John is one of the leaders of the program and emphasizes that it's "Christ-based" -- not simply affirming a "higher power" (à la AA), but naming that Power (Jesus) and recognizing that without it, one is powerless to change. Having someone to Be There for the recovering person is vital.

The other key ingredient in recovery is hope. One of the harder messages to get across to someone is that being free from an addiction is not only desirable, it's possible. That's not an argument you can make in worldly, human terms. That's where faith and love come in, the still, small voice, quietly out-shouting that nattering voice of the enemy.

===

A couple whom I also had not seen in about three years also resurfaced recently. Shannon and Brannen are two recovering addicts who have held each other up through their various attempts at recovery and the various health issues that have come with it. Brannen is big and looks tough with his tattoos of "dark side" images; but the fear in his eyes was palpable when he would talk about his failing kidneys. Shannon, despite her own problems, has been a rock for Brannen -- and has a whole lotta love for others. We are called to "love the unlovely" and Shannon could give clinics in that. I've seen her spend an hour trying to comfort one man, whose issues include paranoia about the health-care and social workers who try to help him; Shannon has also sat there while a girl has poured out her soul after what's euphemistically called a "bad date" (i.e. she was a prostitute and a customer had just beaten her badly) before motioning to me to come over a pray for her.

Eventually, Shannon and Brannen moved to a place on the south end and got the heck out of the DTES: but they came back to say hello a couple of weeks ago when Brannen had to come downtown for treatment.

"We missed you, the last couple of times," Shannon said as she crushed my ribs. She has a new set of teeth and Brannen was looking good, so I asked him about his kidneys. "They were doing better," he said, "and then they switched me to Methadose." Methadose, I understand, is a more concentrated form of methadone, the substitute drug they give people to wean them off heroin. But it also has side-effects that are different from methadone -- and for Brannen, that meant more kidney failure. "I brought it on myself, man," he said, his eyes starting to redden, "and now I'm paying the price."

===

Seeing Shannon and Brannen, and Dave at the Abbotsford luncheon brought encouragement at a time when it was sorely needed. We had a number of people who came, clearly more drugged-out than usual. Debbie, who had told me this past summer, "I'm off the drugs and I'm never going back!", is back in the lineup for the methadone pharmacy a block away from the Mission; she's also gone back to demanding new clothing whenever she comes in, which suggests she's actually selling what we give her.

Mike, who used to be a bright light at our Saturday evening services, singing heartily during Worship and talking at length about his own journey, has been spinning out of control due to the drugs. His face is ravaged by their effects, almost all his teeth are gone and he rambles angrily, usually to no one in particular, often about being thrown out of community meetings. He is -- or was -- a highly intelligent person. As the old ads for the United Negro College Fund used to say, a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

But as we see with Dave and others who've made that breakaway, it's possible to restore the mind. The Lord told the prophet Joel, "And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpillar, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you." (Joel 2:25)

===

The man was still crossing in front of the bus when the traffic light went red. At first glance, it would have been easy to write him off as some street drunk, crossing the street whereverandwhenevertheheck he felt like it. But it's a broad street, and it was clear from the way he was moving -- with obvious difficulty -- that he could have started crossing even before the light had turned green and he would have been in the same position. The bus driver waited patiently until the man hauled himself onto the sidewalk. 

Then, as Amelia and I crossed to where he was, he tottered and fell. I went over and helped him up. "I got arthritis in my legs," he said. I walked him over to the bus bench, a few feet away. "Can I pray over you?" I asked. "Hey," he said, "you believe - I believe: I know He's watching over me." We prayed together.

We left him waiting for his bus and Amelia observed, "it never changes, does it?" Because this wasn't Vancouver: it was Portage and Garry in Winnipeg, just on the edge of that city's own version of Skid Row. That part of the windy city now has the trendy name of "Exchange District", hearkening back to its origins as the site of the Winnipeg Grain Exchange and the warehouses that developed around it, the railyards and the river. Apparently, it eventually became a version of the Downtown East Side, and now (surprise-surprise!) many of the warehouses are being redeveloped into modern, hip condos, restaurants and boutiques. Translation: gentrification is underway. I don't know if that word evokes the same visceral reaction that it does in Vancouver, but it wouldn't surprise me.

The next day, an Aboriginal man walked up to me and, out of the blue, declared, "I believe in Jesus!" He told me his name was Blackie and he went on, "I'm an alcoholic and I believe in Jesus!" We chatted for a while, and I couldn't help remembering the words of another pastor, who said, "if he's always drunk, he can't possibly love Jesus!" I dunno ... how does "love for Jesus" manifest itself? How about, in spite of your current physical state, walking up to a total stranger on the street and declaring you believe in Him -- perhaps knowing you might get a comeback like that?

"I'd have to kill you all!"

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

Let me explain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

"Hey - you don't got no pants on!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's your name, bro'?"

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

"Bandit."

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

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

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

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

My former roommate, Patrick, and I used to joke about mind-altering drugs by dropping into our best radio voices and saying, "Better living through chemistry". 

Odd, isn't it, how things we used to think were funny are no longer so?

It's been said that drugs are not the problem on the Downtown East Side, they're the solution. Whether it's prescription anti-psychotic meds, methadone or the illicit drugs dealt in back alleys, they're seen as the solution for the myriad problems plaguing our friends and neighbors here.

The Saturday before last, Lorraine walked into The Lord's Rain. "Can I talk to you when you have a minute?" she asked. "Sure," I said. A moment later, Barbara, a woman who's had numerous bits of bad news lately -- the loss of two brothers and problems with her liver (she's supposed to go for surgery on Thursday) -- came in. She went straight to the point. "I'm really upset," she said. "You know M. (name deleted), the fat woman who sits outside the Rainier [Hotel, a couple of doors away]?"

I nodded.

"She started saying some terrible things about you," Barb went on. "She started swearing and cursing you. It really hurt."

Lorraine came over. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. We're really mad, 'cause you're one of us -- you're family -- she can't talk about you like that."

Well, she was; and I've come to realize that M's behavior is tied inextricably to the type and dosage of prescription medication she takes. She's bright and beaming at some times; foul-mouthed and paranoid at others. I went to great lengths one morning to tell her that, no, people weren't talking about her behind her back and no, they weren't conspiring to ruin her or giving her "lethal injections" (as she called it) every two weeks. It evidently had little effect.

So I told them that M. was obviously off her meds and they shouldn't hold that against her. And in the meantime, we needed to pray for her - which is what we did, calling forgiveness, love and grace into the situation.

One of the greatest rewards of this Ministry is to be regarded as "family" and "one of us". When I started at Rainbow Mission 10 years ago, I couldn't help wondering if people looked at me as some guy trying to ease his own guilt by Doing Good For The Poor. It didn't take long for that feeling to be replaced by the sense that there are people around here who have your back, but it's still refreshing to be reminded time to time.

As for M., Lorraine told me a couple of days later that she had been taken to hospital for more treatment. Then, this past Friday, I saw M. sitting in a restaurant next door to the Rainier, eating lunch with an aunt. Now, M. was bright and smiling. Later that afternoon, I was standing outside the Mission when she pulled up in a taxi. "Who needs TransLink? My doctor paid for this! [She often makes reference to my former job.]  I just got another shot," she added as she got out, pointing to the small band-aid on her arm. 

The next morning, as I was heading upstairs to prepare the sandwiches, I overheard one of our new volunteers, Ken, say to her, "watch your language, M." I came back down a couple of minutes later to see M. leaving. Apparently, the new meds had already worn off.

M's case is another of those that leave one wondering about the way we treat the mentally ill. There's a distaste for "warehousing" people with "issues", conjuring up images of abuse and neglect at insane asylums from a century ago, or of people being committed against their will because it's "convenient" for society to push them away. Or is it any better to put them into open society and leave them to their own devices -- with some philosophy that they should have the right to decide for themselves whether they need treatment or intervention?

Some might say that de-institutionalizing them reminds us of a part of reality we might prefer to ignore; others say it turns these people into side-show exhibits. After a while, they become just one more thing to ignore on the streets.

(An interesting statistic turned up in today's Province that says that 20% of police calls in Vancouver and 25% of police time is taken up with calls involving the mentally ill. A case in point: the incident I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, in which a fellow was found in Pigeon Park, picking through a pile of sewage, garbage and needles, trying to find ... who knows? Two cops arrived on the scene and assessed his mental state, let him go, then stood watch over the pile until city workers could arrive to clean it up.)

And are the meds really the solution, or a convenience? 

I merely ask. All I could see from M's case, was that they got her home from the doctor's office and through the next night; but that was about it.

The fact is, the mentally ill -- like M. -- are one of those great assignments from God: to love the unlovely. You look at pretty much any problem in somebody's life, it's because someone didn't love them. Maybe it was because of physical appearance, maybe their way of thinking went against the grain, maybe their brain just didn't function as well as others'. Lack of love breeds more lack of love, and Jesus' commandment to us is simple: love your neighbor as you, yourself, are loved by God. I may not be a mental health professional, but it doesn't take a university degree to love someone. So if M. is talking hatefully about me, let my response be Love. And if she's bright and beaming and cheerful towards me, let my response be Love. 

And to respond to my question about the meds, I hear the coda from the late Larry Norman's song, "Don't ask me for answers; I only have one:/That a man leaves his darkness when he follows the Son."

***

Ken, whom I mentioned above, is another new volunteer who went from being served to serving. He looks to be in his 60s, and has been part of a team of Hastings Central residents, hired by Yes We Can! (aka The Bottle Depot) to keep the streets and alleys clean. He has a background in serving: he and his former wife -- who was one of the prison guards when he was doing time some years ago -- owned a lodge and cafe in the Cariboo for a few years. He has brought with him a new clientele: other middle-aged-to-older men, who have already started calling him "Pastor Ken". 

I'm not laughing when I write that: people who have done time for far worse (Murph the Surf, Chuck Colson*, e.g.) have found the Lord while inside and gone on to inspire many people, so who knows what God has in store for Ken? It's great to have him on the team. Ken has agreed to share his story for my "In His image, too ..." video project, so stay tuned. 

*(One may not agree with Mr Colson's politics, but if that's all you know of him, then you don't know the half of what he did for people. I found his radio messages both Grace-filled and challenging: I didn't agree with everything, but he got me thinking and re-assessing my Christian view.)

***

It's a new record!
When I think of the phrase "new record", I hear the Electric Light Orchestra's "Living Thing" in my mind -- which was on their album "A New World Record" -- so I shall now have those sforzato strings chops playing in my brain for the next 24 hours as I tell you that The Lord's Rain hosted 21 showers yesterday -- a new record for a single day (old one was 13, I believe). Considering they came in a 2-1/2-hour time period and we have four shower stalls, as Gary, our volunteer, pointed out that's one crazy-busy morning! 

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

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

They even brought a golf club cart to carry it.

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

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

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

The Lord's Rain at 6: "We couldn't get by without it!"

In the flurry of events over the past two months, it was anti-climactic for us to look at one another last Friday (May 2) and say, "Oh! The sixth anniversary was on Wednesday!"

Nonetheless, April 30 marked six years since we fired up the water heater, put on the coffee and switched on the ersatz neon "OPEN" sign for the first time. Now, more than 6100 showers have been taken, which, given our limited opening times (especially in the early going), is a pretty impressive figure. The space has also served as a place where people with disabilities can take part in the services -- particularly the Sunday afternoon services -- thanks to our closed-circuit TV system.

It was Marty, the once and future teacher -- still working towards his ESL-teaching ticket -- who gave the frank assessment of the way The Lord's Rain meets a basic need on the Downtown East Side. "There are so many places around here, where the showers don't work," he said. "One place I was in: I would wait until 3 or 4 in the morning, when the cleaning guy would do my floor, and as soon as I'd hear him go, I'd get up and rush in there and have my shower. Otherwise, you're stepping over needles and feces and ..." He trailed off, seeing that I got the picture.

It all comes back to the initial thought that got the ball rolling -- the summer evening 10 years ago, when I walked into Rainbow Mission for the first time and was hit by a human stench like a 50-lb sack of poi -- "how can people live like this?" Answer: they can't, and when the Lord brought all the elements together -- the people, the finances and the supplies (the people, especially) -- to make it a reality, starting in the fall of 2007.

No, that's not true: we only started to see it in the fall of 2007. In preparing presentations for various groups (most recently, a youth group at Hope Chapel on Maui -- hence the reference to poi, above), I've spent quite a bit of time reverse-engineering the process that led to The Lord's Rain being built, and I've realized that elements were put in place decades ago. I like to refer to the directions for the building of the tabernacle by the Israelites after they'd left Egypt. Huge amount of pure gold are required, but where would they get it? Answer: it was the gold they'd taken from their Egyptian neighbors. They may have thought it would be for trading once they reached the Promised Land, but in reality, God intended it for the tabernacle all along. In the same way, the preparations of one's heart, the connections and the "chance" encounters over many years have led to this point -- and who knows what else?

If you look back over much of your own life, you'll probably see how the connections have unfolded -- seemingly unrelated connections, too -- that all fit together. In other words, God puts His ducks in a row long before we even know there's a pond.

The Lord's Rain has meant different things to different people, as you can see in this clip. We've also seen people grow out of their past lives and become the servers where they used to be the servees. Herbie, Gary, Danilo, Joanne ... all have stepped into roles that are showing them that they're able to help others, and do so with a measure of compassion because they've Been There, too.

The Lord's Rain has also afforded Janet the opportunity to grow into the role that God has for her. She took on the job of Assistant Pastor and leader of The Lord's Rain in the fall of 2012 and has helped develop Ladies' Day (Monday mornings) and opening times in afternoons and middays. She is one of the most loving and compassionate people I know, dedicated to the Mission and its people; her ability to speak into people's lives astounds me.

"Pastor, come out here!"

Barbara is a 50-something woman who gets around on a walker. She usually just comes in to get a coffee and leave, but this time, she only stuck her head in and called to me. She evidently figured the street was more "private" than The Lord's Rain, and she's probably right. I came out and joined her and Lisa, a woman who looked only slightly younger. 

"We're burying my brother today," she said. "Will you pray for me?" Of course. "And I also found out my other brother died around Christmas and they didn't tell me because I have a bad heart."

As we talked and prayed, it turned out that Lisa was Barbara's granddaughter. 

Granddaughter?

I had taken Lisa to be a good friend or possibly a younger sister. Such are the ravages of drug use - premature aging, losing teeth, etc. This is why I have little time for those who promote any kind of treatment for drug abuse that doesn't get the person off drugs. It's chic to sneer at the Americans' "War on Drugs", but -- and I know I've said this before -- the "non-aggression pact" Canada has pursued with drugs hasn't been much use, either. 

I can't remember seeing Barbara come to the Mission services, either upstairs or on the TV hookup downstairs. But even though we've made a point not to be overtly evangelical at The Lord's Rain, people still know they can get comfort -- or just unload their troubles on someone -- there. It's an ongoing "service" that we never thought we'd be providing -- along with the showers.

Connections ...

Pastor Reggie, outside the strip joint in the Bronx
(nicked from NY Daily News)

Reggie Stutzman, who was pastor at the Bowery Mission when I made that "fateful" visit in 2007 and saw their showers facility, has a challenge in front of him: trying to claim a building for the Lord in South Bronx. Reggie's current church, Real Life Church, in Hunt's Point, needs a permanent space and they've been trying to raise the money to buy a building currently occupied by a strip club.

It's not dissimilar from the way The Lord's Rain came into being. Our storefront space at 327 Carrall Street was formerly occupied by an anarchist organization (isn't that an oxymoron?) and before that, a drug-needle exchange and supervised injection site (prior to the opening of InSite, further up the street). Truly, God claimed this building for His own purpose, so there is a precedent for Him to do the same in the Bronx. I'll pass along any updates.

"You Can Do It" - and the Love Stimulus

The past five weeks have been taken up with people involved with Gospel Mission Society, stepping in to help sort through the various tasks that needed to be done following the sudden passing of Pastor Barry. On top of that, there's been the need to reassure the people we serve in the Hastings Central area that Gospel Mission and The Lord's Rain will continue. Certainly, the Mission has survived since 1929 through all sorts of challenges and it will survive the next few months as things get sorted out; but humans tend to look at any current situation as being permanent and need to be reminded that things do change and in faith, difficulties are overcome: stumbling blocks, in fact, turn into stepping stones.

We held the Annual General Meeting of the Gospel Mission Society last night, and as I left, I ran into Joseph, one of our native brothers who often comes into The Lord's Rain. He's one of many of whom I can truly say I have seen at his best and at his worst. A few years ago, he stumbled into our Saturday night service and promptly fell asleep on one of the benches. We finished the service and cleaned up, figuring we'd wait until we were ready to close up before waking him. But when we couldn't wake him, that was when we saw the row of staples in his scalp. Our natural reaction: "head injury! Won't wake up! Call 911!" Which was what we did. 

But Joseph has also come into the Mission and The Lord's Rain, asking questions about the Bible and definitely contemplating the world around him in that context. Whenever I talk to him, he tends to contemplate a lot before responding -- although he does have a quick laugh with a tendency towards sardonic humor -- and his responses are well-considered. It often feels like he sees the world around him as terribly out-of-joint with what he knows from the Bible, and he has no idea what to do about it -- rather like Jackson Browne's heart-wrenching lyrics, "I have done all that I could/To see the evil and the good without hiding/You must help me if you can." 

Indeed, I've often thought there's something of the evangelist in him, because he certainly knows his Scripture and has a very engaging personality -- even when he's drunk. (You have to understand some of the dynamics of the people in the Hastings Central area to know that you can't really dismiss the notion of someone who's an alcoholic leading others who are alcoholic. It's not a case of the blind leading the blind, as much as it is the "can't-see" being led by the "want-to-see". I think that makes sense.)

So when I came out of the Mission, Joseph wanted to know what I was doing in the 'hood. I told him about the challenges. "You can do it," he said. "Nothing is impossible."

It's not unusual for one of the "street people" to say something that absolutely boosts one's confidence. It's one thing for us in the Ministry to encourage one another, but when one of the people we serve speaks even a couple of words straight from the heart like that, it reminds us what we're there for.

***

"Have you got a place for the night?" I asked Joseph.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Blood Alley." He paused, and then broke into a grin. "I've beat up enough people there, I might as well sleep there!"

(Despite its rather violent-sounding name in an area known for lawlessness since the Gold Rush days, Blood Alley actually got its name from the butcher shop that would toss entrails, etc., out the back door. It's tempting to say that the place was pretty "offal", but we must respect our boundaries, so I won't.)

Evidently, Joseph, Bruce and Jeremy -- two other native chaps who were with him last night -- fall into the category of "street homeless", which, apparently, has grown in number in the past year, despite the hard work by very dedicated people like my dear friend Judy Graves, who "retired" as the city's housing advocate a year ago but still champions the cause, and Mayor Gregor Robertson and his staff. There are a number of things on which I don't agree with Hizzoner, but there's no denying progress has been made. Sadly, the newspaper reporting on the prediction that the annual Homeless Count would be up from last year focused on the political reaction, given that Mayor Robertson had promised to eliminate street homelessness by next year and this is an election year. His opponents were quick to sneer at this "broken campaign promise"; as I've often said, the view from the press box is always better than the view on the ice. But for all the political jousting, the fact remains that there are still Josephs, Bruces and Jeremys in our town who spend their evenings choosing their alleys, park benches or patches of grass.

"Better pray for him, Pastor," Joseph said, motioning to Bruce. "Welfare screwed me around, man," Bruce said, more in bewilderment than anger. I'm not sure what exactly happened, but the bottom line is, he didn't have a place. "Me too," put in Jeremy. And so we did. 

***

Responds well to stimuli ... 

Jeremy often comes into The Lord's Rain right at opening time -- 6:30 or 7 -- and lies down on one of the benches and goes to sleep. Probably the best sleep he gets, and we certainly don't try to roust him out. He has a violent streak and has the build of an MMA fighter and I must admit, I'm a bit leery when he comes in (probably a good reason to let him sleep). But this past Saturday, I got to see a different side. I had taken him upstairs to the Mission so he could use the washroom; when he came out, he saw me leafing through one of the Bibles. "Read me something," he said. I turned to Psalm 91 ("He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High/Shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty"). It's about the way the Lord protects those who put their trust in Him. Jeremy listened carefully, and when I had finished, said, "thanks!" "You understand what it means? Stay close to Him and He will protect you." He contemplated that, then nodded and hugged me. 

One never knows what fruit the seeds we sow will bear. But this I do know, Jeremy has a less threatening demeanor: he responds well to the "love stimulus".

Homelessness, politics, and what would Jesus do?

Today's Vancouver Sun has an item that would be of great concern to the people who have been working so hard to end homelessness in the city -- and who have made a political stake in that effort. The annual homeless count is expected to show a sharp increase, despite the efforts of the past few years and Mayor Gregor Robertson's campaign promise of 2008 to end homelessness by 2015.

I've pointed out in the past that there is a subtle difference between that campaign promise and the stated goal today; the Mayor talks of street homelessness, but his promise in 2008 was to eliminate homelessness, which I contend is decidedly different. But today's item points out what a complex task this is, relying as it does on different levels of government, each with its own agenda, and ultimately on the good will of the people who actually have the money to build housing. It's easy to make a campaign commitment; it's even easier to point and sneer when that commitment isn't met (behold the turtle, who only makes progress when he sticks his neck out); there's no shortage of reasons why things haven't gone as planned.

But what about the people who are really affected by this -- and I don't mean Gregor Robertson's campaign workers or Penny Ballem's staff? We're talking about people who need a place to live -- the homeless, drug-addicted, mentally ill -- who have become, once again, socio-political footballs. Once again, The Man has let them down, as he always does. The inconvenient truth is that we need to wean people off the idea that their problems are going to be solved by any kind of worldly means.

What would Jesus do about the homelessness situation? Would He blockade construction sites or picket incoming businesses? Would He demand politicians do something? Did He make claims about "rights" or condone law-breaking?

Throughout the Gospel, Jesus reminds us about our responsibility to the poor. But at the end of the day, people who are convicted and motivated to live up to that responsibility are not moved by shame or guilt, bullying or threats, but do so out of love -- because Jesus is God and God is Love. Love -- not money, jobs, cheap housing, addiction programs -- is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING (what could be more important than God?): love your enemies; pray for those who use you spitefully.

So when you see and hear about demonstrations and protests and activists vowing to block development until they get what they want and saying things like, "we don't want those kind of people here" (referring to developers and higher-income folks moving into new projects in the Central Hastings area), we need to ask where the love is. If the love isn't there, then neither is Jesus ... and neither is God ... and neither is any blessing.

Trust me: developers and politicians -- like any human being -- respond really well to love.

Some might compare activism like protesting and blockading to Jesus' clearing out the Temple, but His actions in kicking over the tables and driving out the merchants were only half of what He did that day. He then "taught them ... 'Is it not written, "My house shall be called of all nations the house of prayer, but ye have made it a den of thieves"?'" (Mark 11:17 KJV). Matthew records that He then healed people.

Do we have something to teach those we disagree with? Are we able to heal?

Do we know better than God, what the solution to a problem should be?

If we approach the situation in love, with forgiveness and meekness of heart, we allow God in. Situations that don't look right to us start to gain meaning and we start to see what God is up to by putting us and others into those situations. Sure, they don't look right, but remember that, when Jesus was crucified, that didn't look terribly "right" to a lot of people -- but look what happened next.