A couple of weeks ago at Westpointe, I shared the story of Davona, the young woman who'd been a "fixture" for a while at The Lord's Rain but who recently had a baby: a confirmation that, even as we're surrounded by the death and despair on the Downtown East Side, God still wants LIFE to show forth and win out. Pastor Jon Boyd remarked afterwards that you hardly ever hear about good news out of the area -- the media and the activists who command attention know that bad news sells and good news is no news.
I may be a little late to the party with this one, but I discovered a TV series over the weeend that is the most realistic portrayal of the DTES I've seen in the six-plus years I've been ministering in the area. Actually, my mother-in-law in Toronto had been talking it up for some time: "The Beat", airing on OLN Saturdays at 10PM and Sundays at 9pm (Eastern), or online at http://www.oln.ca/details.php?id=99.
It's a reality show, focusing on Vancouver Police patrolling the Downtown East Side, dealing with the drug addicts and dealers, the prostitutes and the others generally labelled "street people". And rather than serving up the usual doom-and-despair that the popmedia give us about the DTES, I actually got a pretty good feeling from watching it. It has a very positive tone, showing police as compassionate individuals who truly care about the people they encounter on the DTES.
Talk about against-the-grain thinking!
I was reminded of the son of a friend of mine who's been on the VPD force for just about a year now, and whose hope has been to be assigned to the DTES.
The popmedia portrayal -- egged on by those "activists" -- is generally that cops are violent psychopaths who abuse poor, helpless vulnerable people. Of course, that's the image that gets the headline and the 40-second video clip. (Funny how scenes of police stopping to chat with a street person, helping them if they're lying on the street, or just keeping drug dealers off-balance, never seem to get "caught on tape".)
The episodes I caught last night went against-the-grain in another way: giving voice to the utter disdain the police have for Vancouver's "safe injection site". Many of you already know how I feel about it. It's a human experiment that has failed miserably, as evidenced by the fact that the situation of drugs, crime, homelessness and poverty has grown worse since InSite opened. A stat that came out from the police in last night's show was that, in 2001, the needle-exchange program dealt out about 180,000 needles; by 2009, that figure had ballooned to 3-million. Yet, as one of the cops said, getting anyone in the mainstream media to report a "contrarian" viewpoint is nearly impossible.
But it's like the little kid in "The Emperor's New Clothes": everyone's so blinded by the flash and glare of the myth that they can't see the truth. I've often said that Jesus is not about "harm reduction": He's about harm elimination. The solution involves getting people off drugs, rather than making it "healthier" for them, and you start by instilling the Hope of Christ in their lives. Things like InSite and needle exchanges make our jobs a lot tougher. But with God, nothing is impossible, and that's the good news.
(We note that the last two mayors who were ardent supporters of InSite only lasted one term, and they and the previous mayor -- who helped initiate it -- were all fragged by their own parties. Perhaps God is sending a political message?)
For all its grittiness and cinéma vérité, "The Beat" gives a good-news portrayal, showing up-close-and-personal what we deal with, without getting mired in the doom-and-despair thing. Well worth watching, and you might be moved, as I was, to fire off a letter of appreciation to OLN and to Galafilm, the producers.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Pickton and the coals of fire
If you want to stir up some heated discussion around The Lord's Rain, bring up the case of Robert "Willie" Pickton. I was out of town when the latest development came up -- the Supreme Court of Canada, upholding his convictions on six counts of murder and the Crown opted to stay the charges on 20 other counts -- so I haven't heard what's being said this time by the people who come in.
Certainly, the media coverage has created great opportunities for newspaper columnists to do the Righteous Outrage thing. They're great at that. One went absolutely over the top in expressing his fervent emotions about the heinousness of his crimes and -- rather fatuously, I thought -- called on Pickton to "man up" and tell what happened to the others. Another darkly hinted that "important people" might get tarnished if there were a public inquiry.
By way of a recap, Pickton was charged after literally dozens of women went missing from the Downtown East Side over a period of several years. The movements of the victims, many of whom were prostitutes and drug addicts, were eventually traced to a pig farm owned by Pickton and his brother in Port Coquitlam -- just east of Vancouver. Police eventually gathered the evidence that led them to Pickton. He was the only one charged. The details of the deaths that came out at trial can best be summed up with one word: horrific.
Some say that it's a relief that, without proceeding with charges in the other 20 cases (he's also suspected in about 20 missing-women cases on top of these 26) or holding a public inquiry into the case, we won't have to hear about the details all over again. Others say the families of the other 20 are being denied "closure" -- whatever that is -- because their loved ones' day in court won't happen. There is an underlying assumption that without a conviction, there will never be justice for the families of the victims.
As I say, Pickton has often been a subject of conversation around The Lord's Rain. Some of the people who come in knew the victims, and the recurring theme isn't so much the allegations of police inaction on the initial reports of missing people, but they do wonder how Pickton could have acted alone.
Shannon, whom I've mentioned before as the first woman I've known on the DTES who actually admitted to having been a prostitute, knew some of the victims and remarked recently how tremendously blessed she felt that she hadn't been one of them, herself. She went on to talk about what she'd like to do to him. Her talk was along the lines of "I'm not in favor of the death penalty, but ...", and I found it hard to disagree.
Then Jeff broke into the conversation. "Forgive him," he said.
Jeff is the sort of person who can provide exactly the word one needs to keep things in perspective, and this was one of those times. According to the word of God, that's exactly what this situation calls for: something to break the legalistic logjam and get away from the hand-wringing that the legal system has let people down. Jesus tells us flat-out that we have to forgive those who have wronged us -- even if that wrong is torturing and murdering someone we love. Bless those who curse you, He says; pray for those who despitefully use you. Proverbs 25:21-22 (echoed by the Apostle Paul in Romans 12:20) says that in so doing, we heap coals of fire on that person's head. Keep that in mind -- we'll come back to that shortly.
If we forgive someone, Jesus says, we'll be forgiven by God for the things we've done wrong. The act goes much deeper. Even though our fleshly desire is to gain revenge on that person, if we suppress that desire and follow God's will by forgiving, that releases God to work that will over the whole situation. We release the person from the burden of our hating them and release ourselves from that same burden.
OK, so the legal system has failed the families of those allegedly killed by Robert "Willie" Pickton. Another aspect of forgiveness is that you don't have to wait for a court of law to decide beyond a shadow of a doubt. Even if you only suspect someone wronged you, forgiving them still lets God get to work, either proving guilt or exposing the person who was really responsible. If the families of those victims were to declare that they forgive Pickton -- unconditionally and without reservation -- they might be surprised at what follows.
As for the "coals of fire" reference, I believe that has a number of meanings. You could say that the coals of fire represent the burning feeling of guilt and shame that comes when someone has taken the high road and forgiven someone else -- leading, presumably, to the one who's been forgiven reciprocating by doing whatever it is that God wants of them. But fire is often used to connote the Holy Spirit, so once again, forgiving someone touches them with the anointing they need. In the long run, justice and closure -- real justice and closure -- follow as the night the day.
Too often, our society mistakes "revenge" for "justice". To God, justice comes when His will is done. The world's approach has run out of avenues for the people affected by the Pickton case. Maybe it's time to look at God's approach.
Certainly, the media coverage has created great opportunities for newspaper columnists to do the Righteous Outrage thing. They're great at that. One went absolutely over the top in expressing his fervent emotions about the heinousness of his crimes and -- rather fatuously, I thought -- called on Pickton to "man up" and tell what happened to the others. Another darkly hinted that "important people" might get tarnished if there were a public inquiry.
By way of a recap, Pickton was charged after literally dozens of women went missing from the Downtown East Side over a period of several years. The movements of the victims, many of whom were prostitutes and drug addicts, were eventually traced to a pig farm owned by Pickton and his brother in Port Coquitlam -- just east of Vancouver. Police eventually gathered the evidence that led them to Pickton. He was the only one charged. The details of the deaths that came out at trial can best be summed up with one word: horrific.
Some say that it's a relief that, without proceeding with charges in the other 20 cases (he's also suspected in about 20 missing-women cases on top of these 26) or holding a public inquiry into the case, we won't have to hear about the details all over again. Others say the families of the other 20 are being denied "closure" -- whatever that is -- because their loved ones' day in court won't happen. There is an underlying assumption that without a conviction, there will never be justice for the families of the victims.
As I say, Pickton has often been a subject of conversation around The Lord's Rain. Some of the people who come in knew the victims, and the recurring theme isn't so much the allegations of police inaction on the initial reports of missing people, but they do wonder how Pickton could have acted alone.
Shannon, whom I've mentioned before as the first woman I've known on the DTES who actually admitted to having been a prostitute, knew some of the victims and remarked recently how tremendously blessed she felt that she hadn't been one of them, herself. She went on to talk about what she'd like to do to him. Her talk was along the lines of "I'm not in favor of the death penalty, but ...", and I found it hard to disagree.
Then Jeff broke into the conversation. "Forgive him," he said.
Jeff is the sort of person who can provide exactly the word one needs to keep things in perspective, and this was one of those times. According to the word of God, that's exactly what this situation calls for: something to break the legalistic logjam and get away from the hand-wringing that the legal system has let people down. Jesus tells us flat-out that we have to forgive those who have wronged us -- even if that wrong is torturing and murdering someone we love. Bless those who curse you, He says; pray for those who despitefully use you. Proverbs 25:21-22 (echoed by the Apostle Paul in Romans 12:20) says that in so doing, we heap coals of fire on that person's head. Keep that in mind -- we'll come back to that shortly.
If we forgive someone, Jesus says, we'll be forgiven by God for the things we've done wrong. The act goes much deeper. Even though our fleshly desire is to gain revenge on that person, if we suppress that desire and follow God's will by forgiving, that releases God to work that will over the whole situation. We release the person from the burden of our hating them and release ourselves from that same burden.
OK, so the legal system has failed the families of those allegedly killed by Robert "Willie" Pickton. Another aspect of forgiveness is that you don't have to wait for a court of law to decide beyond a shadow of a doubt. Even if you only suspect someone wronged you, forgiving them still lets God get to work, either proving guilt or exposing the person who was really responsible. If the families of those victims were to declare that they forgive Pickton -- unconditionally and without reservation -- they might be surprised at what follows.
As for the "coals of fire" reference, I believe that has a number of meanings. You could say that the coals of fire represent the burning feeling of guilt and shame that comes when someone has taken the high road and forgiven someone else -- leading, presumably, to the one who's been forgiven reciprocating by doing whatever it is that God wants of them. But fire is often used to connote the Holy Spirit, so once again, forgiving someone touches them with the anointing they need. In the long run, justice and closure -- real justice and closure -- follow as the night the day.
Too often, our society mistakes "revenge" for "justice". To God, justice comes when His will is done. The world's approach has run out of avenues for the people affected by the Pickton case. Maybe it's time to look at God's approach.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
What would Jesus doodle?
In John 8, it’s recorded that the scribes and Pharisees hauled a woman in front of Jesus, telling Him that she’d been caught in the act of adultery and that, according to the law Moses gave, she should be stoned to death. The Scripture tells us that rather than answer them straightway, Jesus stooped down and started writing or drawing something in the dirt. Eventually, He stands up and says, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her”. And one by one, they’re all convicted and slink away.
Then He tells the girl, “go and sin no more”.
But aside from two of the more famous lines in the Bible, this account contains one of the great puzzlements in Scripture, and often I’ve heard people musing on it. “I wonder,” they say, “what Jesus was writing in the dirt? Wouldn’t it be cool to be able to look over Jesus’ shoulder and see what He was drawing?”
I’d thought of that, myself: one of those angels-dancing-on-the-head-of-a-pin posers that occupy our time every once in a while and then we move on to other things.
Then, just over a week ago, I got gobsmacked with the answer: it doesn’t matter.
John himself writes that Jesus did so many things in His time on earth, that there isn’t enough ink and paper in the world to write them all down. So evidently, when John wrote his Gospel, it was more or less a highlight reel of Jesus’ ministry. What he put in was enough for us to believe, so “that believing [we] might have life through His name” (John 20:31), and what he left out was not important enough.
So what Jesus wrote or drew wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that He was stooped down, drawing in the dirt.
Jesus lowered Himself below the level of the adulteress and got His hands dirty.
The “good” people stood off – a stone’s throw away, literally – and couldn’t even bring themselves to threaten her up-close-and-personal. Jesus dirtied His hands. What’s more, He made Himself vulnerable. In the story of Gideon in the Book of Judges, we read that God instructed Gideon to send home those soldiers who went down on their knees to drink and made themselves vulnerable to attack.
That’s more or less the essence of ministry on the Downtown East Side. We need to lower ourselves so that we’re not higher than the people we serve*, and not worry about whether we’re vulnerable. We need to be prepared to get our hands dirty. And there’s one more thing we can learn from this passage.
Was Jesus being rude or cavalier in not responding immediately to the Pharisees? No: He was doing something the other three Gospels tell us He told us to do; wait for the Holy Spirit.
See, there were other things Jesus could have done -- things the world might have expected any man with an ounce of compassion to do, given the same situation.
Then He tells the girl, “go and sin no more”.
But aside from two of the more famous lines in the Bible, this account contains one of the great puzzlements in Scripture, and often I’ve heard people musing on it. “I wonder,” they say, “what Jesus was writing in the dirt? Wouldn’t it be cool to be able to look over Jesus’ shoulder and see what He was drawing?”
I’d thought of that, myself: one of those angels-dancing-on-the-head-of-a-pin posers that occupy our time every once in a while and then we move on to other things.
Then, just over a week ago, I got gobsmacked with the answer: it doesn’t matter.
John himself writes that Jesus did so many things in His time on earth, that there isn’t enough ink and paper in the world to write them all down. So evidently, when John wrote his Gospel, it was more or less a highlight reel of Jesus’ ministry. What he put in was enough for us to believe, so “that believing [we] might have life through His name” (John 20:31), and what he left out was not important enough.
So what Jesus wrote or drew wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that He was stooped down, drawing in the dirt.
Jesus lowered Himself below the level of the adulteress and got His hands dirty.
The “good” people stood off – a stone’s throw away, literally – and couldn’t even bring themselves to threaten her up-close-and-personal. Jesus dirtied His hands. What’s more, He made Himself vulnerable. In the story of Gideon in the Book of Judges, we read that God instructed Gideon to send home those soldiers who went down on their knees to drink and made themselves vulnerable to attack.
That’s more or less the essence of ministry on the Downtown East Side. We need to lower ourselves so that we’re not higher than the people we serve*, and not worry about whether we’re vulnerable. We need to be prepared to get our hands dirty. And there’s one more thing we can learn from this passage.
Was Jesus being rude or cavalier in not responding immediately to the Pharisees? No: He was doing something the other three Gospels tell us He told us to do; wait for the Holy Spirit.
See, there were other things Jesus could have done -- things the world might have expected any man with an ounce of compassion to do, given the same situation.
- He could have stood valiantly between her and the accusers and shielded her from the stoning. He could even have dared them to take Him out first. Somebody might have done that, too; heaven knows there were enough people ready to stone him, too. But even if He had done that and everyone had left without throwing anything, that wouldn’t have accomplished God’s purpose.
- He could have called them on the fact that the man involved had not been arrested and pointed out that Moses’ law was gender-blind. But that would only have convicted them to find the guy and then they’d be right back where they’d started – namely, discussing whether they both should be stoned -- and wouldn’t have accomplished God’s purpose.
- He could have shown the world’s version of compassion – sympathy – and lectured the accusers on the hard life the woman probably had and how they had to cut her a break. But considering that God is no respecter of persons, that wouldn’t have accomplished God’s purpose.
- He could also have gotten “legalistic” on them and reminded them that Roman law prohibited them from killing anybody – something the chief priests told Pilate when they wanted him to crucify Jesus – and that could have defused the situation right there. But that wouldn’t have accomplished God’s purpose, either.
Instead, He waited for the words the Holy Spirit would give Him – just as He told us to do when called on to defend our faith. Then, He spoke the word of God over the situation and His purpose was accomplished, namely:
- The accusers were convicted to examine their own hearts
- The woman got a new chance on life – with the proviso to “sin no more”
It’s interesting that John’s is the one Gospel that does not record that instruction to us, but he shows Jesus actually setting the example. And that’s an important example for any ministry – especially places like the Downtown East Side.
See, when we’re faced with issues like drugs and crime, poverty and prostitution, homelessness and the other ills of urban poor areas, the human, worldly response is to Do Something. And when that doesn’t work, then we want to Do Something Else. And that leads to such dangerous concepts as safe injection sites, and other concepts that are billed as helping people but rather enable them to continue along their slow death, rather than bringing real healing.
Don’t just DO something – stand there!
We need to remember that when the world is yelling all around us, challenging anyone to come up with a solution; we need to go quiet, drop down to the level of the people we’re helping and spend some time on our knees doodling in the dirt, waiting for the word of God to come to us.
It will always be right, and right on time.
Always.
====
*In The Passion of the Christ, the scene shows the woman being flung onto the ground at Jesus’ feet and staying there. That’s a more dramatic interpretation, certainly, but according to John, she remained standing in the midst of the crowd with Jesus beside her, even after He’d bent down and after all her accusers had slunk away.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Disciples more than dollars - no: really!
"The harvest truly is plenteous, but we don't have enough money and our work falls through the cracks of any government programs."
-- Jesus, upon looking at the multitudes with compassion.
-- Not.
Actually, in Matthew 9:37, Jesus says the problem is the lack of labourers, and the resurfacing of Cherie yesterday at The Lord's Rain hammered that home for me again. Cherie is a woman whom I mentioned back in March in a blog posting, and she's sadly typical of one of the challenges we face on the downtown east side.
For all the optimism of that post, Cherie still appears to be lurching through her life from day to day, from fix to fix, from "customer" to "customer" -- you get the idea. She had that "hard" look on her face, that cracked briefly with a smile, but got paved-over when we refused to put more sugar in her coffee (I'd say 90% of the people at the Mission actually do respond to and respect the boundaries we set -- and these boundaries are purely economical -- but there are some who pout more than somewhat).
Anyway, you think you've found a chink in someone's armor, a way to crack through and reach them with true, unconditional love; but once they step back out onto the street -- into the world, with its constant temptations and its reminders of how they've fallen before -- without the support of others ministering that same kind of love to them, they slip again.
Often, I believe it's not the "fall" that does the damage to a person who's begun to find their way to the Lord: it's the guilt trip that comes from believing that they're just as rotten as they'd thought they were, they're really not worthy of any kind of forgiveness or new life, and that they'll never be able to make it back now.
All of which is The Big Lie and is easily countered by Grace. Just as love never fails, Grace trumps everything. But even if you get that message through to them, they need other people around to encourage them and build them up, especially when temptation looks like it's getting a foothold again. When I see Cherie -- or some of the others, even those that I've known for years -- slip, my first thought is that I wish I'd been close to hand to try to talk to them, encourage them and otherwise Be There for them.
Then I realize that there's only so much of "me" to go around. I can only speak for myself, but I'm pretty sure that, if you ask Barry or anyone else ministering in Christ on the Downtown East Side, you'll hear a similar reaction. After all, we have jobs and families -- don't forget that the Apostle Paul had a job and the Apostle Peter was married. Other laborers are needed to pick up the slack, to water the seed we've sown and to sow new seed themselves; to be the "fresh legs off the bench".
Or even -- the right legs: there's no guarantee that, even if I had been there with Cherie or whomever, I could have said anything more or different than what I'd said already. Sometimes, people need to hear a variation on the message, in order for it to sink in deeper. Case in point: when our late sister Candy gave her testimony about how Jesus saved her from drug addiction, it got through to some people who'd been hearing me preach for over two years. The testimony of another sister, Charisse, also struck home where the words of others had just bounced off.
Having more labourers also proves to people in the area that ministry in Christ is not just being done by a handful of sin-busters out to save the world with Bible in hand. Knowing there are multiple people who care and are motivated by the same thing can have a major impact by itself.
All of this is by way of encouraging people to consider forming teams to operate The Lord's Rain on early Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday mornings. This would give people in the area more opportunity to stay off the street during those hours -- especially those in shelters, who get booted out a few hours before other programs open. When The Lord's Rain is available, they get invaluable exposure to what Pastor Barry calls "Jesus with the skin on" -- love, experienced through serving one another. You might even want to pitch it to your churches and see if others are interested.
It doesn't take much: the best team size would be four -- two is the minimum; the early-morning hours (6:30 or 7 until 9) would work well for those with jobs downtown. I believe you'll discover gifts that you didn't even know you had.
It's all about building relationships, really. That, as much preaching the Word, helps instill the hope they need. Indeed, I can't think of a time when Jesus quoted Scripture at people -- save for the times when He used it to bring up the religious leaders on their own hypocrisy. Instead, the Gospels tell us that Jesus reached people through fellowship: eating with them, walking with them, sitting beside a well, standing them a round of drinks at a wedding.
It's through relationships that love starts to grow; and it's through love that hope takes root; and it's through hope that people start to experience true transformation in their lives.
-- Jesus, upon looking at the multitudes with compassion.
-- Not.
Actually, in Matthew 9:37, Jesus says the problem is the lack of labourers, and the resurfacing of Cherie yesterday at The Lord's Rain hammered that home for me again. Cherie is a woman whom I mentioned back in March in a blog posting, and she's sadly typical of one of the challenges we face on the downtown east side.
For all the optimism of that post, Cherie still appears to be lurching through her life from day to day, from fix to fix, from "customer" to "customer" -- you get the idea. She had that "hard" look on her face, that cracked briefly with a smile, but got paved-over when we refused to put more sugar in her coffee (I'd say 90% of the people at the Mission actually do respond to and respect the boundaries we set -- and these boundaries are purely economical -- but there are some who pout more than somewhat).
Anyway, you think you've found a chink in someone's armor, a way to crack through and reach them with true, unconditional love; but once they step back out onto the street -- into the world, with its constant temptations and its reminders of how they've fallen before -- without the support of others ministering that same kind of love to them, they slip again.
Often, I believe it's not the "fall" that does the damage to a person who's begun to find their way to the Lord: it's the guilt trip that comes from believing that they're just as rotten as they'd thought they were, they're really not worthy of any kind of forgiveness or new life, and that they'll never be able to make it back now.
All of which is The Big Lie and is easily countered by Grace. Just as love never fails, Grace trumps everything. But even if you get that message through to them, they need other people around to encourage them and build them up, especially when temptation looks like it's getting a foothold again. When I see Cherie -- or some of the others, even those that I've known for years -- slip, my first thought is that I wish I'd been close to hand to try to talk to them, encourage them and otherwise Be There for them.
Then I realize that there's only so much of "me" to go around. I can only speak for myself, but I'm pretty sure that, if you ask Barry or anyone else ministering in Christ on the Downtown East Side, you'll hear a similar reaction. After all, we have jobs and families -- don't forget that the Apostle Paul had a job and the Apostle Peter was married. Other laborers are needed to pick up the slack, to water the seed we've sown and to sow new seed themselves; to be the "fresh legs off the bench".
Or even -- the right legs: there's no guarantee that, even if I had been there with Cherie or whomever, I could have said anything more or different than what I'd said already. Sometimes, people need to hear a variation on the message, in order for it to sink in deeper. Case in point: when our late sister Candy gave her testimony about how Jesus saved her from drug addiction, it got through to some people who'd been hearing me preach for over two years. The testimony of another sister, Charisse, also struck home where the words of others had just bounced off.
Having more labourers also proves to people in the area that ministry in Christ is not just being done by a handful of sin-busters out to save the world with Bible in hand. Knowing there are multiple people who care and are motivated by the same thing can have a major impact by itself.
All of this is by way of encouraging people to consider forming teams to operate The Lord's Rain on early Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday mornings. This would give people in the area more opportunity to stay off the street during those hours -- especially those in shelters, who get booted out a few hours before other programs open. When The Lord's Rain is available, they get invaluable exposure to what Pastor Barry calls "Jesus with the skin on" -- love, experienced through serving one another. You might even want to pitch it to your churches and see if others are interested.
It doesn't take much: the best team size would be four -- two is the minimum; the early-morning hours (6:30 or 7 until 9) would work well for those with jobs downtown. I believe you'll discover gifts that you didn't even know you had.
It's all about building relationships, really. That, as much preaching the Word, helps instill the hope they need. Indeed, I can't think of a time when Jesus quoted Scripture at people -- save for the times when He used it to bring up the religious leaders on their own hypocrisy. Instead, the Gospels tell us that Jesus reached people through fellowship: eating with them, walking with them, sitting beside a well, standing them a round of drinks at a wedding.
It's through relationships that love starts to grow; and it's through love that hope takes root; and it's through hope that people start to experience true transformation in their lives.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Soldiers' tales - 1: Rudy
The trip that eventually leads a person to the Downtown East Side -- or any Skid Row locale -- can start pretty much anywhere. I learned that early on -- actually, from a Quebecois named Gilbert, whom I got to know in Victoria early in my own walk. He had come from a very well-to-do background, but bad decisions and alcohol blew landed him on Broad Street, sitting on the sidewalk in the broiling sun with a baseball cap at his feet. More about him another time.
Rudy was a man I met at Rainbow Mission in 2005. He was in his late 50s or early 60s, and one evening as people were lining up to get their dinner, he got his and came over and sat next to me. I forget how the conversation started -- he may have come up to ask for prayer -- and it was the first time I'd met someone who actually preferred to be living on the streets. "When I got back from Vietnam," he said, "me and some buddies tried to rent an apartment, but after all that time in the jungle, we couldn't have four walls around us. I couldn't anyway. So I joined up with some guys living out of vans down off the highway near Tacoma. We were called the 'rubber tramps'."
I don't think I'd ever met a Vietnam veteran before. "What was that like?"
It was a four-word question with a twenty-minute answer. The part that I really remember involved him seeing his whole advance party get wiped out.
"We got ambushed," he said. "VOOM! We returned fire and when it was over, everyone was gone. Except me. And I guess we got all of them, too, or they thought they got all of us and run off. But then I looked around, and I'm face to face with Charlie Cong. He's maybe 20 yards away. He looks at me. I look at him. 'If he goes for his gun,' I thought, 'I'm dead'. Then he holds up two fingers. I figure he's giving me the 'peace' sign, so I hold up two fingers. Then I realize -- he's askin' for a cigarette. So I pull out my pack o' smokes, and he comes over and I give him one. And we sat there and had our smoke. And he pulls out a picture of his wife and kids and we use sign language 'cause Charlie can't speak English and I can't speak Vietnamese. And we finish our smokes, and he goes back into the jungle.
"I got back to my camp and told my commanding officer what happened. I says, 'I can't kill these guys. Get me outta here.' The CO got me medicaled out the next day."
That led to the failed experience with the apartment in Seattle and the stint with the rubber tramps -- and the fact that Rudy could never hold down a job or a residence and was now, by choice, living on the streets in Vancouver.
Rudy was one of three Vietnam vets who came into Rainbow Mission. Clive -- very soft-spoken and kindly, but totally messed-up -- and Abraham -- an amazingly inspiring man -- were the other two. I'll write about them later. Meeting them -- particularly Clive and Rudy, left me thinking that some of the bigger casualties of war are the survivors -- the ones who came home. I understand there was a tendency to vilify the returning soldiers; on top of that, there are the deep thinkers like Michael Moore, among others, who point to evidence that the Tonkin Gulf "crisis" that led to increased US involvement in Vietnam was really a put-up job. Do they help the Rudys of this world, or is it enough for them to be right?
Was that what Rudy came home to? Did he have access to help in re-adjusting and if he did, did he understand that it was available? Or was he left in that confused state of watching guys no older than himself get wiped out in an ambush and finding real human interaction through sign language with a young father known only as Charlie Cong?
Rudy was a regular at the Rainbow Mission, and two weeks later he came up to me and said he was finally getting into Detox, and hopefully a rehab program for his cocaine addiction. We prayed together and I gave him a hug and he clung to me and shook with fear.
A couple of days later, he phoned to say he was alright. A couple of days after that, I called the detox centre to ask about him and was told they didn't give out patient information.
That was the last I saw of him.
Rudy was a man I met at Rainbow Mission in 2005. He was in his late 50s or early 60s, and one evening as people were lining up to get their dinner, he got his and came over and sat next to me. I forget how the conversation started -- he may have come up to ask for prayer -- and it was the first time I'd met someone who actually preferred to be living on the streets. "When I got back from Vietnam," he said, "me and some buddies tried to rent an apartment, but after all that time in the jungle, we couldn't have four walls around us. I couldn't anyway. So I joined up with some guys living out of vans down off the highway near Tacoma. We were called the 'rubber tramps'."
I don't think I'd ever met a Vietnam veteran before. "What was that like?"
It was a four-word question with a twenty-minute answer. The part that I really remember involved him seeing his whole advance party get wiped out.
"We got ambushed," he said. "VOOM! We returned fire and when it was over, everyone was gone. Except me. And I guess we got all of them, too, or they thought they got all of us and run off. But then I looked around, and I'm face to face with Charlie Cong. He's maybe 20 yards away. He looks at me. I look at him. 'If he goes for his gun,' I thought, 'I'm dead'. Then he holds up two fingers. I figure he's giving me the 'peace' sign, so I hold up two fingers. Then I realize -- he's askin' for a cigarette. So I pull out my pack o' smokes, and he comes over and I give him one. And we sat there and had our smoke. And he pulls out a picture of his wife and kids and we use sign language 'cause Charlie can't speak English and I can't speak Vietnamese. And we finish our smokes, and he goes back into the jungle.
"I got back to my camp and told my commanding officer what happened. I says, 'I can't kill these guys. Get me outta here.' The CO got me medicaled out the next day."
That led to the failed experience with the apartment in Seattle and the stint with the rubber tramps -- and the fact that Rudy could never hold down a job or a residence and was now, by choice, living on the streets in Vancouver.
Rudy was one of three Vietnam vets who came into Rainbow Mission. Clive -- very soft-spoken and kindly, but totally messed-up -- and Abraham -- an amazingly inspiring man -- were the other two. I'll write about them later. Meeting them -- particularly Clive and Rudy, left me thinking that some of the bigger casualties of war are the survivors -- the ones who came home. I understand there was a tendency to vilify the returning soldiers; on top of that, there are the deep thinkers like Michael Moore, among others, who point to evidence that the Tonkin Gulf "crisis" that led to increased US involvement in Vietnam was really a put-up job. Do they help the Rudys of this world, or is it enough for them to be right?
Was that what Rudy came home to? Did he have access to help in re-adjusting and if he did, did he understand that it was available? Or was he left in that confused state of watching guys no older than himself get wiped out in an ambush and finding real human interaction through sign language with a young father known only as Charlie Cong?
Rudy was a regular at the Rainbow Mission, and two weeks later he came up to me and said he was finally getting into Detox, and hopefully a rehab program for his cocaine addiction. We prayed together and I gave him a hug and he clung to me and shook with fear.
A couple of days later, he phoned to say he was alright. A couple of days after that, I called the detox centre to ask about him and was told they didn't give out patient information.
That was the last I saw of him.
In the midst of death ...
... we are in life.
Late last year (is it that long ago already?) I blogged about some of the people who come into Gospel Mission and The Lord's Rain, including Richard. Among other things, I mentioned how he would invariably get a cup of coffee for himself "and another for m' ol' lady" and go out to try to find her. Over time, we grew to wonder if said "ol' lady" was kind of like Maris on "Frasier" or Duffy on "Duffy's Tavern" -- someone who is talked about but never actually seen; and a mental jigsaw puzzle starts to come together.
A few months ago, though, Richard did bring his "ol' lady" into The Lord's Rain -- and to my surprise, it was a woman I'd seen and been aware of for a few years. I don't know why that surprised me: the surprise turned to marvel, realizing how much Richard cared for her and that even in an area as chronically nasty as the Downtown East Side, you can still find that kind of caring.
She had a name -- besides "m'ol' lady" -- Brenda; and she would often be seen, wandering the streets, begging for a buck here, a toonie there ... or food, or a cigarette ... I last saw her two Wednesdays ago, sitting at a table outside a little storefront coffee-and-smoothie place on Carrall Street.
"Can you help me get in there?" she asked, pointing to the Rainier, a recently opened single-room-occupancy hotel across the street. "I don't like the Portland, where I am now. Can you help me get in there?" I told her I understood the Rainier was run by the Portland Housing Society too, but I'd see what I could find out and get word to her through Richard.
"OK. Do you have a loonie or a toonie?"
I didn't -- and I wouldn't give money, anyway, on principle.
Before I could look into the Rainier, though, Brenda went into hospital. I found out about it through Richard. "She's got stuff in her lungs," he said.
Last Saturday, Richard was already in The Lord's Rain by the time I came down from the Mission upstairs. He was wearing sunglasses, which I thought was odd.
"We gotta pray for Richard," John began. "His 'ol' lady' ..."
"I heard," I said. "In hospital."
"She died last night."
"'bout 6 o'clock," Richard said. "I was with her in the afternoon. Then she died. I saw the body. I'm pretty much all cried-out now." Hence, the sunglasses.
"You know we're here," John said. "You wanna talk ... you want anything ... we're here -- you know that."
We prayed over him -- to have strength and keep seeking God through the bad as well as the good -- and we just stood nearby him.
He flashed a grin. "Have some coffee, Drew," he said. "It'll wake ya up!"
The Enemy tries to make death seem like a horrible thing, and truly the fear of death is the main weapon he uses against us. Pretty much every sin is rooted in the fear of death: if we feel deprived, hungry, sick, depressed, it's because we are afraid that somehow, that will make us die. We equate feeling good with life -- hence drugs, drunkenness, sex with the wrong people, and lots and lots of money -- and the lengths we go to, to get them.
God knows that we fear death, which is why He equates following His commandments to life:
"I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose lilfe, that you and your offspring may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying His voice and holding fast to Him, for He is your life and length of days ...." (Deut. 30:19-20 ESV)
He also knows that we grieve our loss, and while the Enemy tries to make us think that's a silly, sissy, bad thing to do, God expects us to grieve -- and reminds us to turn to Him for comfort.
"He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of His people shall He take away from off all the earth: for the Lord hath spoken it." (Isaiah 25:8 KJV)
"I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction: repentance shall be hid from mine eyes." (Hosea 13:14)
God definitely hates Death, per se, although not the passing from one chapter in our eternal life into the next -- so long as it's spent with Him. Death is equated with cursing and the antidote is Jesus' Victory over the grave.
And He also knows that we're going to be sad when it happens, and keeps reminding us that He's the one we can turn to for comfort. We're also told that we are to pray for one another, stand with one another and bear one another up in times of sorrow. That became the message at our service that Saturday night: that that is all part of the fellowship we enjoy as Christians.
After all, we know that if two or more are gathered in Jesus' Name, He's there in their midst, so by simply standing with someone who's grieving -- not necessarily saying anything beyond praying for and with him or her -- we're calling in the Comforter Himself to wipe away the tears.
Late last year (is it that long ago already?) I blogged about some of the people who come into Gospel Mission and The Lord's Rain, including Richard. Among other things, I mentioned how he would invariably get a cup of coffee for himself "and another for m' ol' lady" and go out to try to find her. Over time, we grew to wonder if said "ol' lady" was kind of like Maris on "Frasier" or Duffy on "Duffy's Tavern" -- someone who is talked about but never actually seen; and a mental jigsaw puzzle starts to come together.
A few months ago, though, Richard did bring his "ol' lady" into The Lord's Rain -- and to my surprise, it was a woman I'd seen and been aware of for a few years. I don't know why that surprised me: the surprise turned to marvel, realizing how much Richard cared for her and that even in an area as chronically nasty as the Downtown East Side, you can still find that kind of caring.
She had a name -- besides "m'ol' lady" -- Brenda; and she would often be seen, wandering the streets, begging for a buck here, a toonie there ... or food, or a cigarette ... I last saw her two Wednesdays ago, sitting at a table outside a little storefront coffee-and-smoothie place on Carrall Street.
"Can you help me get in there?" she asked, pointing to the Rainier, a recently opened single-room-occupancy hotel across the street. "I don't like the Portland, where I am now. Can you help me get in there?" I told her I understood the Rainier was run by the Portland Housing Society too, but I'd see what I could find out and get word to her through Richard.
"OK. Do you have a loonie or a toonie?"
I didn't -- and I wouldn't give money, anyway, on principle.
Before I could look into the Rainier, though, Brenda went into hospital. I found out about it through Richard. "She's got stuff in her lungs," he said.
Last Saturday, Richard was already in The Lord's Rain by the time I came down from the Mission upstairs. He was wearing sunglasses, which I thought was odd.
"We gotta pray for Richard," John began. "His 'ol' lady' ..."
"I heard," I said. "In hospital."
"She died last night."
"'bout 6 o'clock," Richard said. "I was with her in the afternoon. Then she died. I saw the body. I'm pretty much all cried-out now." Hence, the sunglasses.
"You know we're here," John said. "You wanna talk ... you want anything ... we're here -- you know that."
We prayed over him -- to have strength and keep seeking God through the bad as well as the good -- and we just stood nearby him.
He flashed a grin. "Have some coffee, Drew," he said. "It'll wake ya up!"
The Enemy tries to make death seem like a horrible thing, and truly the fear of death is the main weapon he uses against us. Pretty much every sin is rooted in the fear of death: if we feel deprived, hungry, sick, depressed, it's because we are afraid that somehow, that will make us die. We equate feeling good with life -- hence drugs, drunkenness, sex with the wrong people, and lots and lots of money -- and the lengths we go to, to get them.
God knows that we fear death, which is why He equates following His commandments to life:
"I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose lilfe, that you and your offspring may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying His voice and holding fast to Him, for He is your life and length of days ...." (Deut. 30:19-20 ESV)
He also knows that we grieve our loss, and while the Enemy tries to make us think that's a silly, sissy, bad thing to do, God expects us to grieve -- and reminds us to turn to Him for comfort.
"He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of His people shall He take away from off all the earth: for the Lord hath spoken it." (Isaiah 25:8 KJV)
"I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction: repentance shall be hid from mine eyes." (Hosea 13:14)
God definitely hates Death, per se, although not the passing from one chapter in our eternal life into the next -- so long as it's spent with Him. Death is equated with cursing and the antidote is Jesus' Victory over the grave.
And He also knows that we're going to be sad when it happens, and keeps reminding us that He's the one we can turn to for comfort. We're also told that we are to pray for one another, stand with one another and bear one another up in times of sorrow. That became the message at our service that Saturday night: that that is all part of the fellowship we enjoy as Christians.
After all, we know that if two or more are gathered in Jesus' Name, He's there in their midst, so by simply standing with someone who's grieving -- not necessarily saying anything beyond praying for and with him or her -- we're calling in the Comforter Himself to wipe away the tears.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
A baby to pray for
Being the father of a teenage girl, I went into "dad" mode the moment I saw Davona -- just over a year ago, now. Blonde and achingly pretty, she was sitting in the doorway of one of our neighbouring buildings, which was under renovation at the time. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I stopped to chat and invited her to come to the Mission service, where I was headed. She thanked me for the invitation, but didn't come up.
A couple of days later, though, she came into The Lord's Rain -- more for the coffee than anything else. It's easy to look at a girl like Davona and assume that she's drugged-out and working the streets; then you want to scream, "GET OUT! OUT WHILE YOU STILL HAVE YOUR BEAUTY! OUT WHILE YOU STILL HAVE YOUR LIFE! OUT WHILE YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TEETH!"
But on closer examination, Davona looks more like 30-ish. The fact that she still seems to have her own teeth is a sign that maybe the drug habit -- if she has one -- isn't so bad. But there was something else about Davona that wasn't right. She would carry on conversations with us -- except her voice would fade to nothing and/or she'd start speaking to the wall or her shoes, leaving you wondering if she was ever talking to you in the first place.
She would also show signs of obsessive-compulsiveness. She would go to a large box of clothes and start pulling them out one by one, examining each piece in detail. I'd find myself on tenterhooks, waiting to admonish her about taking so many pieces of clothing. (The house rule is a two-article maximum. Generally, the people respect that.) But instead of taking the clothing she had pulled out, Davona would carefully and methodically fold each one and put it back in the box. Sometimes, she'd take them out again and repeat the process. Occasionally, she might even keep a garment for herself.
Talking to Davona is like driving on the Interstate and your radio has a wonky tuner: you constantly have to do something to keep it tuned in. She'd carry on these conversations with no one in particular, but all you'd need to do is call her name, and she'd immediately snap back into reality -- or your reality, at any rate, as opposed to the one she had lapsed into. But after maybe 3 minutes, the frequency would start to drift again and you'd either have to call her name to jar the tuning knob back into position or just let her continue and go and do something else.
As often happens with people on the DTES, Davona disappeared for a few months. People do that. Sometimes, they've been arrested. Maybe they get a job and move away. Maybe they lose the job and move back. About two months ago, Davona turned up again. She was a bit more lucid, incessantly fussy in the mirror ... and pregnant.
Danilo tried to press her for information as to how it happened. Well, maybe not the how part, but information about the father. He got nowhere. Another of the women who often come into The Lord's Rain had a baby about a year and a half ago, and that little girl was seized by the Child and Families Ministry shortly after birth. There was an unspoken assumption that the same thing would happen with Davona's baby.
And that was the last we saw of Davona ... until today. I was walking through Waterfront Station, when a very familiar blonde face passed by. I called to her, and yes, it was Davona. And strapped to her front was a Snugli with baby sound asleep inside. "Her name is Shine," she told me, stroking the little head. I was in the middle of some INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT work and had to catch up with some others so aside from a little more sighing over the baby and telling each other it was nice to see the other again, there wasn't much chance to catch up.
In a story that could have so many unhappy elements to it, I'm believing for the happy ones all the way through. That Davona has the support she needs, that she's healthy mentally and physically, that the baby stays healthy and grows ... that everyone involved will see a miracle of God through all of it. A new little life, coming out of (and hopefully, staying out of) the DTES: that amid what often appears to be a land of walking dead, we have a sign that God wants life to keep going -- even there.
Especially there.
In your own way, in your own time, lift up Davona and Shine in prayer.
A couple of days later, though, she came into The Lord's Rain -- more for the coffee than anything else. It's easy to look at a girl like Davona and assume that she's drugged-out and working the streets; then you want to scream, "GET OUT! OUT WHILE YOU STILL HAVE YOUR BEAUTY! OUT WHILE YOU STILL HAVE YOUR LIFE! OUT WHILE YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TEETH!"
But on closer examination, Davona looks more like 30-ish. The fact that she still seems to have her own teeth is a sign that maybe the drug habit -- if she has one -- isn't so bad. But there was something else about Davona that wasn't right. She would carry on conversations with us -- except her voice would fade to nothing and/or she'd start speaking to the wall or her shoes, leaving you wondering if she was ever talking to you in the first place.
She would also show signs of obsessive-compulsiveness. She would go to a large box of clothes and start pulling them out one by one, examining each piece in detail. I'd find myself on tenterhooks, waiting to admonish her about taking so many pieces of clothing. (The house rule is a two-article maximum. Generally, the people respect that.) But instead of taking the clothing she had pulled out, Davona would carefully and methodically fold each one and put it back in the box. Sometimes, she'd take them out again and repeat the process. Occasionally, she might even keep a garment for herself.
Talking to Davona is like driving on the Interstate and your radio has a wonky tuner: you constantly have to do something to keep it tuned in. She'd carry on these conversations with no one in particular, but all you'd need to do is call her name, and she'd immediately snap back into reality -- or your reality, at any rate, as opposed to the one she had lapsed into. But after maybe 3 minutes, the frequency would start to drift again and you'd either have to call her name to jar the tuning knob back into position or just let her continue and go and do something else.
As often happens with people on the DTES, Davona disappeared for a few months. People do that. Sometimes, they've been arrested. Maybe they get a job and move away. Maybe they lose the job and move back. About two months ago, Davona turned up again. She was a bit more lucid, incessantly fussy in the mirror ... and pregnant.
Danilo tried to press her for information as to how it happened. Well, maybe not the how part, but information about the father. He got nowhere. Another of the women who often come into The Lord's Rain had a baby about a year and a half ago, and that little girl was seized by the Child and Families Ministry shortly after birth. There was an unspoken assumption that the same thing would happen with Davona's baby.
And that was the last we saw of Davona ... until today. I was walking through Waterfront Station, when a very familiar blonde face passed by. I called to her, and yes, it was Davona. And strapped to her front was a Snugli with baby sound asleep inside. "Her name is Shine," she told me, stroking the little head. I was in the middle of some INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT work and had to catch up with some others so aside from a little more sighing over the baby and telling each other it was nice to see the other again, there wasn't much chance to catch up.
In a story that could have so many unhappy elements to it, I'm believing for the happy ones all the way through. That Davona has the support she needs, that she's healthy mentally and physically, that the baby stays healthy and grows ... that everyone involved will see a miracle of God through all of it. A new little life, coming out of (and hopefully, staying out of) the DTES: that amid what often appears to be a land of walking dead, we have a sign that God wants life to keep going -- even there.
Especially there.
In your own way, in your own time, lift up Davona and Shine in prayer.
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