Obituaries For Two Guys Who Might Not Get Obituaries

The past two weeks have seen the loss of two friends, both of whom were drawing ever closer to Christ and are now, I'm sure, experiencing the Grace and Peace that surpass all understanding.

Chris Brereton was 55 and was something of a physical wreck for much of the time I'd known him -- which would be just about 30 years. A lot of it was generally attributed to "the usual suspects" -- eating too much, drinking too much, not exercising enough, sciatica, etc. etc. But according to his fiancee, some of the symptoms that he had put down to "aches and pains and sciatica" were actually the effects of cancer, and by the time that was determined, it had ravaged his skeletal structure and there was no holding it back.

Chris was a fixture around local sports for decades. We got to know each other in press boxes at Pacific Coliseum, Cyclone Taylor Arena and Empire Stadium. He was official scorekeeper and semi-official statistician for UBC Hockey for something like 30 years -- and for about that long at lacrosse, senior and junior, painstakingly hand-writing stats and compiling statistical histories of teams in the WLA and BCJLL (hand-writing, even after computers had taken most of the grunt work).

I think his happiest times were hanging out with that crowd -- the constellation of young players and old retired guys who still limped from long-ago injuries, enjoying being part of that unique camaraderie. He had an easy familiarity, too, with retired pro hockey players like Larry Popein, George Wood and Charlie Hodge -- guys I'd looked up to since I was a kid ("Pope" and Wood were my first hockey instructors, and Hodge was a star with Les Canadiens -- my team -- in the 60s).

One of Chris' talents that amazed me was an ability to do a mental "instant replay" of every goal scored. He'd make note of the players on the ice or the floor, and 85% of the time, I'd say, he'd have the scoring play -- goal-scorer and both assists -- before the referee would come over to give it to us. Often, the ref would ask Chris what he saw. He was passionate and exacting about the job he did, and it was clear that it was his calling. It amazed me how he would haul himself through all manner of traffic and weather conditions (and all kinds of gasoline prices!) to get to the games from his place in Langley, but it was what he loved to do.

One of his proudest moments came when the Thunderbirds recognized the work he and John Iorio -- the longtime clock operator -- had done over 20-some years. (Officially, there were some shirts and other recognition, but one of Chris' legacies to UBC Hockey is the heavy netting draped over the timekeepers' booth. That was a safety measure taken after when a puck came over the glass and took out most if not all of Chris' teeth when he had his head down during a game. How a puck could make that kind of arc and still have sufficient force to do that kind of damage is more than I can tell you. That may not be exactly the memorial anyone would have in mind ... )

Personally, I owe a lot to Chris Brereton. In what was clearly a God Thing, we collided again after several years of no contact -- what with my living in Victoria and Regina between 1983 and 2003 -- while we were both delivering newspapers in Surrey and Langley. There must be a thousand pick-up spots for newspapers in the Lower Mainland, and we wound up at the same one. I was just emerging from what had been the darkest time of my life, and delivering papers at 3am was not the reason.

I owe a lot to Chris Brereton, and I'm not sure he ever knew it. Along about April '04, he told me the Surrey Stickmen needed a PA announcer. That started a 5-year association with the club, during a heady time when they came within 5 seconds of getting into the Minto Cup playoffs. But even more importantly, he also put me onto UBC Athletics when they needed an announcer for women's hockey. That led to UBC basketball and other great opportunities, like the 2006 World Junior Hockey Championships and nearly into the Winter Olympics. When John Ashbridge managed to get a game puck for me from the World Juniors, I knew exactly who was getting it.

There was a more spiritual aspect to my relationship with Chris. In 2005, his wife, also named Diane, fell gravely ill. She'd had diabetes for many years and had been getting around in a wheelchair. Then her legs were amputated and there was a battery of other ailments that landed her in critical care at St Paul's Hospital. Chris asked if I'd go up with him. The night before, I met up with an evangelist friend of mine, Rob Gordon, and asked him how you pray healing over someone if you're not sure they believe. "Start by witnessing," he said. "Tell them your story, and show them the Scripture to back it up." So when Chris picked me up, I did just that (I do have a "story" about healing) and asked if he minded if I prayed over her. "Well ... I dunno ... let me talk to her kids." Sure - no problem.

Diane was not conscious when we got there, so I spent time listening -- listening to Chris and the nurse discussing her condition and listening in the Spirit to what I needed to do. I sat quietly in a corner and prayed. After a while, Chris said, "let's go for coffee," so we went up to the cafeteria. "You know," he said, "if you want to do ... that ... I think it's OK." "Well," I told him, "I already got started while we were in the room." "Great."

A couple of days later, Chris called. "Whatever it was you were doing, keep doing it! She woke up! She started talking! They were going to move her to hospice, but now they don't think they need to!" The next time Chris and I went up to the hospital, Diane was awake and alert. She asked me to read some of the Bible to her, so I read her some passages about healing and Psalm 92, which contains the promise of protection from sickness.

But the illness was too much for her body. A few weeks later, Chris called. "Diane passed away this morning," he said. "Can you come up?" I did. Her adult children from her first marriage were in the room -- and so was she: face uncovered, as if she was part of the conversation.

"I counted eight miracles since that day you prayed over her," Chris said. "Eight times she rallied or something happened that amazed the doctors." There was a pause. "Do you think she's with the Lord?" There was no doubt.

After a few months, Chris met another woman, also named Diane. New Diane is a Believer, and with his appetite whetted, Chris started drawing closer: she took him to church, and she told me that in the last weeks, he confessed Jesus as Lord.

Chris' spiritual change led to yet another major move in my own life. A couple of years ago, he asked me if I was qualified to marry people. I told him no. It wasn't the first time I'd been asked that, but this instance was the one that dug the spurs into my side to do something about it. This past summer, I was licensed through the International Association of Ministries to perform marriages in BC. I emailed Chris to let him know, in case he and Diane still wanted me to officiate.

And shortly after the phone rang last night, I found out why I hadn't heard back.

Diane told me Chris restored her self-esteem. Someone told Chris after the first Diane had died that he brought out the best in her. As I say, he kicked open a few key doors for me, and judging by the way he never said anything -- and I mean "never" and "anything" -- to try to claim credit for it, I wonder if he ever knew.

But Someone does, and I believe Chris is getting one sweet reward now.

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Pete died this week.

Pete has been someone I think of often, when I think of transformation revival on the Downtown East Side. Certainly, I've spoken about him in my talks to churches, as evidence of the way that exposure to the Word of God and His Grace can turn people's lives around.


When I first met him, he was one of those people I'd cringe when he'd come in because he had this enormous chip on his shoulder. Short and wiry, bald but with a stringy pony tail, he'd limp into the Mission on severely bowed legs and sit and look totally bored through the sermon, twisting in his chair to look at the clock every so often. We usually wrap up the sermon and serve food by 8, so if the time got around to 7:55, he'd start to fidget ... by 8, he'd begin muttering "let's pray ... come-on!", because he knew that was the prelude to the food ... and if perchance the service, lesson or whatever dragged on to 8:15 he'd start muttering little obscenities.



Sometimes, he wouldn't mutter.

But he kept coming ... largely because another brother, Jacques, kept dragging him in, determined that Pete was going to get saved come hell or high water.

(Jacques is actually known as Jack, but he signs his name "Jacques Robinson" ... a very rough-hewn type from Alberta -- I think his mother's the French influence in the family. Jacques/Jack is another study in transformation ... for another time.)

And little by little Pete's whole demeanour changed. He certainly stopped fidgeting; but he also started smiling. When he'd walk into the Mission, John would lead a loud chorus of "Heeey, Pete!" -- rather like "NORM!" on "Cheers!". He'd sit with Jacques in the front row, the two of them looking more like Statler and Waldorf, the two old guys on The Muppet Show, than anything else. But I believe the message of Grace was starting to sink in.

"You hear that, Peter?" Jacques would say at a key point in the sermon, "he's talkin' to you!' "He's prayin' for you, ya know!" "Jesus did that for you!" Jacques was one of Pete's biggest cheerleaders.

Like everyone on the DTES, Pete had a "story". His real name was Lewis Miner -- something I didn't know for the first couple of years .. and something Pete didn't know until he was about 16. Turns out that was his given name, but he was raised by his grandmother, who -- for whatever reason -- didn't give him the whole story. Whether that was a cause of Lewis/Pete turning to a life of crime is pure speculation, but Pete did wind up seeing the inside of a lot of prisons over the years. He killed a man in a fight and was sent to the old BC Pen for manslaughter. He broke out -- like that another man named Miner, Billy, had done 60 years before -- using his slight, wiry frame to shinny up the inside of a chimney.

"How far did you get?" I asked. "They caught me on the railroad tracks," he said, sheepishly.

He did more time for more things and drank a lot, which eventually led him to the Downtown East Side. I don't know how many years he was there, or even whether he had chances to pull out and hold down a job for any length of time. He came across as a throwback to the first DTES denizens I used to observe in the mid-60s, when I rode the #20/25 bus through the DTES to and from school: the classic "street drunk". He was also the definition of the miserable old sod when I first met him ... and then gradually softened, opened up, and in his way, I believe responded both to being exposed to the Word and getting Jacques' tireless, gruff witness.



I believe he came to a realization that he was hitting his early 70s and that he couldn't think of anything to show for it. It was time for him to look for some other way of measuring his life.

Early this year, Jacques came in alone and came over to me. "Pete's got cancer. They're giving him treatments, so we'll see." We prayed for him that night. The next Saturday night, Pete came in. "How're you doin'?" I asked him. "I got cancer," he said, grinning.

He came to a couple more services, and then I didn't see him again. Jacques would give progress reports and tell where Pete was staying. I always made a mental note to get over and see him. That didn't happen. Ever.

Pete was -- and remains -- one of the ones I think of when I talk about the victories, big and small, that we see on the Downtown East Side. I'm going to miss him. A lot.

===



If there's been any lesson from the past year -- more than any other -- it's been DON'T PROCRASTINATE! Chris and Peter are two guys I'd always "been meaning to" call or get together with, and the Holy Spirit was screaming at me to do it before it was too late. Same thing with my friend Joyce, whose husband was diagnosed with cancer this past spring: I put off calling her to see how she was doing, and one morning the Spirit woke me up at 5 to remind me. So I called ... and found out later that her husband had died that morning -- around 5.



Are we so busy that we can't take 5 minutes for a phone call or an email? Are we afraid we don't know what to say? We don't have to wax poetical or philosophical like Jean-Marc Genereux on So You Think You Can Dance Canada: just saying "how are you?" or "I'm here" is all that's needed. When I was sick a couple of years ago, a dear friend from church called, and that was basically all she said; when my dad had a heart attack in August, people from work took a moment to put their head in my office or call or email and say exactly that. It may not seem like much, but it's huge. And it's a lot better than standing on the sideline saying, "I'd been meaning to call ..."

Live from Gospel Mission

As we mentioned in the previous posting (see previous posting), the TV is now installed in The Lord's Rain and we're ready to start our live closed-circuit feeds so that people with disabilities can take part in our services.

Now ... how to get the word out. It's to be a "soft launch", as we PR types call it. My friends, Viv Garcia and Brad Jacobsen with the BC Paraplegic Association have agreed to help publicize it within the disability community and thus inform those on the Downtown East Side that this is available.

Viv, in fact, is linking this from the BCPA Facebook page, so here are the basic details:

Services at Gospel Mission -- 331 Carrall Street -- are now available to persons with disabilities via closed-circuit TV to The Lord's Rain -- Gospel Mission's showers program at 327 Carrall Street (the ground-floor space below the Mission).

Services are at the following times:
SUNDAY 12:30pm
MONDAY, TUESDAY, FRIDAY & SATURDAY 6:30pm
(meals served after each service)

WEDNESDAY Bible study 6:30pm (no meal, but snack afterwards)
THURSDAY Movie night 6:30pm (no meal, but coffee & popcorn)

As of right now, the plan is to cut off entry at 7pm, so's not to disturb the service, but we'll review that as needed.

=====
Bravo to Daphne Bramham in The Vancouver Sun, for her column on the recent Ontario court ruling effectively legalizing prostitution. She dismisses the blather about rights and individual choice far more effectively than I could, but I look at the once-beautiful women on the DTES, whose bodies have been ravaged by drugs and who continue to sell their bodies to get more money to buy more drugs, and I wonder why anyone would want to make it easier for that to happen.

Daphne also points out that the ruling sends a message to boys and men that it's OK to buy sex. Speaking on my own account, how would they really learn about love and fidelity and the special relationship between a man and a woman if that message is coming loud and clear from legal circles?

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Yet another drug bust, headlined in the media with the dollar-value of the amount seized. As I ranted in another post, the media have a nasty habit of glamorizing the drug trade at the same time that they profess shock and outrage. They talk about the value of the drugs and discuss with lascivious glee the lifestyles lived by dealers and "drug lords". Let's get real: no matter how the media try to push the "crime does not pay" message, there are always going to be people reading, watching and listening, who will add "for them", and determine that, for that kind of money, they could do it better and not get caught.

Instead of publicizing the value of the drugs, why not give an estimate of the number of people whose lives were not destroyed because those drugs won't make it to market? How about an estimate of the health care costs that won't be flushed down the toilet in treating the manifold effects of drug abuse, or of the police, ambulance and firefighting costs that will be saved by not having to deal with that many more cases among the street people that the seized drugs would have created?

Perhaps that would make a good little J-school assignment.

Why We Do What We Do

*** Slightly gross but too true dep't ... ***

Question: what does a TV have that a human on the Downtown East Side doesn't?
Answer: secure waste disposal.

I was about to throw a pile of styrofoam packaging into the dumpster in the alley next to Gospel Mission last week when I realized I was not alone. A man was relieving himself against the wall next to the dumpster.

I gave him some respectful distance, and when he had left, I then unlocked the dumpster and chucked the packaging in; replaced the padlock and got back in my car. As I drove down the alley, I couldn't help thinking that we were treating our garbage with more diligence than our brothers and sisters. The styrofoam got placed in a padlocked bin. This poor fellow had to go in the alley. (There are OT references to "those who pisseth against the wall", but I don't think that's what God was referring to.)

I also remembered something one of "the guys" told me: "the city is spending $12,000 to do a study, counting human waste in the alley". "What do they need a study for?" was my reply. "We know it's there: give us the $12,000 and we'll help fix it."

I looked online and couldn't find a reference to such a study, but I did find a whole bunch of other references to the problem of human waste in the alleys, going back almost 10 years. The latest study could be a myth -- like the cadborosaurus or intelligent talk radio -- but there's no question that this situation has been discussed for years, with appropriate wailing and gnashing of teeth, that "somebody" has to provide a washroom for these people.

Often, the discussion will stall (pardon me) when someone says, "TransLink should put public washrooms in its stations!" Then there'll be a long and patient explanation (usually from your agent) as to why that idea is a non-starter (and Arlene can tell you that even though New York has restrooms in 25% of the subway stations, you don't want to use those!), and then someone will say, "see? It's all about money!"

And that's where it ends. Can you say, "paralysis through analysis," boys and girls?

As part of the Pigeon Park makeover, the City installed a public restroom. That was before the Olympics. I ran into an acquaintance from the Engineering department a couple of weeks ago. "The washroom will be working soon," he told me.

And this is why we do what we do at The Lord's Rain. Now, people do have a place to relieve themselves that's clean, sanitary and lets them wash their hands afterwards. They also have a place to shower and hang out. Amelia talks about the times she's heard someone say, "I feel human again".


The difference, of course, is in the level of responsibility. City governments are responsible to taxpayers, and even though people may wring their hands over how bad something is, if they have other spending priorities, those bad things get shoved down the list. Or studied in order to create a business case with a fully-funded implementation strategy.

As a Mission, we answer to a different Commander, who has unlimited resources and for whom empirical observation is the only "study" required. He'll draw our attention to something and say, "Go. Do." And He provides. Which is how The Lord's Rain got built and is operated.

Last week, Gospel Mission held its board meeting in The Lord's Rain (the Tuesday night service was going on upstairs) when a young couple walked in the door, saying they'd been told at one of the shelters they could get a shower. "They told us this place was open from 7 till 8:30," the woman said. "AM," I pointed out gently, and they left. There was a slight double-take around the table, and Barry said, "any of you [the board] mind if we invite them back?" No objection. I raced out and caught them at the corner.

They were from the Ottawa area. "Gatineau, really," the young man said, "but no one out here knows where that is, so we just say 'Ottawa'." (I know! I know! My step-daughter lives in Ottawa!) They came in and showered and used the hair dryer and got into clean clothes. And the Board -- who come in from North Van and Surrey -- got to see first-hand what we do.

Evidently, we were supposed to be in The Lord's Rain that night for reasons other than the Board meeting. As often happens, I'm torn between hoping we'll see them again -- maybe for a service upstairs -- and hoping that we don't -- which will mean that they were just passing through the Downtown East Side. I think you know what I mean.

===

The styrofoam packaging I mentioned at the beginning was from the TV. In a previous email, you may recall, I mentioned that, when we were visiting The Oasis last month, Gerry and Brandon Wall stepped up and announced that they would cover the cost of a big-screen TV, so we could set up a closed circuit hookup and allow people with disabilities to take part in the service. Last week, we went to Best Buy and picked up a 50" plasma TV. On Tuesday, Barry mounted it on the wall, and now we just need to connect it and it will be in business.



I think we're already seeing signs that it will be appreciated. Debbie, one of our quasi-regulars at The Lord's Rain, noticeably perked up when we told her what we were doing. She's bent double from scoliosis, and has only been up to the Mission a couple of times in the 3-1/2 years I've been there. But she often brings a Bible into the Lord's Rain and reads it, or asks questions or shares things she's found, and being able to take part in the service will be a great comfort for her. Jim Ritchie, a brother who's paralyzed on one side after a stroke four years ago and who uses a walker to get around, is a faithful attendee at our services, but I can tell it's getting harder and harder for him to make it up the stairs now (he's 66 years old). I think he, too, will be happy to have an alternative.

===
Cheers, Waves, and thank you!

For the past year, we have tremendously blessed to receive coffee donated by Waves Coffee. Thanks to that -- and Danilo's "formula" for making it and using just the right amount of sugar and creamer (for a number of reasons, we pre-mix the coffee) -- we've developed a reputation for the best coffee on the Downtown East Side. Truly, there are few things that make friends like a good cup of coffee. However, Waves has told us that they can no longer support us. I understand there are other causes that need their help, so we pray continued blessing on Waves and are truly grateful for the help they've given us.

Is this a "setback"? Not at all: it's an opportunity for someone else to step up. Gospel Mission is a ministry built on faith, and for the past 81 years, the Lord has found nifty ways to provide all our needs: I'm looking forward to seeing how He does it this time!

The Lord's Rain, The Mission and The Family

If you're old enough to remember the 1979 World Series, you'll remember that Willie "Pops" Stargell dubbed his Pittsburgh Pirates "The Family". They wore ghastly yellow uniforms and pillbox-style caps, which someone apparently thought were evocative of old-time baseball (some turn-of-the-century teams did wear them, but let's be honest: there's a reason why they're styled the way they are today), and Wilver (as broadcaster Vin Scully would call him -- note the autograph on the old Topps baseball card) would hand out gold "Stargell Stars" for his teammates to put on their caps when they did something great.

As I recall, there were a lot of gold stars on the Pirates' caps; they were a great team.

A group really has to grow into a "family" -- common experiences, common goals, love-led tolerance of one another's faults, are all important conditions, and it's not something imposed from on-high. When a union made noises about organizing a TV station I worked at some years ago, management called an "emergency general meeting" to remind us that we were really a "family". The pep talk was greeted with mild skepticism by some and serious skepticism by the rest. On the other hand, the place where I work now has simply developed into a family. People truly care about one another, both professionally and personally: when my dad had a heart attack 3 weeks ago, pretty much everyone right up to the CEO would look in at my office and see how dad was doing and if I was OK. It's not something you can impose through some consultant's report or a mission statement from a corner office: it either happens, or it doesn't.

It happens at Gospel Mission and The Lord's Rain. People who come in are not "clients" or "the homeless" -- they're "the guys" (even if they're female): they're friends ... they're family.

When Richard Johnson's "ol' lady" died suddenly this summer, he knew he was welcome just to hang out and the others would just sit with him -- even if they didn't actually say anything. Others know that The Lord's Rain is a friendly light in the morning where they can go; little by little, we get to know them and they start to open up. It takes time, patience, love ... and absolutely no expectations.

On Saturday, Amelia stepped up and asked the guys to pray for me -- relating to dad's heart attack -- saying "you guys rely on Drew -- and he relies on you, too". Which was very true. And then, wondrously, Richard Cunningham (who told me earlier this year that his dad used to play in the Negro Leagues and that he remembers his mom making biscuits for Hank Aaron) spoke up and asked for prayer for himself, too, as his mother has Alzheimer's and is in the last stages of her life -- and he's having a tough time of it. (Richard testifies often about his faith and feeling of being welcomed back to the Lord when he slips -- he's battling a crack addiction -- and talks a lot about his mother. "My mama said, 'I didn't raise no fool', and I want to make sure she's right.")

The fact that Richard felt comfortable enough to speak up at that time is another indication of the "family" we've become. It also reminded me I'm not alone.

It's become hard to separate The Lord's Rain from Gospel Mission -- the soft evangelism downstairs from the overt preaching upstairs: one way or another, people are hearing the word, seeing the light and being reminded that they are God's workmanship, fearfully and wonderfully made.

====

Photo album: Another chapter in Extreme Makeover: Mission Edition. A paint job in the back of The Lord's Rain -- next to the shower stalls.

With bare drywall and splotches of filler, it wasn't exactly the nicest thing to look at. Functional, yes -- the wall holds up the ceiling very well and we've NEVER been able to look through it into Wing's Cafe next door -- but a little style would be nice.

Late last week, John -- husband of Teresa Mancia, who leads the services on Monday nights and runs The Lord's Rain during middays on Mondays and Fridays -- took brush in hand and went to work. Looks much nicer, dontcha think?

We've been praying for people to come forward to get The Lord's Rain open in the early mornings six days a week. One of our goals has been to give people a place to go once the shelters show them the door, and so far, we're only doing that twice a week. We still need to be open in the early AM on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.

One of our guys, Randall, has stepped forward, saying he'd be willing to make sure the doors are open -- but now we need teams to run the place: so again, please pray that the Lord of the Harvest will send the workers we need to run The Lord's Rain on those days from 6:30 or 7am until about 9.

Actually, as you can see by the picture, Randall didn't exactly step forward so much as he hobbled. He wrenched his knee over a year ago, and has been getting around with his knee in a brace -- or sometimes not. Last week, he was helping in the kitchen (he's a cook by trade), despite doctor's orders to STAY OFF THE LEG.

Come the end of the service, he was getting ready to mop the floor, when Barry (standing) told him to sit down, put his leg up, and he'd mop the floor. So Randall did. Barry mopped. Randall got up to leave. And slipped on the wet floor. Now, doctors are talking about surgery. This means Randall will definitely need help with The Lord's Rain!

Earlier this month, I sent out a plea for financial support. I don't normally do that, but every year or so, it seems, I just need to send that gentle reminder to people. So far, there's been a good response and we're grateful for that. This Mission has been built on the many-members-one-body approach, where people bring what they can into the storehouse -- large or small -- and it all fits together. Remember: we are set up to take credit card donations now through www.gospelmission.net and you can support me in the Ride For Refuge coming up on Oct. 16.

What's a headline worth?

The media in Vancouver are all over the story of the seizure of opium buds at Vancouver International Airport. Prominent among the details is the estimated dollar-value of the drugs on the street.

Why must the media report that? (I'll get to the standard, defensive answer that you get from a newsroom shortly.) All that does is let people know that it's possible to make that amount of money dealing drugs, and increase the desirability of that occupation. "Hmm ..." one could say, "if I needed to make a quick twenty grand, that's the way to do it." The fact that the stuff was seized -- i.e. that police at least intercepted the cargo -- only increases the challenge to "do it right next time".

Newsrooms will defend their action by saying that "that's what the police told us in their news release", but does no one in the newsroom run the information that goes out through the "public interest" filter?

I remember, when I was starting out in broadcast journalism, the local RCMP seized a stash of marijuana. Big deal in 1981, but doesn't even merit a second glance on the cops' charge sheet now. Wanting to be cool and get an angle I thought would interest people, I asked what the street value was. "Oh, we don't give that information out," the police officer said. I asked my boss if I should call a friend of mine who was involved with drugs. He said -- to my surprise -- "you don't want to promote that -- it might give someone else the idea."

It made sense.

Now, we fast-forward almost 30 years to see the police giving out the dollar figure (maybe they get a charge out of telling the public how much "business" they've been able to shut down) and the media dutifully parrotting it. (And I know the media can be selective, as I've found in my own dealings with them as a public information officer, with the number of times certain extenuating details are ignored -- and others are misreported.)

Worse, just over a year ago, there was a high-profile trial of a drug gang member, and the daily fishwraps showed a front-page photo of the accused's brother -- not exactly an angel, in his own right -- arriving in court, looking like something off the cover of GQ. A stunning (unidentified) young woman was at his side.

And it's clear, watching from Gospel Mission, which is right in the teeth of the worst alley in Vancouver, that a lot of young men are buying into that image. Good-looking, clean-cut young men, wearing hoodies, talking on cell phones and not really doing much -- although they do tend to vanish just ahead of the police, rather like salmon when an orca comes through.

Aren't we supposed to be discouraging young people from going into lives of crime -- in particular, dealing drugs and muscling into gangs? Don't we shake our heads in disbelief and disgust at the scene on the Downtown East Side, which is the fruit of that labour? Why, then, do the media insist on glamorizing the industry by reporting on "value" of a seizure and material wealth acquired by dealers.

Don't reporters understand the impact? It may be a grabbing headline one day: but it could lead someone to a life-changing -- and life-destroying decision.

The real picture of the DTES

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.

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.