It's Burgundy! - and a special thanks to the City

"Am I goin' to hell?" Jeremy called to me, more than half joking. He flapped the reddish blanket he had draped over his shoulders. "I'm wearin' the devil's cape!"

I shook my head, "I'd call that a purple robe," I said, trying to give it a more Christ-like interpretation.

Jeremy -- minus the Burgundy/red/purple robe -- photo bombs my
promo for "In His Image, Too ..."

Jeremy looked at the blanket and said, "it's Burgundy," and shambled off towards the others in Pigeon Park.

We were outside The Lord's Rain Saturday morning, and I was talking with Ron and Lance when Jeremy had come along. "Burgundy!" said Lance. "He's right."

Ron shook his head. "There's so many smart people around here," he said. "When I first came down here [over a decade ago], I just assumed everyone down here was stupid -- a bunch of losers. But I'm amazed: there are doctors, professors ... guys who just kinda flipped out."

"Look at Len," I put in, referring to a fellow with a professional engineering designation who now cannot put a coherent sentence together -- not coherent to us, at any rate*.

Lance added, "you're right: there are some really educated people here."

It just reinforces what we've been saying for years: any stereotyped image you might have considered for the "typical" Downtown Eastsider gets blown out of the water by one fairly simple means: talking to one.

I wouldn't call Jeremy "educated", but there's no question that he's a very smart young man. In fact, he's quite well-equipped, physically and intellectually -- except that he has anger issues (others have reported seeing him take out another person with a single punch) and, being Native, has come to the plate with at least one strike against him. He sleeps rough. Take your pick of the reasons: (a) no shelter would want to take him, (b) he's afraid for his own safety in a shelter (from people he's punched-out before), (c) he's on the incredibly long waiting list for a place through BC Housing, or (d) all of the above. But his toughness is a facade, and behind it, I see an incredibly vulnerable and lost young man  It appears he's given up trying to move ahead -- or even trying to stay in the same spot.

Jeremy comes into The Lord's Rain most mornings to have a shower; but a lot of the time, too, he'll just come in and fall asleep on one of our benches. I've also picked him up off the floor when he's collapsed, shivering and near-paralyzed, from fatigue and cold. And I wrote last summer of a time when he picked up a Bible and asked me to read him something. Psalm 91 ("He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty.") came to mind: the message of comfort and protection when we put our trust in the Lord. He seemed to be encouraged by it. It's one of the great hope-filled passages, and hope is probably the commodity most in demand -- and least in supply -- on the Downtown East Side.

===

Ron is an enigma. I have a lot of time for him: ever since I've known him, he's come to our services and spent much of the time reading. At first, I thought he wasn't paying attention, but early on, he would come up to me afterwards with an observation based on what my message had been, which indicated that he was a lot more "into" it than one would think.

Unable to work due to disability, he receives disability "benefits" (don't you love that euphemism?) and a shelter allowance, so he has his own digs, and works the back alleys as a binner for the remainder of his income. How he pushes his wiry, arthritic body through the streets in all weather, shoving a cart ahead of him, is beyond me, but somehow he does; and I've rarely heard him complain about being sick. But sick, he is: I've watched him deteriorate, physically, over the years. A couple of years ago, he nearly lost an arm. He was reaching into a dumpster and cut himself on something. He didn't think much of it and went on about his routine, but the cut was quickly infected (not a difficult thing in those alleys) and before he knew it, he was in hospital with one arm considerably larger than the other. Doctors literally had to open his arm to drain the poison out of it and the scar is very visible when he wears a sleeveless shirt in the summer.

Yet he keeps on, never losing his humor. Any time I start to complain about the sniffles, I give my head a shake.

===

One of the ongoing bêtes noires we've faced over recent years has been the Downtown East Side Street Market. Every Sunday, the 300 block Carrall Street is closed and dozens of people -- mostly binners -- set up shop to sell stuff. It's mostly second- or third-hand goods: not exactly St Lawrence Market in Toronto or The Rocks in Sydney, Australia, but people buy and sell.

The reason it's been problematic for us at Gospel Mission is that the 300 block Carrall Street is right outside our door and the market takes place right when our services are happening. The market has proven to be a deterrent to a lot of people coming to these services, and Barry spent a fair bit of time, trying to keep the pathway clear and pestering City Hall to install portable toilets and get the Market organizers to prevent any selling in front of the Mission.

There's been some success in that, although Anthony, Barry's son, can tell you he's been greeted with verbal -- and sometimes physical -- abuse when he's asked people to respect that "no-sell zone". In the past year or so, though, the Market has put up a fence and posted a security person outside our door. 

A week ago Sunday, though, we were greeted with a handbill, stuck in the door, to wit:

WARNING

SUNDAY January 18th, 2015

We regret to inform you that the City of Vancouver has failed to provide necessary operating funds for the regular Sunday market that has existed at Pigeon Park for almost five years. Starting today, market organizers will be forced to reduce staff to accommodate this new budget reality.  We regret any inconvenience that this may cause. 

If you have any complaints, please call 311 or e-mail dtesstreetmarket@gmail.com to have these complaints forwarded to the City of Vancouver.

There was no logo on the flyer and it wasn't signed, but we noted quickly that the fence was not there and there were only a few security staff, roaming about the market with no one actually posted outside our door.

Someone said to Ian, "You guys will be in trouble, now!"

A fight broke out underneath the office window: one of the sellers apparently believed someone was trying to steal some of his merchandise. No staff stepped in to help out: another seller broke up the fight.

The next day, I fired an email off to the Mayor and each individual Council member. Four of them -- Andrea Reimer, Kerry Jang, Tim Stevenson and Raymond Louie -- got back to me within an hour, saying they'd look into it. Ms Reimer said that, rather than a cut in funding, the Market was actually about to get a funding increase and they'd be receiving the cheque that coming Thursday. The source of the information in the flyer was unclear.

Then I heard from the head of Community Services, assuring us that there was no funding cut. She had had several calls since Sunday morning from people complaining that the City wasn't supporting the Market.

This past Sunday (the 25th), a security person was back at the door and the fence was back up.

Was this a clumsy attempt to bully City Hall? Hard to say, and we have no way of knowing what was said to the organizers of the Market on Thursday. But a big thank-you! to those City Councillors for getting on the stick as quickly as they did!

===

A new volunteer has stepped up to become a server rather than a servee. Joe has been coming into The Lord's Rain pretty much since it opened, working on the Bottle Depot's street-and-alley-cleaning crew. He was always very friendly towards me, but for some reason, he and Danilo rubbed each other the wrong way. They nearly came to blows a few times, usually when Danilo would deny him an extra bun. Danilo has been learning about customer service (like, how to tell someone they can't have another bun without implying they're being greedy pigs for wanting one) and has been getting better, mainly under Ken Franklin's tutelage. But Ken is no longer with us. And that brings us to Joe.

I walked into The Lord's Rain on Saturday to find Joe serving coffee, setting up the styrofoam cups on the counter so they would be ready. Danilo was upstairs, preparing the buns. "I need to do this because of Kenny," Joe said. "He was like a father to me [Ken was maybe 10 years older than Joe], so I'm carrying on what he started."

Danilo came downstairs, set the tray of buns on the counter and went behind the desk. That was a scene I never thought I'd see: Danilo and Joe, working side by side. A sense of humility and grace on the two of them. Sometimes, we wonder about legacies, and that would be one of Ken's.

The SeaBus Safety Announcement: a fond farewell

This is one of those “wistful moments”: the Transport Canada safety announcement that I voiced for the MV Burrard Pacific Breeze – the latest of the three SeaBus vessels – is about to be retired, if it hasn’t been already. With the new SeaBus about to be launched, they had to re-do those announcements; and thus ends the last “official” connection I had with TransLink. True, people still come up to me in the street or on buses and talk to me about transit, nearly two years after I was let go, but the voiceover was the official link.

The story behind the recording of the voiceover, though, runs a bit deeper than simply “Drew reads a script”, and it’s another way that TransLink blessed my ministry on the Downtown East Side. I had already been brought into a job that required me to be on-call pretty much all the time. This meant that I was not required to be in the office the customary 8 hours a day, Monday through Friday, so if I was needed for something at Gospel Mission, I could deal with it. Ken Hardie and Erin Dermer both said, “I know you get the job done here: go do what you have to.” 

There were individual displays of support, too, like one planner who got guests at his and his fiancée’s engagement party to bring socks and underwear; an executive who, in lieu of the customary bottles of wine for his staff at Christmas, made donations in their names to the Mission; and the huge response when I sent out a mass email to staff asking for blankets and warm clothing when an unexpected cold snap hit.

The Breeze, which was launched in 2009, was built with significantly different specifications from the first SeaBuses – the Burrard Otter and the Burrard Beaver – and that included the audio/visual system. Coast Mountain Bus Company, which operates SeaBus, realized that the safety announcement would have to be re-recorded in a format compatible with the new system, but for whatever reason, the announcer who did the current announcement was not available and the new version was needed immediately.

I forget how this came to my attention (it may have been a heads-up that there could be a media inquiry about a potential delay), but I stepped up and offered to voice it myself, using my home studio. But there was a slight ethical conundrum. If I charged for my services, there would be a question of conflict of interest and an untendered job. If I didn’t charge, I could be accused of undercutting a fellow voiceover professional. But the job had to be done.

The solution? I would quote them what I would charge for the job: if they were pleased with the product, CMBC would make a donation to Gospel Mission. CMBC agreed, and a few more Mission bills got paid.

God works in amazing ways to make sure His purpose is fulfilled. Time and again, He worked through TransLink to bless the Mission and the people it serves. In fact, when we were building The Lord’s Rain, the media attention we garnered – which helped to raise awareness and funds from the public – was due to the fact that I had made friends among the reporters through our TransLink connection. The SeaBus VO was just one of those ways.

It wasn’t something we noised-about, but I think it’s OK now to mention it. And so, one more time: The SeaBus Safety Announcement. http://youtu.be/ADygjHgR6x4

Thank you, Ken!

There's nothing like a dressing-down from a judge to put your life on-track.

"Mr Franklin, you are not a career bank robber. You are a drug addict."

Ken Franklin was up before the beak for pulling 14 bank jobs in a short period, getting more money to buy more drugs. He had fallen in with the dealers and pimps while in a halfway house (yes, the facility intended to get convicts ready to return to society) and, seeing the "cornflakes boxes full of cash" they would bring in and needing to finance his habit, started his spree. Being of slight stature, he also wanted to show that You Don't Mess Around With Ken.

There was also something about the thrill of the chase that Ken found addictive, but when the law finally caught up with him, the words of Judge Harry Boyle made the reality all too clear. 

​

Ken carried a photocopy of that clipping with him in a shirt pocket everywhere he went.

By the time I got to know Ken, he had cleaned up and was part of the street cleanup team hired by The Bottle Depot to pick up trash around the Downtown East Side and would come into The Lord's Rain on his coffee break. One morning in 2011, I had to announce to the group that we had to limit the number of pastries we handed out to two per person. Believe it or not, I felt like I had to apologize for the new regulation, but Ken spoke up as if he was speaking for everyone and said, "That's OK: we appreciate everything you do."

That wasn't the only gesture of support. When he heard on the radio in 2013, that I had been let go from TransLink, he came into The Lord's Rain and growled, "you deserve better". Hello? Someone in a down-and-out area, telling me that I deserved better? Truly, there was something, well, different about Ken.

Earlier this year, Ken asked if he could volunteer at The Lord's Rain. "I got a lot of time on my hands," he said, "and I'd like to help out." He quickly showed he was a natural leader, taking charge without being pushy and showing by example how to treat "customers". As time went on, he told me how he had been Saved while in prison for the robberies, thanks to the female prison guard he eventually married. They had bought and operated the coffee shop at the 108 Mile Guest Ranch in the Cariboo, and it was there that he developed this knack for dealing with people. It was something Danilo sorely needed, and he was starting to develop it, working with Ken.

​

For Gary, has the responsibility of making sure The Lord's Rain is open at 6:30am, Ken was a welcome addition, a reliable extra pair of eyes to welcome the people. He treated everyone with unfailing respect, and it was never better demonstrated than when a mentally ill man "went off" on him one morning a few weeks ago, standing almost nose-to-nose with Ken and threatening him. Ken stood his ground but did not "return evil for evil". His mates on the cleanup crew started calling him Pastor Ken, but with respect rather than mockery, and there was a distinctly different, more up-beat, vibe around The Lord's Rain when he was serving.

In the past few weeks, though, Ken missed the occasional morning, then would come in and tell us he had been ill and couldn't get out of bed. He started losing weight and had trouble eating. "I'm scared," he confided. "I don't know what's wrong." "Have you seen a doctor?" "Not yet." I don't know if he ever did.

No one on the street-cleaning crew saw him for a week, which was unusual. Finally, this past Friday, someone went through the door at his hotel and found his body. It appears he had been gone for about four days.

Dying alone and unnoticed in a skid row hotel: certainly not an uncommon occurrence on the Downtown East Side, and my first thought was to say to Ken, "you deserve better". But while I miss him terribly, and I know the others do, it's tough to be sad because I have a really good idea where he is now, where there is no pain or sickness and he gets a reward that none of us deserves. As The Newsboys put it in their song, "The day he bought those pine pajamas/His check was good with God"*. 

Ken shared his story for a video project I've been working on, called "In His Image, Too ...", and which is currently airing on LivingStrongTV.com, a Christian internet TV station. You'll find the interview here, and Ken's portion begins around 14:30. Unless this part was edited for time, he says at one point that he would like to help others in some way with his own testimony and hope to inspire them in their lives. Judging by the way some of the guys talked about him on Saturday, as the news spread, I'd say he's done that.

Thank you, Ken!

____

*from "Breakfast", by Steve Taylor and Peter Furler

It's all about HOPE

"And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three: but the greatest of these is charity." (1 Cor. 13:13 KJV)

We hear much about faith and charity (actually, the Greek word Paul used was agàpé, which means selfless, unconditional love -- "charity" was the best King James I's team could come up with) as the Great Spiritual Characteristics, but hope doesn't seem to get much attention. Yet Hope is the dearest currency for the people we serve at The Lord's Rain. 

James has been coming into Gospel Mission for many years, and when I got to know him, he had just been crippled by a stroke. He was about 60 when the stroke hit him, and it limited his ability to speak, but there were a few of us who could pick up what he was trying to say and help communicate.

One thing he hadn't communicated to me was the problem with his shoulder. I had been talking to him one night at the Mission, and patted him on the shoulder, and he practically screamed. He pulled down the collar of his t-shirt and revealed that a broken collarbone with the bone sticking up through his skin.

A few days later, I took him to the welfare office to see if they knew who might have his medical records -- any kind of indication of his treatment. The worker looked at me as if I was crazy. "We don't keep those records. I don't know where they are," he said. James didn't have any family close by -- or anywhere, it seems -- so on paper, he didn't really exist.

Through a long sequence of events, I learned that his shoulder was basically inoperable. Because he was an alcoholic and needed a walker to get around, there was a risk, the surgeon told me, that even if they used a metal plate to bridge the gap between the bones, James might trip and fall, break the plate and develop an infection. Prognosis: live with it.

His public health worker had taken an interest in him, and called me one day to discuss his case. She explained that he was threatened with eviction from his room because he had been caught smoking crack after he had been warned about it.

"Clearly," I pontificated, "James has to get off the drugs."

There was a pause, while the idiocy of that remark sank in. We said the next line together: "Why?"

And that's where Hope comes in: why should a 60-something man, crippled by a stroke, with a broken collarbone that keeps him in constant pain, make any kind of effort to get off drugs? As 'tis said, drugs are not the problem on the Downtown East Side, they're the solution.

And in the absence of Hope, that's exactly the case.

But James found something in coming to the Mission. Much against fire regulations, he would have someone else carry his walker up to the Mission and haul his slight frame up the stairs after it. His arrival would be greeted like Norm on "Cheers!" -- John Sharp would usually be the first to roar, "JAMES!", joined by others (ahem). But stuff happens: when we got the TV installed in The Lord's Rain so that people with disabilities could watch the services (as we explained a few years ago, the building is too old to retrofit with any kind of lift for wheelchairs or scooters), James had to take part there, but he missed the fellowship of being upstairs with the rest and then the frustration of losing his faculties took a major toll on his attitude, and he would be increasingly prone to explode in rage at people - usually barraging them with the "f-bomb". 

He stopped coming for a while, but then, he started to make his way back. This past Monday, Anthony Babcook posted an update on Facebook, to wit:

"Yesterdays message touched James(Jimmy as people call him) he's a handicap thats a big handful at abut has a heart to keep coming back. I had a talk in a way me and him have worked out to communicate and he was pointing at Drew on the t.v. and he was crying when he said in his way the FATHER SON HOLY SPIRIT with his hand over his head heart and wrists. The only word you hear the most come out of his mouth may be F... but his heart is changing if its only bit by bit"

James' heart is changing. There it is: HOPE. I don't know if he's licked that crack habit or if he still drinks, but I do know that he doesn't look or act like an addict or a drunk anymore. There is something different in his eyes, his demeanour. I saw James a bit later Sunday afternoon (I hadn't read Anthony's post at that point), panhandling outside Waterfront Station, and his face broke into a broad smile and he flashed the "peace" sign at me (one of his favorite ways of communicating) and gripped my hand with his left -- he always tries to crush my hand to show he's still strong, at least on that side -- and you can just tell that this is a different man.

***

Victoria has had her ups and downs, too. I mentioned her a year ago, when she woke up one morning to find her husband dead in bed beside her. She came straight to The Lord's Rain and just sat there, pouring it out to John. This past Tuesday, she came in, very excited about starting a new training course. Vancouver Community College is offering a course in basic employment skills -- six weeks of learning about computer operations, numeracy ("arithmetic plus", as she noted on her information sheet), interpersonal skills, problem-solving and a bunch of others. She's 54 now, and whether she'll be able to parlay these skills into employment is anybody's guess; but you could see the hope in her eyes: as she takes the course, she'll acquire skills she didn't have before and get a sense of what she can do, rather than dwell on what she can't.

Again: HOPE. "... hope that is seen is not hope;; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance." (Paul's letter to the Romans, ch. 8, verses 24-25.)

***

JOB POSTING AT CARRALL STREET CHURCH

POSITION ANNOUNCEMENT:

Pastor/Director (paid, P/T)

Gospel Mission Society

Gospel Mission is located in an historic (1889)
building in Vancouver's Downtown East Side

Are you called into Ministry?

Do you have a heart for the poor and destitute?

Do you want to make a difference in your own backyard?

An opportunity exists to take the reins of Western Canada’s oldest continuously-operating urban mission. Founded in 1929, Gospel Mission serves Vancouver’s Downtown East Side through two ministries: Carrall Street Church and The Lord’s Rain, a facility that provides showers six days a week.

As Pastor/Director, you will:

• Cast a vision for the future of the Mission and work with a committed, dedicated Board and volunteer staff to achieve it 
• Oversee the operations of the organization, including fundraising, liaising with the landlord and coordinating the Mission’s various services 
• Preach the Sunday afternoon message and arrange for Worship leaders
• Be available to give pastoral counselling, as needed

You will have a thorough knowledge of Scripture and be eligible for licensing by the Apostolic Church of Pentecost of Canada (ACOP). 

In all things, you will be supported by the volunteer staff and the Board of directors, with oversight from senior ACOP pastors in the region.

For full information and to apply, please contact Stan Powers, stan@sonrise.ca.

"... you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria and to the end of the earth."

-- Acts 1:8 (NKJV)

RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES! (of DUH Magazine)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

"I'd have to kill you all!"

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

Let me explain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

"Hey - you don't got no pants on!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's your name, bro'?"

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

"Bandit."

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

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

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