In 1963 the Little Brothers of the Good Shepherd took up an invitation from Toronto Archbishop Philip Pocock and converted an old movie theatre on Queen Street East into a shelter for homeless men. Today it serves nearly half- a-million meals a year, provides a clean, safe place to sleep more than 30,000 times a year and helps find permanent housing for more than 250 people annually. Its nurses treat 3,000 people a year. It helps homeless veterans reclaim their dignity. The addicted find all the support they need to live drug and alcohol free.
Shane Summerfield is one of those who have walked through the doors and come out better for it. But the first time he showed up at The Good Shepherd he hated it.
“I didn’t want to be here,” he recalled while touring through the building where he learned how to be sober. “I wasn’t too happy. I hated the atmosphere. I didn’t like the food.”
Six years later, he knows his reaction then was crazy. Before entering The Good Shepherd’s drug and alcohol recovery program, Summerfield was living in a rooming house where everyone was addicted and many were de-institutionalized mental health patients. Among his housemates was a woman who used to throw feces against the walls. But somehow the safe, clean environment at The Good Shepherd weirded him out.
“It’s about what’s going on inside,” said Summerfield, touching his heart. “I didn’t want to live but I didn’t want to die.”
Then 34 years old, the former teenage hockey star was dangerously overweight, suffering with arthritis and couldn’t walk up the stairs without frequent stops.
Today at 40, Summerfield has been through DARE (Drug and Alcohol Recovery Enrichment) at The Good Shepherd twice — in 2008 and in 2012. He’s 100 pounds lighter and 100-per-cent healthier. After beating his addiction the first time, he thought he was strong enough to make his own way. Since re-entering the program in 2012, Summerfield knows facing his addiction alone is the worst thing for him. Most of all, Summerfield now understands his need to obliterate himself with drugs and alcohol was a crisis of faith.
“I had a belief in faith, but I didn’t have faith,” he said.
In the silence of the chapel at The Good Shepherd, Summerfield found the mirror image of that chemical self-surrender that trapped him in his addiction. The chapel provided a place and a time for healing.
He’s out on his own now — taking business courses, working in home renovations, working on a plan to eventually open his own business. He’s been trying to repair damaged relationships. His sister and nieces now volunteer at The Good Shepherd. He’s often back there for Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.
As he visits The Good Shepherd he meets old friends and he understands himself in a way he never could when he was on the street.
“I can easily forget how bad life can be when I’m in my addiction,” Summerfield said. “Here, I’m filled with gratitude.”
Summerfield’s story is perfectly ordinary for this extraordinary place on Queen Street East.
Fifty years of the Good Shepherd equals 50 years of grace and mercy in Toronto.