Or you are relaxing watching television and your spouse keeps telling you that there’s more work to be done around the house, so you respond, “As Jesus said in Mark 6:31, ‘Come with me and rest awhile.’” 

But sometimes there are just no words to describe the heart-wrenching situation in front of us. I was approaching the darkest area on the streets where people are either buyers or sellers of drugs, wrangling to get the best deal. 

Half hidden against the corner wall of a church was a young boy, I guess thirteen years old, trying desperately to light his crack pipe. What depravity introduces a young man like him to the world of drugs that will probably take his life? 

I have seen a lot on the streets, but this shocked and left me speechless. I did not have time to think about it before I was almost bowled over by a lady who is normally high on drugs by the time I get downtown. 

Katie came veering around the corner on rollerblades, screeching to a halt and asking, “Hey, would you like a date tonight?” Suddenly she saw my collar and said, “Oh sorry deacon, I mistook you for someone else.” 

I thought to myself, “I guess the good news is that she respected the collar.” 

All this drug activity was not totally unexpected, of course, partially because of the location, but also because it was the end of the month when the government cheques are sent out. As I was about to leave, I heard a lady in a wheelchair shout to get my attention from the middle of the street, “Can you push me on to the sidewalk?” she asked. 

Now, I have to say that one of the most dangerous ministries downtown, is pushing a wheelchair for someone on drugs. There was constant verbal abuse being hurled, and no matter how careful I was, I seemed to hit potholes. 

Finally, I managed to get her onto the sidewalk and told her that she was on her own now. I beat a hasty retreat to go to visit with the lady I have mentioned who is a prostitute, and I worry that she is being trafficked. After an initial trepidation, she had warmed up to me, and for the past year she has been very friendly, although never giving anything away about how she landed on the streets. 

As I walked towards her, she saw me in the distance and turned to walk away. I watched as she moved a block away, and took up her stance at that intersection. At that point another lady came and stood where my friend usually stands. “Hm, I thought to myself, it sounds more and more like these ladies are being controlled.” 

I left the area and decided to take it up with my friend next time I meet with her. I walked back to the doorway where my friend “Chilli” died of an overdose a few months ago, and I stopped as I always do, to pray for her. The doorway had been washed clean. 

All of my friend’s spiritual writing, written in chalk, had been washed off the walls as if she never existed. Just like so many homeless that have died before her on our streets, we would rather pretend that we do not have a homeless problem, we do not have a drug problem, and after all what do they have to tell us? 

The words of the beautiful folk song again came to my mind, “The truth of the story is written in chalk, an hour before the flood.”

I knelt on the steps where she died and the words of this prayer came from my lips, “Chilli, I put this street ministry into your hands. Let your spirit guide me in the days ahead. You know the ones who need help around here. Pray for me Chilli.” Amen.