Lion’s Pride

My prayer times with James became a burden on my heart for the pastors and churches of Victoria, one of “the least-churched cities in Canada”. I made a list of the churches and their current pastors and began to pray earnestly one day a week, taking time over each one.

Since I came to Victoria, I have felt much like Caleb and Joshua must have felt, sitting in their wilderness tents, reminiscing over what they had seen in Canaan. They had sought to enter Canaan, but the unbelief of the other spies sent to scope out the land resulted in the Children of Israel wandering the wilderness for forty years. God still loved them and provided sustenance for them, but He was not pleased with them, having led them out of Egypt with the goal to enter Canaan, their promised land.

Victoria became my ‘wilderness’ after the miracles of Hazelglen Fellowship, M/V Anastasis and my fulfilment in itinerant ministry. Oh, there were times when I delighted in sampling the “quails and manna” so graciously provided, but I had tasted the honey and grapes of Canaan, and nothing less could satisfy my hunger. The church I attended became an oasis for me, but oases are found in desert places, and my vision was set on the mountains of Canaan.

In November 2024, I heard of four other pastors who, like me, had served the church for many years in Victoria but now came together weekly to pray. Like me, none of them was willing to ‘retire’ but felt a burden to continue serving the church by dedicated, fervent prayer.

At that same time, there was a major discussion among political leaders concerning “street people”. As Victoria has the mildest climate in all of Canada, it is a magnet for the homeless, drug addicts, prostitutes, brain-damaged, and others carrying various wounds of trauma. Let me call them “my people”, as I have assumed a priesthood for them before the throne of God (1 Peter 2:9). They have come to make Victoria their home, with a natural reaction from the residents and businesses among whom they dwell. The current debate was concerning the use of street drugs for patients admitted to our hospitals after overdoses or violence on the street. Should they be allowed or not? The Provincial Government held one opinion; the Federal Government had the opposite.

At my first meeting with my old friends, Neil B made a statement which had a major impact on me. “When is the government going to realise that they have no solution to the street problem? Only Jesus is the answer.” I took that as my cue, and the following Monday I ventured into the darkness of Pandora Ave, a street frequented by large numbers of street people. I entered Our Place, once set up as a Christian ministry but now having forfeited that role to be acceptable to the Government to receive government funding. I was impressed by its cleanness and the quality of its coffee.

I crossed the street to view a group of young people, dressed alike in leather jackets, who were ministering to drug addicts by providing a warming centre – this was November after all. As I began my questioning, a scream rang out. A young lady had just overdosed. As they rushed to inject her with Narcan to counteract the fentanyl (successfully) I was brought face to face with their leader, a thickset man covered in tattoos, with rings in his ears and on every finger, a medallion hanging around his neck and a mohawk hairstyle – he was everything I am not!

I probably stuttered a little as I began to speak. “Hi Jimmy, my name is Gareth, and I’m a pastor in this city. My heart aches for these people and, along with a few others, I am burdened with prayer for them – but we don’t know how to pray. Can you give me some pointers as to how we can pray, for we believe that Jesus is the only answer to the street ‘problem’?” Jimmy threw his arms around me and exclaimed, “Jesus is the answer!” When I questioned him further, he told me how he and his wife Megan had met Jesus a couple of years earlier and were now back where once they gave out drugs in order to bring the message of Jesus to the needy. “We once brought dope, now we bring hope!”

We adjourned to a nearby McDonald’s where, over cups of hot chocolate, he and Megan told me their story. Jimmy had had a life of violence and crime, had served many years in penitentiary, alternating with life on the street. Two children had been born to them and immediately taken away by the social authorities and put in foster care. When he left the penitentiary for the last time, Jimmy resolved to live a sober life in order to claim his children back – something that appeared impossible at that time.

He approached Rev Al Tysick, the only continuous Christian presence on the streets, with a request. “Al, I want my kids back. Please help me get my life in order.” Al arranged for them both to go to Vancouver to a rehab centre for some time and, from there, to a second faith-based centre where they both met the risen Lord. They determined they would return to the streets of “home” to help others find this pathway out of addiction and hopelessness.

Their lives were so radically changed that even the authorities saw the difference, returning their children to them after several years apart. Apparently, this was the first time this miracle had ever happened on the streets.

I’d like to put a little insert here concerning Rev Al Tysick. It was he who had worked at Our Place, formerly under the name of The Upper Room – a Christian ministry. I never met him but always had a high regard for him for, though not known to be of my evangelical persuasion, he was at least doing what Jesus would have done in serving the people of the streets.

When I met Jimmy, Al had already retired and had recently written a book about his experiences, Muddy Waters. I purchased the book and sat down one evening on my comfortable chair to spend an enjoyable, relaxing evening. Soon my comfort left me and the evening became heavy. I found myself crying freely, not because of the emotional stories I was reading, but crying in shame. I had lived forty years in this city and had, with my evangelical Christian brothers, turned a blind eye to the hurting on our streets while this “Samaritan”, not known to be in my theological clique, was doing what Jesus would do – washing feet, feeding the hungry and tending their wounds. That night I was changed. This 85-year-old, like Caleb of old, asked for the mountain where the giants dwell. Joshua 14. I could never again be satisfied with life in the oases of the wilderness.

As I sat at my computer one evening, I opened a folder titled “Prayer”. One of the files therein was written during the COVID crisis of 2021 when prayer meetings were by Zoom. My pastor wrote up this file in response to the evening’s meeting. As we had waited on the Lord for direction (something taught me by Ron Smith in Hazelglen days), I had seen a “beautiful white lily rising up out of muddy waters” – Al’s book is titled Muddy Waters. Was the Lord showing me what the future held? Are Jimmy and Megan that beautiful white lily?

I became a “dad” to Jimmy and Megan and have the privilege of mentoring them. They also called me “Kryptonite” as Jimmy starts crying whenever we embrace! They had very little knowledge of the Word but evidently a great “anointing” from God. I taught them Biblical fundamentals and began to draw other Christian leaders around them. One day I asked Jimmy what other Christians he had met working the streets. I know there are others, but his reply was genuine: “Dad, you’re the first Christian I have ever met!”

I have had the privilege of baptising them in the presence of their glowing, happy children. I walked Megan down the aisle and spoke at their wedding. I go on prayer walks with them and have no fear when embracing their friends. I have baptised three others in a tub on the streets in November weather! Because they have such great credibility among their people, I am accepted wherever I go and have been given the honorary title of “godfather”! God is doing something special on our streets, and I am so privileged to be a small part of it.

I anticipate this to be my final ministry – but one never knows. If God can open doors like these for me at 85 years old, what more can He do when I’m 90? I say to Him often, “O Lord, You have been so good to me over many years. Why should I doubt that You will continue to be good to me? I’m ready to come home but, in the meantime, please continue working in me that I might always be ‘to the praise of Your Glory’.”

Addenda: Should my reader wish to know more about Jimmy and Megan and their ministry, Lions Pride, I invite you to search their web page at www.lionspriderecoverysociety.ca or seek them out on Facebook. My own web page is www.garethevansministries.org, and my books may be found at www.ochorus.com