As I would walk in Vancouver’s downtown eastside, occasionally I would
get a sense that I was walking through the valley of the shadow of
death. There was the crying of sirens, which would spike right after
welfare cheques came. The cries hear throughout the streets warned us
all that an emergency had happened, that someone was in trouble, that
someone needed help desperately. There was the violence: a man stabbed
in Pigeon Park six times, a woman’s black eyes, a sinewy rope of
bruises. There was the sickness, the disease ­people twitching, puking,
shaking, convulsing, choking—from drug use, neglect, poverty,
unprotected sex, you name it. Their bodies at times only blackened
shadows. And there were the deaths. Mostly from drug "overdoses"
(uncannily frequent "bad cuts"). The numbers were terrible, but worse
than the anonymous numbers was when it was someone you knew. It made me
want to smash my head against something out of the helplessness and
devastation and just for the stupidity of it all. Walking the streets,
surrounded by sirens, violence, disease and death itself, I would
occasionally sense that I was walking through the valley of the shadow
of death.

I will fear no evil. This sentence that the Psalmist
sang, I would often hear. My heart would tell me, "I will fear no
evil." I knew God was my Shepherd. I knew my Shepherd was with me. And
in my year there, I had only two or three moments of not fear but
something akin to panic—a sense that I did not know what I should do.
It sounds worse than fear, but it wasn’t. I wondered, however, about
the women. When they climbed into a car and faced a complete stranger,
did they fear evil? They seemed so vulnerable to me, so unprotected.
Even their bodies, so scantily clothed, made them seem even more
exposed to everything—including evil.

For thou art with me. Sometimes when I walked, they would be focused on
the cars, the men, the business. They would have little time to talk.
Other times though, they would have been standing and waiting for
hours. They would be bored, and we would visit to pass the time. Having
seen the posted list of "bad dates" (both words being used
euphemistically: "bad" was often horrific and "date" was, well, a
business transaction). I wondered how they could keep doing it. How
could they climb back into another car after what had happened the
night before? I was surprised by the uniformity of their answers. Every
time they had a bad date, before they even got into the car, their
"gut" had told them, "Don’t go with this guy." Every time they had a
bad date, they had ignored their gut and gone anyway. Why? They needed
the money, the night had been slow, and so they questioned their gut.
They told me that as long as they listened to their gut, they were
safe. My heart filled with tears at their testimonies. Was the Holy
Spirit leading them in these long, dark nights? If I didn’t have words
for him, if I didn’t know about him, the words I would use to describe
the experience of him leading me would be a feeling in my gut. Was the
Shepherd watching over them in the valley of the shadow of death? I
believe he was. He could and seemingly did seek to protect them. His
kind-hearted mercy, love, and grace appeared to be leading them, even
though sometimes they chose not to follow.

And then came the truth about the "missing women" of Vancouver’s
downtown eastside. They weren’t missing; they were dead. They had been
taken from the valley of the shadow of death to the valley of death
itself. And I was angry. Everyone was. Part of me felt a sense of
betrayal. I had heard stories from so many women’s lives—childhoods
rife with invasive, violating hands, adolescences where they were pawed
and pawned by empty, desperate people, and their days on the streets
exchanging their very selves for contempt, humiliation, and dollars. I
had wanted to believe that ahead there would be better times for them;
that their future held something good; that one day there would be some
small light in their lives. But it never happened. I felt betrayed,
because I had no more hope for them. Their lives had so much hardship
and then their deaths wer the most brutal devastation of all. I was
furious. And in church on Sunday morning, we sang "Holy, Holy, Holy."
We sang "merciful and mighty." We sang "all Thy works shall praise Thy
Name, in earth, and sky, and sea." We sang "all the saints adore Thee,
casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea." And I cried. I
cried because I had wanted God to do something good in those women’s
lives. I cried because their lives had been brutal and their deaths
cruel. I cried because I wanted to believe God was merciful and mighty.
I cried because I couldn’t sing the song, and yet I still loved God. I
cried because I didn’t understand. I wanted the women to be the saints.
I wanted them to finally be happy casting down their golden crowns. I
wanted them to be around the glassy sea. Oh please?

And then I got a feeling in my gut. When they saw they were about to be
killed, they would have cried out to God, wouldn’t they? They would
have wanted to be rescued, and they would have known only God could do

the rescuing. Who would not cry out to God when faced with someone who
was trying to kill them? If their gut had warned them on the street
before they even entered the car, then surely their gut would have
communicated something to them before they died. They would have cried
out to God. And God hears the cries of his people. Suddenly I knew they
were around the glassy sea. They were with HIM. Everything in this
world that had torn at them tore them no more. They were free. And in
His presence, they finally had complete peace. My best wishes for them
had come true. And I sang, "Holy, Holy, Holy." And I sang, "merciful
and mighty.’ And I sang, "all Thy works shall praise Thy Name, in
earth, and sky, and sea." And I sang, "all the saints adore Thee,
casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea." And I sang,
"God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!"

And I knew every word was true.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil. For thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort
me." Psalm 23:4