The Valley of the Shadow of Death by Brita Miko

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

Comments

[Tabitha Burr]

Brita ...
I realize that I only barely knew you in college ... as I've read your entries I have been profoundly and unalterbly changed. Your words have resonnated so deeply and caused so much thought and searching in my own life, my own thoughts, to the core of my faith. I thank you ... for your transparency, your depth and for carrying me with you through your journey of thought and introspection ...