They said they found you on the 20th floor, sleeping in the hallway. By the time I saw you I was stepping out of the elevator in our building’s lobby and there you were, sprawled out on the floor. The lobby was packed with firemen and paramedics, building security (4 of them, you must have posed a real threat) and curious onlookers. As I walked past you on my way out the door I heard you mutter something incoherent. It sounded agonizing.
By the time I came back 10 minutes later you were in the same spot. As I stood and waited for the elevator I overheard a couple of the firemen chuckle to one other. To them you were probably just another Aboriginal junkie, worthless, equivalent to the pigeons that defecate all over the sidewalk outside our building. Perhaps equivalent to the shit itself. But as security scribbled furiously in their notepads and the paramedics tried to ask you questions (“So, whatcha been drinking tonight?”…really?) I couldn’t help but wonder how you got here.
Not how you ended up here, in the lobby of an apartment building, but how you ended up here on the streets of Toronto fucked out of your mind. I cannot begin to imagine how you’ve suffered. Born into a people that have been marginalized and shit upon, some of whom still do not have access to clean drinking water or nutritious food (in a developed country in the 21st century?! But this is no time for a rant against the capitalist Empire). I cannot imagine the toll that your addictions have taken on you, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I cannot begin to imagine the sort of dehumanizing things people have made you do, how you’ve been taken advantage of and used for others gain.
I’ll be damned if your Creator does not look upon you with the greatest amount of dignity. I’ll be damned if to Him you are not infinitely valuable and beautiful. I’ll be damned if He is not with you in your suffering and, hell, if He’s not on your side then He’s not much at all.
I guess I don’t know what to say. I didn’t say anything after all. But if there’s one thing I know it’s that this suffering which you now endure (this suffering which could very well end in death) is a suffering that is fulfilled in Christ Jesus, and one day you will know that glory.
Anyways, the elevator arrived eventually. I got on, hit the button to my floor and the doors closed. I went home and you went, well, I don’t know where you went.
*The featured image above is Henry Ossawa Tanner’s The Annunciation (1898).