07.12.2017
Five of us stayed up late in the Church basement last night, watching stupid videos about “Neature”, having semi-deep conversations about life, and using a watermelon as a medball to do a workout. When we finally called it a night and stepped outside, we saw him. He was sitting in the corner between the church and a stone ledge with a needle in his hand.
“You guys, could you please call an ambulance, I think I am overdosing,” said a tall, fit, handsome man with a Cuban accent who looked around 30 years of age with unusually graying hair and a black hoodie on. Suddenly our night of goofy fun collided with the reality of where we are, and why we were here.
He continued, “my heart is pounding out of my chest and I think I’m going to explode. I took cocaine and heroin, and I took this new heroin called ‘The Stamp’, and it’s way too strong. I’m scared, please help me.” We have been educated during the SMI about a new form of opioid on the streets called “Norfentanyl” which is 100x stronger than regular fentanyl, because it is a metabolite of fentanyl. We learned that the dealers and cutters on the streets weren’t sure how much to give in a “dose,” so they have been cutting it down to 5%, or 10%, or 20%, and just seeing what happens to those who take it. There have been reports of whole groups using and overdosing at the same time. Talk about a randomized controlled trial.
This man was in no acute distress, fully able to communicate, oriented to self and time, with no abnormal visible symptoms except for very slow and non-deliberate movements and some slowness of speech. I asked him his name, and he replied, “Carlos” (*name changed).
I called 911, even though I knew this man was not in need of emergency services at this time. Those who overdose due to fentanyl do not ask for someone to call the ambulance. It is all too common that they drop unconscious and their breathing slows until there is not enough oxygen getting to their brain, and they die. Carlos’ symptoms could more accurately be described as an anxiety attack or paranoia, but he had asked for my help and I intended to give it to him. As I came a little closer to ask some questions, he shifted away from me slightly, still holding the needle in his hand.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so embarrassed. I’m ashamed of myself,” he said, as he dropped his head in the most authentically broken manner I’ve ever seen in my life. I asked him if he knew where he had happened to sit down, in order to get high, telling him that he chose to do this on church property. He replied, “I know I shouldn’t be here, I’m so sorry for this, please, I’m so sorry.” He had thought I meant to condemn him for getting high on church property. He has probably known little else than condemnation for a long time, from his family, social workers, and all of society. I clarified to him, “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. That’s fine that you’re here, we’re glad you’re here. I’m saying that this is no coincidence, because not only did you choose to sit down and get high at a church, but we are all medical professional students, and we’ve been going door to door giving health screenings to this community the past 2 ½ weeks. Don’t you find it a little strange that we’d choose to stay up late and get high on this night, on this ledge, so that when we opened the door it almost hit you? I don’t think that’s just a coincidence.” His eyes widened a little bit, and he replied, “I don’t believe in coincidences.” I pushed a little further, “Do you believe in God?” He hesitated and said “Yes I do.” I continued, “Do you think he loves you?”
Carlos turned his head away as the film of tears began welling up in his eyes, the same reaction to such questions that we’ve all become well acquainted with at the SMI. It’s the look of shame, guilt, fear, and hopelessness that rises to the surfaces when you’re confronted with the pain of this world, your helplessness to change it, and your dependence on the mercies of God for all that you have and all that you are. In these moments, the Holy Spirit is showing you truths so difficult that you cannot bear them, and/or truths so great and wonderful that you would not dare dream them to be true.
“I’ve been out here for a year, and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I’ve got two kids in Orlando, and here I am doing this to myself. I don’t know how I got here. I’m ashamed of myself.” With this response to my question “Do you think God love you?”, Carlos revealed something so key about his perception of God and whether God would love him. When trying to think about whether God would love him, Carlos looked for evidence in himself of something worth loving, and he found nothing. All he saw was a failure, a drug addict, and a shameful shell of a man. This makes Carlos just like the rest of humanity, because we all try to find qualities within us that are lovable, and try to present them to God as an appeal for his favor and love.
But this misses the point. God does not love us because of any qualities we possess within ourselves, but because he is Himself Love. Simply put, He loves us because He loves us. To put it another way, “Worth, value, and beauty are not determined by some innate quality but by the length for which the owner would go to possess them. Broken and ugly things just like us are stamped ‘Excellent’ with ink tapped in wells of divine veins.” What length did God go to in order to possess us? He put all worthlessness on Jesus Christ, who is the only truly worthy person to have ever lived. In Christ, God has assigned value to the worthless; He has loved the unlovable, He has freed the condemned.
I said to Carlos, “I think that God loves you, and it has nothing to do with how many times you’ve gotten high, or how many times you fail to live up to your own expectations. He loves you, and he’s chasing after you right now. God wanted you here right now, he wanted you to meet us. Do you believe that?” Just then EMS arrived.
There is far more to this story than time or space will allow me to speak on this blog post. After the EMS arrived and took his vital signs, we began praying until Carlos emerged from the ambulance, took one look at us, and started walking down the street away from us with embarrassment. I left the prayer group and ran over to him, asking him if he was okay. He said, “I need to stop doing this to myself”. I said to him, “You’ve got my number, text me tomorrow and we will find a time to talk. You’re right, you do need to stop. But you’re not alone, and you don’t have to be ashamed anymore.” He replied, “Thank you. I think maybe…. Maybe what I need is just a friend, who isn’t using (drugs), you know? Someone I can just talk to.”
I don’t know whether Carlos will get in touch with me ever again. When he totally sobers up, his guilt and shame may prevent him from doing so. His addiction may overcome his desire to get in touch with me. But God is bigger than our guilt and our shame, and He has a track record of overcoming our resistance to Him to show us the reality of His love for us. In this way, none of us really are any different than Carlos. I pray we all realize this.
– Jason Pelletier