Trevor Berg Writing

There was a young girl who encapsulated the response I felt as a Pastor in Point Douglas. 

We were holding a day camp for the kids in the community, and one of the little girls (about 8 years old) was having a hard time listening, and was causing all kinds of difficulty for our leaders. I took her aside and was talking to her for a while, but wasn’t getting anywhere, and eventually she ran away from me and out the door of the church, I took off after her, and she stood just down the stairs of the front porch, looked me in the eye, and yelled, “F-you Pastor Trevor!” except she didn’t say ‘F’, if you know what I mean.

I found it a little jarring to hear an 8 year old girl yell that word at me with such anger. But I took a moment, and thought to myself, ‘she called me Pastor!’ That’s a title that holds some respect.

When you work at an inner-city church you take respect any way you can get it.

The moment has stuck out to me for a few reasons. First of all, I find it funny, the juxtaposition of the diss and the respect in a short four word sentence. Second of all, it encapsulated what I felt many times over as a Pastor in Point Douglas. 

One moment I might feel great respect and appreciation for what I did, and the ministry that I was part of…and the next minute, someone might be cursing me out for something I did, or something I didn’t do, or won’t do. To be honest, it’s probably one of the qualities I love the most about the people I worked with…you always know where you stand, no appearances or pretences.

A dignified First Nations woman showed up one Sunday at Grace Point, she seemed quite comfortable with the idea of church, and at one point she spoke up during the service (speaking up during the service is quite common at Grace Point). She said something like, “40 years ago I lived way up north, and I was really struggling. One day, when I was coming off a 2 week bender, I decided it was time to change. I was walking through the mall in Leaf Rapids, Manitoba, and came across a bookstore. I wanted to get a Bible, but I looked at the row of Bibles on the shelf, and I needed some help. I asked the person working there if he could explain to me what the difference was between all these Bibles. The man took his time, and explained things to me, and that day, he led me to Jesus. I prayed and Jesus changed my life. I never went back to that bookstore, but I will never forget that man, and someday I will meet him in heaven, and tell him this story. Ever since that day, I have been going from church to church, all over Manitoba, telling them about Jesus and saying, ‘some day, I will meet Gilbert Berg in heaven, and thank him for leading me to Jesus.'”

I need to take you back 40 years in my life. I was born when my family lived in Leaf Rapids, Manitoba. My family had moved there to start a church in the small mining community. The church was in a small mall in the community, and my Dad thought a bookstore look in the “storefront,” would be a good way to connect with the community. My Dad’s name, of course, is Gilbert Berg.

I told this dignified woman that she wouldn’t have to wait to meet Gilbert Berg…he only lived a few blocks away!

To me, the connection was absolutely unbelievable and so meaningful. I talked to my Dad about this right away. I asked him if he remembered speaking to this woman…he could not. Of course he couldn’t! He spoke to people in the community all the time. He prayed with many people.

Sometimes we do good things for people that seem to wind up being meaningless, or forgotten. Sometimes it makes us wonder why we do these things for people in the first place. To me, this wonderful woman was a reminder that we have no idea what kind of impact our ministry to someone else might have. Here this woman was, telling the story of my Dad 40 years later…and he couldn’t even remember it!

We have no idea what kind of impact the things we do will have on someone’s life. But the results never were our responsibility. Our responsibility is to be faithful to what God asks us to do, not to MAKE things happen in people’s lives, just to be faithful.

It’s God’s job to take care of the results.

In May of 2017 I mentally broke down.

I would sit all day in my office and stare at my blank computer screen, knowing I should do something, wanting to do something, and just not being able to. Additionally, when I was alone in the building, I would lock the door to make sure nobody came in. I remember one particularly painful day where someone really wanted to get into the church, and they were banging, kicking the door, they were calling out, yelling my name, but I sat in my office panicked that I might have to interact with someone, and hoping they wouldn’t find out I was actually in the building.

This is not the natural state of mind for me, I was someone who started a church in Point Douglas and emphasized the idea that relationship was what we needed to have, in order to establish this church, and relationship had been established with many, many people…to my joy!

It took me a few weeks to take the step to talk to someone, and deal with this. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid to look weak, I was afraid to admit that the things I was responsible to accomplish, were not being accomplished, I was afraid to admit that I needed help, and that I couldn’t do it on my own, I was afraid to show that I was weaker than I wanted to be. I WAS AFRAID!

If I had cancer, would I be afraid to admit I needed to get treatment?

My church was absolutely and stunningly supportive of me, and I was immediately granted a month off. I was diagnosed with Vicarious Trauma, which, I was told, had very similar symptoms to PTSD, it’s just that the trauma was trauma that I witnessed, not what I directly experienced. It was also suggested by my professional’s that I had compassion fatigue and burnout.

Thank the Lord, I have received good treatment for all of this, and even though it has seemed to take an eternity, I am getting back to feeling like myself. In fact, I think I am so much better! I have recognized so many things about myself over the last 1 and 1/2 years, and I have grown to be a more robust person thanks to the help of God, my family, my friends, my church, my mental health professionals and to a lot of grinding through some really hard days!

Let’s remember to talk about mental health as if it is any other kind of illness. I think this will help us to connect better as people, and to really understand one another. Let’s remove the barrier of fear, and replace it with care for one another.

Over the years of being at Grace Point and in the community of North Point Douglas, I have learned so much! I have seen a lot of things that I never thought I would see, and experienced things that would never happen to me living in the suburbs. At various times, I would write down some of these stories, but never knew how to share them. I have now decided that I will tell some of those stories, and post them here.

I hope that together we can learn more about and from the amazing people I get to encounter, I also hope to bridge the divide between “us” and “them.” Regardless of which “us” you identify with, and which side of “them” you look down on.

Many times I will just post the story, and not too much analysis, other times, I will let you in on what I have learned. Hopefully you will feel free to comment what you think, and interact with me.

Below you will find a few stories that I have already posted, and I will continue to regularly do so in this space. If you would like to follow along you can subscribe by email. If you think someone you know would benefit from these stories, I would be honoured if you shared a link on your social media.

I was driving down the street when I noticed two people lying on the sidewalk right in front of this building:

I was just considering keeping on going, when I noticed two things.  First of all, there was a little play structure in front of the building, second of all, a woman (presumably an employee, on a smoke break) was walking out towards them with a sideways look.

I decided to pull over and help.  We both got to the couple at about the same time and we tried to rouse them, at first by speaking loudly, then shouting, then shaking them.  The woman was lying on her side, the man on his back, she had her leg wrapped around his, and was resting her head on his chest.

Eventually, the man woke up.  I said, “are you OK?” “Yes,” he mumbled.  “Do you know where you are?” “Portage,” he said.  “Actually, no, you are in Winnipeg.” “What’s your name?” “Dougie.”

The woman from the building told them that they needed to leave, there would be kids there soon, and they didn’t want people passed out on the sidewalk when they showed up.

The woman on the ground woke up, “are you OK?” I asked.  “Yeah,” she says.  “Do you know where you are?” “No,” she says.  “You’re in Winnipeg.” “Winnipeg…” she says with a look of bewilderment through the haze of her chemically corrupted mind.  “When did I leave Ontario?”

The man wants a cab, I help him get up off the ground, the woman from the building asks if they have money, he says they do.  At that moment, a cab pulls out of the back lane 15 feet from us.  The man starts waving the cab down.  The cabbie stops, hesitates, looks at the man, assesses the situation, and peels out of there.  “C’mon, don’t be a prick!” says the woman from the building.  I can identify with the cabbie.

Now we help the woman get up, but I realize that she will not let me take her by one of her hands. “I cut my cast off last night,” she says, it’s not supposed to come off until June 22nd (it’s May 30th).  The woman from the building says, “well you need to get to the doctor.”  We begin to discuss the possibility of going to Mt. Carmel clinic…half a block away.  Eventually they agree that they will go, although, I’m not really sure they agreed, but they started slowly, unsteadily walking with me to the clinic.  It takes about 15 minutes to walk the half block.  They were easily distracted and we were behind a bar.

As we get close to the clinic the woman (Susan) pulls me aside and points at her face (she had two black eyes and blood under her nose), then turns her body so that the man can’t see her hands, and with this incredibly dark fear in her eyes she points to him.  She is telling me that he did this to her.  Then she points to her hand (the broken one) and does the same thing.

We get into the clinic, and they kind of give us the run around, and make us wait for a bit, Dougie heads to the bathroom at one point when Susan doesn’t see him.  Eventually she is wondering where he is and starts to panic.  She does not want to be without this man who apparently beats her badly.

We find him as he comes out of the bathroom, and they start to head for the door against my protests.  We head outside, and I am about to just let them wander off and do their own thing.  Susan sees a man walking towards us, she gets that same crazy fear in her eyes and starts to run the other direction and crashes straight into Dougie, she bounces off him and falls flat on her back.  Her glasses go flying and I am not sure if she cracked her head on the ground.  I go to her and ask her if she is ok.  Eventually she gets up (the man just walks by as if nothing was going on – I’m sure he’s an innocent bystander).

We decide to go back into the clinic.  Eventually, a nurse (or someone) comes to talk to Susan, and I notice and come join the conversation.  We get talking and she tells me that she used to go to Church of the Open Door.  Then we meet the nurse that we were supposed to, she basically tells us that we need to go to the hospital, emergency.

Susan is upset, and can’t figure out why these people wouldn’t give her a cast.  By this time there are nurses and receptionists watching our whole drama unfold.  The security guy appears and is standing there making sure there is no trouble.  Susan says to me, “can’t they just give me some cement, and I’ll pour it over my arm?!” I responded with, “well, if you want, I can take you to Home Depot and we can pick up some cement…”  all the people watching the situation laugh loudly.

We walk out, and I am trying to figure out what to do next, call a cab to bring them to HSC? Just leave them to their own devices?

My heart settles on giving them a ride, although I am not convinced I really want that.  As we are walking over they began to have a small spat, I wasn’t even looking, but then I heard a sound, turned to look and Dougie’s hat is flying off his head as Susan retracts her good hand from his facial area.  Dougie goes down on one knee, holding his nose.  Susan is saying things like, “Oh, what, you can do this to me? and nobody cares, and now your doing this? Get up you faker!”  Dougie is down for a good while, and I begin to wonder if he is OK.  He gets up, and Susan gets that look of fear in her eyes again and moves so that I am between her and him.  He isn’t responding with violence, but I do notice that blood is beginning to trickle down from his nose.

I start to wonder if maybe Susan’s black eyes and broken hand were from a different source than Dougie…if she is so violent why couldn’t she have broken her hand on his face…or someone else’s and gotten into a big fight.

“Do I really want this in my car?” I think to myself.  We get to my car and Dougie gets in the back behind the passenger seat.  Susan doesn’t want to get in the front, “He’s gonna strangle me!” she says.  I ask Dougie to move over to sit behind me, he does, Susan get’s in and we drive over to HSC.

When we get there, I pull in beside the Emergency and let them out.  They say “thanks,” and walk towards the door.  I pull away and head on with my day, wondering what this all means and if I did anything right in that situation.

I felt like that was the lowest I had seen someone.  It had to be such a horrible place to be.  Such a desperate situation, such a hopeless time in order to end up that rough, and that out of it.  I began to hope well for them, and especially that the cycle of violence, and hurt would end for them soon…but not really being all that hopeful…

I went for lunch at the Yale with a friend, and we had an incredibly honest conversation, it was amazing to be able to hear honestly about how he was doing. We used to do that quite often, but it had been a while, a I realized how much I missed that.  He had been struggling lately, but really not wanting to admit that he was, now he was facing some trouble with the law again, and his probation was in breech.  We had a great discussion about what to do, and how to own up to his mistakes and we talked about howto walk through some of the troubles he was going to face.

After lunch I went to pay and realized that I didn’t have any cash on me! I felt horrible, and asked the lady if I could run over to Mount Carmel Clinic to the ATM to get some money…she said that was fine…I could pay her back next time (sometimes I am amazed at the trust in the North End!). I said I would be right back with the money.

We walked over to Mt. Carmel, and when we got there we noticed a very intoxicated man who had a bike rigged up with lots of bags, and about 7-8 layers of clothing on, all very dirty…all signs that he had been sleeping on the streets. He was speaking very animatedly to a security guard outside the clinic.  The guard looked a little troubled by the conversation, but the man seemed harmless to me, so we went inside and got some money from the machine.

When we came out I interrupted the conversation between the intoxicated man and the security guard to say hello, I asked how he was doing.  He talked about sleeping on the streets the last while and how he had been very cold.  “It has been very cold lately,” I said.  The security guard was antsy, and I could tell he wanted the man to leave, so I asked him if he would come walk with me over to the Yale.  The man said yes and started to come with us, but then turned back at the security guard and said, “but I am not finished with him yet!” I tried to convince him to come, but he wasn’t, he said to the security guard, “I am going to hurt you!” “C”MON,” I said, “You don’t have to talk like that!” He persisted, “I am going to cut you open and have you for a BBQ!” he said in his slurred tones.  “ENOUGH of that,” I said, “come with me, I will buy you a burger at the Yale.”  “But I’m not finished with him yet,” he muttered.  “Go with the man,” the security guard said, “he will buy you a burger.”

After more ridiculous (and horrifying) threats, he started to get his stuff together to come with us, Don pulled me aside and said, “Trevor, are you sure you want to do this?” in a nervous tone.  “It’ll be fine,” I said.  We walked over to the Yale, as I carried a couple of his bags and Daniel (the man’s name) pushed his bike along.  I found myself trying to hold the bags away from my legs as I walked, unsure about what contaminating substance might be on them! We got to the Yale and I put down his bags outside and said, “why don’t you wait out here while I get a burger?”  We went inside, paid our bill and ordered another burger.

When I went outside to give Daniel his burger I hoped the whole episode would be over. He said, “thanks,” then tears started to well up in his eyes, “My mother passed away today, ” he blubbered. I was so done with him, and I couldn’t tell if this was actually what happened today, or if his intoxicated state was bringing him back to that time and place.  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said.  I could tell he wanted to talk some more, but I was getting uneasy and ready to move on.  I said, “Can I pray for you?” a Pastor’s go-to when wanting to be done the conversation. I did, I put my hand on Daniels shoulder and stood in front of the Yale and prayed for Daniel, and the passing of his Mom, for the hope that he could have in Jesus, and said “Amen.”  He also said, “Amen,” and thanked me for the prayer.

Daniel leaned over to give me a hug.  I could smell the smell of alcohol, tobacco, B.O. and dirty clothes mingled together as I hesitantly returned the hug, “Goodbye,” I said, as I walked away.  I felt as though what I should have done, was not done – which is who knows what, but I walked away anyway.  Daniel was muttering something, I’m not sure what it was, but I imagined him mumbling, “Oh you Christians, all you do is try to get rid of people like me, screw all of you and your God too if that’s the way his followers treat me, I need some help, my Mom, she just died! Help me!”

As we walked away my friend  shared with me how impressed he was with me and how I handled this, this was a street hardened young man who was scared while I was calm.  However, I did not receive his compliments well, I was racked with guilt over not responding when I should have.

This is hard! Working in the inner-city, I see a lot of things I never would have anywhere else. Every person I see tends to be in some sort of urgent situation that feels like it needs immediate attention. I find myself always attempting to give that attention, and that is tiring, that is a huge weight. How can one person help 5-10 people through their daily emergency each and every day. So-and-so is getting hit by her boyfriend, I think so-and-so might be getting molested, so-and-so will be homeless if they can’t get $200 together, so-and-so is so drunk they can’t find their way home, so-and-so hasn’t eaten in three days.

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!? I love these people, they are my friends, and they are in crisis. I asked my friend Robb Massey that question one day over lunch, and his response caught me.

The people in Point Douglas, they need you, they need you to be there a long time. They need someone who is committed to them, and doesn’t just show up pretending to care and leaving when it get’s hard, so “…It’s more important that you are there 12 years, then that you respond to whatever current emergency there is.”

Woah, I knew he was right, I knew I was being very reactionary, and not thinking about how to be there for this community for the long term. I know I need to think like this more often.

It is more important that I be here for a long time, then that I respond to whatever current emergency there is.

I have been on a few mission trips, and I have taken young people on a number of them as well.  I understand that they can be intimidating and scary.  You are headed to a new place, a new culture and you are being asked to connect with the people and try to make a difference in their lives, THAT’S PRESSURE!!

Well, I have a friend who loves to go on mission trips, he loves them so much he doesn’t wait for some organization to send him, he gathers up Bible’s and goes.  Here is a guy who loves to talk about Jesus and share his passion for Jesus with the people around him.  When I first met him, a couple months ago, he told me about a mission trip he had done, where he hopped in a canoe and paddled down the Red River, across Lake Winnipeg and to a Reserve to hand out Bibles, he stayed for a while, prayed with people and paddled back home.

One time I noticed I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks, and the next time I saw him he declared, “I went on another mission trip!” He spoke emphatically with his whole body. “I got my Bible Dealer to give me 100 Bibles and I hitchhiked my way up to the Brokenhead Reserve.  The Holy Spirit was so present with me through this whole thing, which is such a good thing because there was so much darkness up there.  I was just surrounded by it! The drugs, the sex, the sniffing, you name it, it was happening, all around me, I had to get out of there.” “You wouldn’t believe it, I wound up staying with a believer, she took me in and fed me for the whole time I was there!” “Did they know you were coming?” I asked.  “Oh no, I just went up there on my own, once I got all of the Bibles distributed, I needed to get out of there.”

A few weeks later I asked him if I could buy him lunch, when we met he told me that he was headed on another mission trip up to a Reserve that afternoon.   He talked and talked about these discipleship programs that he had been to all over North America, that had given him all this training that lead to this moment.  I asked him what kind of programs they were.  He started telling me about 6 or 7 programs he had been to…they were all addictions programs.  He said, “I am trying to get people to follow Jesus, because if they follow me, they will fall!”

I asked him how long he had been clean and sober, and the look on his face told me I had asked the wrong question, or at least made the wrong assumption.  He mumbled something about being sober for a long time, “but I drink every now and then.”  “The last two times I went on a mission trip, I had a real hard time trusting God to help me through it, so the night before I left, I GOT TOTALLY HAMMERED!”

I think that’s what they call, liquid courage.

I think it’s amazing though, here is this young man, who truly loves Jesus, and is an imperfect human being, but is being used to do amazing things! Sounds like pretty much every Christian I know.

I have a friend, let’s call him George. When I first met George, he was always moving, always doing something, and if you spoke with him…you didn’t actually speak, it was impossible. He would not stop talking, or leave any room for you to say anything back. The topics he spoke about were always intense, politics, the 1%, the environment, or music, but music at a level of intensity that is difficult to imagine.

George was also very paranoid, and constantly afraid that people were judging him, backstabbing him or just in general hating on him in an unjustified way.

Perhaps that was why he was uninterruptable, that way you didn’t have a chance to judge him, that way you couldn’t have hurt him. He would often come up, speak for 10-15 minutes and then leave.

One day, George came flying down the street on his bike straight towards me, he got off his bike about 3 feet from me while still riding at near full speed. He slammed his bike down, stormed up to me, and looked at me with intense anger, and yelled, “IS IT TRUE?! DO YOU HATE ME?!” and added quite a bit of other stuff, and words…I’ll let you filll in the blanks however you want…

When I got the chance, actually before I got the chance (since George is uninterruptable, you have to just barge in with your own words) “GEORGE, IT IS NOT TRUE! I LOVE YOU!” It’s a little weird to yell those words at someone, but that’s what I needed to do, so he would actually hear them above his own rambling anger. I said it a few more times, and put my hand on his shoulder gently to indicate it with touch. All of the sudden George softened. “YOU DO?” he yelled. “I do,” I said gently. “Well…thanks,” he said, “that’s so nice!” and he rode off.

A few weeks later George started coming to Grace Point’s services. He was still himself, very intense and uninterruptable, pacing in and out of the building, grabbing coffee, spilling coffee, yelling at people and always getting someone ticked. But he was there, and we tried our best to love him.

A few weeks after coming to Grace Point, George came up to me and said, “I’VE BEEN READING THE BIBLE, AND IT BELIEVES EVERYTHING I BELIEVE IN!” We spoke – or he spoke – some more and I left the monologue wondering, “is this what a conversion looks like for someone like this?”

About one year later, we were continuing to experience George, he got involved more, playing guitar, hurting people, and being part of our church family.

One day as a few of us on leadership were talking we wondered out loud, “are we really doing anything here?” One person said, “Look at George! of course we are!” We all kind of looked at each other a little skeptically, “George?!” “George is our shining light?!”

Then we started to reflect on it:

One person said, “yeah, he is being helpful around the building like crazy!”

another, “I went for lunch with him the other day, and I shared with him! He didn’t even interrupt me!”

another, “he sits longer, and he’s really listening to the messages during the service!”

another, “he is friendly, and sometimes serves others coffee when he’s up wandering around during the service!”

another, “sometimes he doesn’t dominate the conversation at Bible Study!”

Wow! This is what progress looks like! I love George!