Does God Want a Van in Narcanistan?

While the sudden and vast influx of the perilously potent drug Fentanyl across the US-Mexico border makes headlines, the mercy and grace of God recently led me into a life-and-death encounter with the beautiful soul of one of its victims--a homeless man.  It changed my perspective on the spiritual and physical wars our world faces, emergency medical care in our communities, and how simply and readily we can all be of real help.  Please allow me to share the story.

I’m a Navy veteran, and I deployed with the Joint Special Operations Command to Iraq and the Marine Corps to Afghanistan.  As a woman, I was especially tasked with working in the villages, often rendering aid to address basic needs among the most disenfranchised populations, as I could go where men were not allowed.  My work was in intelligence, and I learned quickly the effectiveness and winning strategy of compassionately-delivered food and medical aid.

I was given fantastic training in cutting-edge emergency medicine, and I developed a passion for it.  So, in recent months, I decided to get a license to volunteer as an EMT.  I never imagined I’d have to use the skills I just refreshed so quickly.  However, when friends suggested that pancakes sounded good after Mass, Mamma Giovanna, the superior of our little emerging community and I made a fateful trip to Walmart for a griddle.

Even in a relatively well-off town like ours, the stretch of road leading to Walmart is dotted with rent-by-the hour motels, those blatant facilitators of human trafficking and the drug trade that enslaves its victims.  We saw a commotion of homeless people trying desperately to flag down a car from the sidewalk, so Mamma managed a heroic driving maneuver, and I ran to see the problem.

Surrounded by his frantic friends, a man lay on the sidewalk, not breathing and without a pulse.  He was still warm, and his eyes had the tragically common characteristic appearance of an opioid overdose.  Opioid overdoses can be reversed with the drug Narcan, but obviously, the patient must be alive to receive it.  Mamma ran to call 911 for Narcan, and I began CPR.  

In a moment of God’s mercy beyond my imagination, to the tearful joy of the friends who held his wrist, the man regained a pulse.  He could not breathe, so I breathed for him until the police arrived with the Narcan, which revived him completely.  He lived!  I held his face as he recovered and spoke to him of Jesus’ love for his soul, though I was painfully aware that without a priest, this man faced the edge of his eternity with only Mamma’s good prayers and my poor words.

Then, the strange situation took an unimaginable turn and evidenced an even more widespread tragedy.  When an ambulance crew finally arrived, I was vehemently berated for using mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  I understand the COVID-era concern, and had I been prepared for the emergency, I would have had a specialized mask for the administration of CPR.  I explained, however, that because I had no equipment and the man was not breathing, I did not see an alternative.

In front of the overdose victim’s friends, who I presume may face the same difficulties of addiction that he did, along with the suffering that led to addiction in their lives, the ambulance crew responded in a manner that clearly proclaimed, “He is addicted.  Quite literally, he wasn’t worth your breath.”  

I know, my Faithful brothers and sisters reading, that you don’t see this man’s soul as the world sees it but as God sees it: equally worthy of love and assistance as any of ours--and perhaps even more so through the eyes of Mercy.  The exhausted EMS system, however, can not be blamed for lacking this perspective when they are caught in a seemingly endless war.  They call this war Narcanistan.  

I suggest that Narcanistan is a proxy war for even greater spiritual battles.  The fentanyl crisis has made this clear.  Now that opioid addiction has reached epidemic levels in the US and worldwide, and is especially endemic in vulnerable populations like those with physical and psychological disabilities and veterans (who have been prescribed opiates in unimaginably irresponsible numbers), the drug fentanyl has begun to flood our country at extremely low prices with a potency that can kill in measurements of micrograms.  

The DEA reports that 26% of tested tablets of fentanyl contain a lethal dose, and 10 western states like mine have reported a 98% increase in overdose deaths over recent months with fentanyl as a primary driver.  These odds are crueler than those of Russian roulette, yet the addicted poor are all but forced to accept them, as fentanyl is made to be the most affordable and accessible synthetic opioid available.  Is it surprising that it is distributed by cartels who flaunt their open espousal of evil?  

Truly, the fentanyl crisis can be seen as little less than an extermination campaign targeting society’s weak and vulnerable: an extension of the culture of death onto a new battleground.  The soul I met on the street was a casualty of this war with evil.  The bottle the police took from his pocket contained fentanyl, pressed into little pills made to look just like the drug to which he was addicted.  The circumstances that led to that addiction were probably more tragic than most of us could ever bear, as an addict is often a victim of trafficking forced into drug abuse by his or her captors.

Narcanistan is not just a war for lives, but a war to bring our world’s most injured and suffering souls to Christ’s love, healing, and salvation.  It’s a war against an evil that seeks both their spiritual and physical demise.  Such wars are winnable with God’s help and our hands.  So I wonder, is it time to bring the special forces tactics I once employed overseas to the spiritual warfare on our streets?  These tactics begin with accessible emergency medical aid and include the bare-bones provision of basic physical needs.  Most important, however, to winning the war in Narcanistan, is the presence of a priest for the aid of souls.

How can this be accomplished?  Mamma Giovanna identified the need and Fr. Bill Sanchez, with long service among the homeless population, suggested a brilliantly simple solution.  How about we take to the streets in a vehicle like a van?  We’ll label it S.O.S.--a universal call for aid which stands for Save Our Souls, the aim of the mission.  In the van, we’ll place an experienced priest and counselor along with well-trained medical aid providers operating under good Samaritan provisions in environments where medical emergencies are apt to occur and are underserved by local EMS, and we’ll make sure we have all the equipment necessary for safety.  

Could you do the same in your community?  Can you help us with this mission in ours?