Blown Away: From Drug Dealer to Life Bringer: Foreword by HRH THE PRINCE OF WALES

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I somehow drove the car to a nearby industrial estate and, probably for the first time since I was a little boy, I prayed. It was a demand more than a prayer: “God, if you’re real, you’d better help me!” I got no reply. Then, I got arrested for a minor offence, and I was sectioned and put into a mental health unit for about four months. There was a nun who used to bring me communion. She’d touch my face and say: “God bless you.” This elderly lady taught me that Jesus did love me. As it got to quarter to seven, I thought: I’ve got to go. At seven, a man came round the corner. I’d never spoken to him before but he worked at the hostel. He was a recovering drug addict, and was running a Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meeting. So that’s how I got into recovery. We have our own counsellors, hot food, a food bank, showers, a needle exchange, washing machines, opticians, Citizens Advice. And we have prayer and Bible study, right in the middle of all that. On a Sunday, we have our Sunday services. You had a miraculous experience that led you to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Can you tell us about that?

Then I put the gun under my chin and pulled the trigger. Thank God it didn’t go off! I believe that God saved me in that moment, because I knew the firearm couldn’t jam. I don’t know if I thought it was Jesus, but I felt there was something bigger than me out there, and that gave me hope.I get more death threats as a Christian than I did when I was doing the other [criminal] stuff! The things that have been levelled at me did upset me: that I’m just a social worker and I’m not giving the gospel. I just think they’ve misunderstood the gospel. About six months later I was in McDonald’s. There was a guy who [I could tell] was an alcoholic. I got him a drink and a burger and started talking to him. I ended up getting him into [NA] meetings and he got clean.

The police got into their vans and off they went," he says. "Church on the Street was alive. We'd found a way to do church when all the others had closed." When I started to get lots of media interest, it was difficult. But now I know what God’s called me to do: open my mouth around social justice issues and give the gospel. I don’t really care whether people like me. I’ve only got what God’s given me to use, so I don’t apologise for it really. He writes in a colloquial style, no doubt to create a sense of authenticity. You have to get used to such sentences as “I began talking to my new pal the Holy Ghost. . .” Yet he has a degree in theology from Manchester University. I have been fortunate not to be doing really big long sentences. I call it a blessing but on the other hand I think I have done a life sentence in my head. I had many guns. In the world where I was working it was so easy to get firearms." I have been arrested for every serious offence you can think of," he admits with candour. They were leading the life of hurting other people, so drug dealers or whatever.

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When they got me out the door, I heard them bolt it behind me. I walked down the street, and a guy in a shop doorway asked: “Where are you going?” I said: “I don’t know.” He said: “Come and sit here.” He wrapped his quilt around me, put his hat on my head and poured cider into my mouth until the shakes stopped. Perhaps a more formal style might have enabled some better reflections; for the book conceals as much as it reveals. It is a collage of incidents and people from his life. There are enigmatic glimpses of his involvement with drugs and gangs and carrying a gun. He writes about his appalling treatment of his mother — he steals from her purse as she lies dying — his wives and children, though we have no idea what became of most of them. There seems little remorse for many of the lives that he must have blighted. Did you always see yourself leading a church one day? Or did Church on the Street come from something that you found missing in other places? I was sexually assaulted on my way to school by a stranger. I had to hide my crying because this man said he’d kill my mum and dad if I told them. I got up in the morning and decided I was going to tell my dad. But when I went downstairs, he said: “Sit down, your sister’s dead.”

We feed people outside, and we have maybe 2,000 people come through the doors [of our drop-in centre, The Hub] every week. We’re open every day except Saturday. We have nurses, doctors and a mental health team here. There is hot food available seven days a week and we have a huge food bank. We have showers and washing machines and dryers to help the homeless and others.I met Jesus in the shop doorway, not in the church. Where else would he have been? I wanted to be part of a church where Jesus was in the shop doorway, and it didn’t exist. When I was homeless, on my first night ever sleeping on the street, I went into a church. They had tea and biscuits and stuff. I was shaking, because if I didn’t drink, I could have a fit. They were nice people, but they couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Born into a working-class Catholic family in Burnley, Fleming’s life took a terrible turn when he was raped on his way to school, aged just eleven. In an unbelievably tragic twist, his older sister died that very same night. Not knowing how to process his pain led to a lifetime of drug and alcohol abuse, violence and crime. When I read this autobiography, therefore, I knew about his work and that he had turned his life around — “from drug dealer to life bringer”. So I looked for some insight into how someone is drawn to criminality in the first place and how they get themselves out of it: critical issues, if we are to reduce crime. It’s worse now. The need is rising, but the resource is less. We’ve got more working poor and pensioner poverty. Children are undernourished and we’re seeing more disabled people sleeping rough. I could go on and on.

He started his ministry by sitting by a McDonald's restaurant and befriending the homeless and hungry. Now his Church on the Street is a hive of activity, thanks to donations from those who have been inspired by his message of faith and hope. It was that simple. Peace flooded in. It transformed me. I used to think that forgiveness was putting my arms around somebody and saying: “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine!” That’s not my understanding now.

I love the royals but with my past I never thought they'd let a royal come within 200 yards of me, never mind shake my hand and stuff," he says. "I thought it was a bit mad." During Covid, everything was shut. Even the churches were furloughing people. But we’re Church on the Street, so that’s where our church was and is – so we found ways to stay open. They couldn’t hold it together. And I was holding them in my arms and praying for them while they were crying, wanting life – while churches were shut. I might have been wrong in what I did, but I was trying to keep people alive long enough to hear the gospel, because I knew what it had done for me. Sometimes it’s more like running a hospital, but I think that’s what the Church should be. You’ve got Christ in the centre, and you are being “doers of the word” (James 1:22, NKJV). The secular come in, and they end up becoming Christians – not by us preaching at them, but by the work we do. Eventually, a breakdown and several miraculous encounters led him to find hope and healing in Jesus.