It Was “Fifty” Years Ago Today

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Fifty years ago, in early June, 1967, the Beatles’ eighth studio album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, made its way to American ears for the first time. Recorded over a four-and-a-half month period at Abbey Road Studios (formerly EMI), the album inspired both lavish praise and pointed criticism, not to mention a half-century debate over the album’s place in the history of rock and roll.

While I am committed to avoiding the kind of overstatements that often become bigger than the album itself, I remain convinced that Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band represents a uniquely significant expansion of everything from recording technique to album art; everything from eclectic musicianship to innovative instrumentation; everything from evocative storytelling to stylistic experimentation. Whether or not one cares for the Beatles’ music, there is an excellent chance that, wherever one’s musical preferences lead, he or she will listen to many artists that have somehow been influenced by the impulses and musicianship embodied by Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

The songs, while strangely connected, take the listener to many different worlds. Some of those world are whimsical. Others are tragic. The creative musicality that holds the worlds together is what is most striking. It elevates the Beatles above other bands of the era (or any era) in terms of musical innovation and eclecticism. In many ways, it also elevates popular music to an art form.

While “A Day in the Life” is the song on the album that normally garners the most attention (no doubt because of its grand instrumentation and thematic creativity), my personal favorite is “She’s Leaving Home.” It is a haunting musical description of a young girl’s experience of running away. The melody line, more modal than tonal, beautifully captures the sadness and angst of the story. The sparse but poignant instrumentation heightens the sense of the voice’s isolation. The fact that both the girl and her parents “speak” in the song indicates a poetic complexity rarely embraced in the popular music of that era.

I invite you to listen to “She’s Leaving Home.” Allow it to remind you of a moment fifty years ago when a rock album intersected, artistically and truthfully, with real world dynamics.

“She’s Leaving Home” (John Lennon and Paul McCartney)

Wednesday morning at five o’clock
As the day begins
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more

She goes downstairs to the kitchen
Clutching her handkerchief
Quietly turning the backdoor key
Stepping outside, she is free

She
(we gave her most of our lives)
Is leaving
(sacrificed most of our lives)
Home
(we gave her everything money could buy)
She’s leaving home, after living alone, for so many years (bye bye)

Father snores as his wife gets into her dressing gown
Picks up the letter that’s lying there
Standing alone at the top of the stairs
She breaks down and cries to her husband
“Daddy, our baby’s gone.
Why would she treat us so thoughtlessly?
How could she do this to me?”

She
(we never thought of ourselves)
Is leaving
(never a thought for ourselves)
Home
(we struggled hard all our lives to get by)
She’s leaving home, after living alone, for so many years

Friday morning, at nine o’clock
She is far away
Waiting to keep the appointment she made
Meeting a man from the Motortrade

She
(what did we do that was wrong)
Is Having
(we didn’t know it was wrong)
Fun
(fun is the one thing that money can’t buy)

Something inside, that was always denied, for so many years
She’s leaving home, bye, bye

13 Reasons Why

At the recommendation of a friend who knows me well, I made the time recently to watch the first season of the Netflix series, “13 Reasons Why” (based on the 2007 novel of the same title). It is a hard-hitting and sobering treatment of a variety of gut-wrenching issues faced by young people (and older people) in modern times: suicide; drug and alcohol abuse; bullying; body-shaming; the complexity of social media; sexual pressure and assault; fiercely-guarded cliques; disappointing friendships; heartbreaking family dynamics; betrayal. At its essence, the show tells the story of a young, vibrant, and broken soul named Hannah Baker and the “13 reasons why” she chooses to end her life.

There is considerable debate around “13 Reasons Why.” Some critics and counselors believe that it romanticizes suicide and nurtures the dangerous idea that suicide can be justified by a set of clearly articulated reasons. Other critics and counselors believe that, if it is experienced in the context of healthy community, the show can be a powerful doorway into important and life-saving conversations about matters too frequently ignored. This debate, I think, is worth having but cannot be resolved here.

So, why am I writing about “13 Reasons Why”? To tell you the truth, I am not sure. I think it has something to do with the tears that I shed toward the end of the final episode. Tears over Hannah’s loneliness, isolation, and heartbreaking decisions. Tears over how cruel people can be to one another. Tears over what I would imagine is an all-too-realistic depiction of some of the dynamics of high school life.

My experience with “13 Reasons Why” made me want to listen more attentively to the people around me so as not to miss their joy and their pain. It made me want to repent of all the different ways in which I have been guilty of bullying or ostracizing—through my fierce arguments or my insensitive words or my harmfully-wielded opinions or my posture of defensiveness. Most of all, it made me want to value young people even more deeply and to invest more of myself in the journeys that they are navigating.

If you ever consider the possibility of watching “13 Reasons Why,” please know that it is not for those who prefer their television shows to be thoroughly sanitized. It does not look away from the ugly circumstances that many people face, including suicide (meaning that potential viewers need to be aware of the starkness of the show and the possible emotional triggers that it may present). There are plot contrivances that sometimes hinder the storytelling and sub-narratives that occasionally strain the viewer’s credulity. But, by the end of season 1, I felt as though I had been ushered into an important story, one that illuminates both the sweet delight and the crushing despair that might reside within the heart of the person standing right next to us.

Clay, Hannah’s friend, gives expression to the new kind of community that he hopes Hannah’s death will inspire: “It has to get better,” Clay says. “The way we treat each other and look out for each other, it has to get better somehow.”

Indeed. It has to.

Finer Footwear

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I remember being in the presence of real violence for the very first time. I was in kindergarten. The kickball game at recess had been interrupted because two of my classmates were arguing over a play at first base:

“I was safe!”

“No! You were out!”

The argument escalated until one of the boys balled up his fist and hit the other boy squarely in the face. Standing close by, I was horrified by the unmistakable sound of flesh smashing against flesh. The boy who had been hit fell to the ground. I stood there, transfixed by the intensity of the moment and nauseated by the sight of blood trickling out of the fallen boy’s mouth.

I won’t ever forget that moment. In my mind, I can still hear the punch. It was my brutal initiation into a violent world—a world of warfare and terrorism; a world of hateful words and bitter feuds; a world in which children learn to fight one another over something as insignificant as a kickball game.

The fact that we live in the midst of such violence makes the following words of Scripture all the more meaningful: “As shoes for your feet, put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the Gospel of Peace” (Ephesians 6:15). These words unsettle me whenever I read them (which I did just this morning). They unsettle me because of the way in which they bring to light the fact that, in my personal spiritual garb, I am often much more drawn to the combat boots of coercion and contempt than I am to the shoes of the Gospel of Peace.

When I reflect upon this particular portion of the spiritual armor of God, I am instantaneously reminded that the way of Christ invites me to become more passionate about reconciliation than I am about retaliation; more passionate about mercy than I am about manipulation; more passionate about patient listening than I am about winning the argument.

I may not have the wherewithal as an individual soul to bring peace to the Middle East. I may not possess the necessary influence to end all manifestations of warfare. But will the fact that I cannot create ALL peace prevent me from creating SOME peace? Will I dare to incarnate the Gospel of Peace in my little corner of the world? Will I allow myself to be so inwardly transformed by the Holy Spirit that I become a peacemaker in my home, in my family, in my neighborhood, in my network of relationships, in the rhythms of social media, and in the hallways of my church? What might such a peace-making life look like for me?

As I type these words, I am praying that I will begin to make a more substantive place in my spiritual wardrobe for the shoes that enable me to proclaim the Gospel of Peace wherever I walk. I am envisioning the kind of “wardrobe expansion” that produces a counter-cultural disciple whose words are edifying rather than insulting, whose demeanor is engaging rather than dismissive, and whose governing passion is for authentic relationship rather than acrimonious division? Then, and only then, will I be able to say with integrity that I am a proclaimer and practitioner of the Gospel of Peace.

Bridge

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About a month ago, I woke up at 2:15 in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. I knew that it was going to be one of those nights–or mornings. For some reason, in those restless moments, I was thinking about “The Bridge,” our new weekly worship experience that launches this Saturday, May 6, at 7:00 p.m. “The Bridge” is open to all, but it offers a particularly attentive welcome to those individuals and families that are currently accommodating the struggle of addiction or the journey of addiction recovery.

My mind was flooded with both deep concerns and desperate hopes in the hours of my sleeplessness. “Will people support yet another worship experience in our church and in the city of Butler? Have we rightly heard the voice of God on this? How will we sustain this service for the long haul? Do we have what it takes? Do I have what it takes? Will God raise up a congregation that sees the urgency of gathering each week simply to sing praises and to pray and to declare that the Lordship of Jesus holds authority over the drug epidemic of our community? What about the adults and young people of our community who are feeling crushed by the burden of addiction? Will they dare to believe that a place like the the church has a loving and hopeful word that is specifically for them?” Questions. Lots of them. My mind was racing.

Realizing that a return to sleep was nowhere close, I quietly made my way into our basement and sat at the electronic keyboard that we keep there. (A piano or keyboard is often where I place myself when I am confronted with things that are difficult for me to process. I think it helps me to pray.) As I allowed my hands to play some seemingly random chords, a pattern developed. Then a melody. Then a rhythm. Without really knowing what I was doing, I began to mumble these words to the music, quietly and clumsily: “Grant me serenity, to accept the things I cannot change.” When I paid attention to what I was mumbling, I realized that I was giving expression to what has come to be known as “The Serenity Prayer.” Written by American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr in the 1930s, “The Serenity Prayer” is still used by millions of recovering addicts and alcoholics as a spiritual doorway into prayerful surrender. In my sleeplessness, I was thinking about my addicted and recovering sisters and brothers and praying the same prayer that is so often upon their lips.

By 4:00 that morning, additional words started to form in my consciousness as I sat at the keyboard. By 5:10, I had an entire song. Songwriting does not often happen that quickly for me. That morning, it did.

So, as the launch of “The Bridge” draws near, it is on my heart to share with you a very rough version of the song that I wrote in those hours. I recorded the song hastily this morning on my iPhone. Please pardon the poor quality of the recording and my pitchiness. I felt a sense of urgency about sharing the song with you just as it is, even in its unfinished and unpolished state. A better recording will come in time.

I hope to teach this new song to the Bridge congregation this Saturday night at our first service. Perhaps it will will give to people a musical way to call to mind, not only a familiar prayer, but also the truth that Jesus is the most trustworthy bridge upon which a person can stand.

Thanks for listening. Here’s the song:

Bridge (words and music by Eric Park)

Grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change
Grant me courage to change the things I can
Grant me wisdom to understand the difference
Grant me strength to stand upon that bridge

You’re the bridge that leads to holy ground
You’re the bridge for captive souls unbound
You’re the bridge across a wildly raging sea
You’re the bridge into a serenity

Grant us patience to live one day and then the next
Grant us mercy, that sins will be made clean
Grant redemption, that life will be as you intend
Grant us grace to travel on that bridge

You’re the bridge that leads to love that heals
You’re the bridge that holds what God reveals
You’re the bridge that sets a lonely prisoner free
You’re the bridge into eternity

It’s a bridge we know will never fall
Come and see, there’s room for one and all
We will hear the call and come to take our part
Jesus is the Bridge to God’s own heart
Jesus is the Bridge to God’s own heart

A Vision for Discipleship

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We talk about discipleship in the life of the church all the time. But what is it? What does it mean to live a life of discipleship to Jesus? What does such a life look like, and what does it entail? Here are some of my personal reflections on the nature and content of the life of Christian discipleship. I offer these reflections as a work in progress, in the hope that they might help all of us to live more deeply into the life to which Jesus calls us.

A Vision for Discipleship
What is a life of discipleship to Jesus Christ?

1. A Recognition that Following Jesus Is a Good and Necessary Thing

“Jesus said, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him.” (Matthew 4:19-20)

Discipleship begins with the recognition that following Jesus is a good and necessary thing. This recognition can be inspired in various ways. For some, it is inspired by a personal awareness of sin and an equally personal need for a savior. For others, it is inspired by an intellectual conclusion based upon a theological conviction. For still others, it is inspired by an unnamable hunger to find alignment with matters of eternal significance. And yet, although the recognition comes in different ways for different people, it is always the result of God’s prevenient initiative, mysteriously and powerfully at work in human lives to draw people into the salvation that God desires for all the world’s people.

2. A Willingness to Turn Around

“Jesus said, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.’” (Mark 1:15)

In the journey of discipleship, the recognition of the goodness and necessity of Jesus is eventually accompanied by a willingness to take human sin seriously. More specifically, a disciple recognizes that sin has produced a spiritual chasm between humankind and God that humankind, on its own, does not have the capacity to bridge. Sin is collective and cosmic. It is also deeply personal—a rebellion in which each human being participates. Therefore, discipleship requires a personal turning around (a repentance) in which one begins to turn away from sin in order to turn toward the Christ who delivers us from sin. Such repentance enables disciples to become receptive to the cleansing and transforming grace of God. It is also the instrument through which one’s fondness for sin begins to decrease in order that one’s devotion to Jesus and his Way might increase.

3. A Relationship with Jesus as Savior

“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” (John 3:16)

In healthy discipleship, Jesus becomes more than a historical figure and moral example to be studied and admired. He becomes a Savior to be believed and embraced. Although the church’s doctrine concerning Jesus and the salvation that he makes possible reflects a noteworthy diversity, at the heart of these doctrines is the biblical conviction that Jesus, through his life, death, and resurrection, is a Savior sent by God to a world that desperately needs salvation. To embrace Jesus as Savior (and to be embraced by him) is to acknowledge the holy mystery that Jesus is the One who delivers us from sin, thereby enabling a reconciliation between a perfectly holy God and fallen human souls. When one trusts in Jesus for salvation, one stands justified before God, not because of one’s own righteousness, but because of the righteousness of Jesus that he has graciously imputed to us.

4. A Transformed Life

“Jesus answered…‘No one can see the kingdom of God without being born anew.’” (John 3:3)

The concept of spiritual rebirth has become greatly distorted and divisive over the years of Christian history, so much so that, in many circles, an artificial division is created between “born again Christians” and what might be labeled “normal” or “mainline” Christians. This division is as unfortunate as it is misleading. Rebirth, according to Scripture, is not a theological dividing point or litmus test. Rather, it is an experience of being so inwardly transformed by the reality of Jesus Christ that one begins to think differently, act differently, prioritize differently, and live differently, all because the Way of Jesus has now become one’s personal Way. For some, this rebirth is something dramatic and publicly obvious (such as an emotional experience at a church altar). For others, it is a quieter (but no less radical) reorientation of one’s life around the ethics and priorities of Jesus. And yet, no matter the particular experience of the rebirth, it is always the work of the Holy Spirit, bringing people into the new life that only Jesus Christ makes possible.

5. A Relationship with Jesus as Lord

“Then Jesus said, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’” (Luke 9:23)

Although discipleship demands a relationship with Jesus as Savior (which is often realized and personalized through a single decision and a momentary prayer), it also demands the lifelong journey of allowing Jesus to become the Lord of every segment of one’s life. This is the journey of allowing oneself to be remade daily into the likeness of Jesus, in such a way that every part of one’s life begins to bear witness to the reality of his Lordship. This experience of sanctification (being made holy) in Christ is the work of God’s grace and is nurtured through the practice of several important spiritual disciplines:

*The Discipline of Prayer—growing in one’s prayerful intimacy with God, so that prayer becomes a way of life

*The Discipline of Spending Time with Scripture—growing in one’s love for Scripture and one’s devotion to its revelation, so that studying Scripture and meditating upon its Truth becomes a personal priority

*The Discipline of Worship—growing in the communal and individual practice of offering to God heartfelt praise

*The Discipline of Alignment with the Church’s Ministry and Mission—growing in one’s relationship with the church, not to perpetuate an institution, but to deepen one’s discipleship and help others to do the same

*The Discipline of Gathering Regularly at the Lord’s Table—growing in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper and in an ever-deepening hunger for the bread of life and the cup of salvation

*The Discipline of Community—growing in one’s commitment to a covenantal and accountability-practicing community, since, according to Scripture, discipleship is to be personal but never privatistic or individualistic

*The Discipline of Stewardship—growing in the practice of honoring Jesus in the way one manages one’s financial resources, one’s time, and one’s talents

*The Discipline of Generosity—growing in a spirit of extravagant giving in such a way that one’s life begins to reflect the extravagant generosity of Jesus

*The Discipline of Outreach—growing in one’s participation in regular and tangible acts of ministry, mission, and evangelism, thereby putting hands, feet, and faces on the love of Jesus

*The Discipline of Working For Peace and Justice—growing both in one’s commitment to standing against all forms of evil and injustice and in one’s commitment to eradicating them in the church and world

*The Discipline of Love—growing in one’s devotion to loving God with heart, mind, and strength, and to loving one’s neighbor as one loves her/himself

While the different segments of discipleship described in this reflection have been enumerated in a numerically linear fashion, the life of discipleship is not always linear in its unfolding. Sometimes one finds oneself devoted to the sanctifying discipline of ministry or prayer long before coming to know Jesus as Savior. Likewise, the Holy Spirit will sometimes inspire a lifelong churchgoer to re-experience rebirth because of some newly discovered need for personal repentance and transformation.

Discipleship, in other words, is not a mathematical equation. It is a relational journey with Jesus Christ at its center. As is the case with any significant journey, discipleship is frequently unpredictable and unsettling. It will occasionally demand backtracking and unforeseen detours. And yet, if Christ remains at the center of the journey, one will have the blessed assurance that one is journeying in a redemptive direction and with the right Companion.

In John’s gospel, Jesus describes himself as the way, the truth, and the life. Ultimately, Christian discipleship is the transformational journey of allowing Jesus to become one’s personal WAY, one’s personal TRUTH, and one’s personal LIFE. Paradoxically, the journey is freely offered, yet it costs a life. The good news, however, is that it is the most abundantly joyful and blessed journey that one can ever experience.

Last Words

As this Holy Week moves steadily toward Golgotha, I offer this musical meditation upon the cross and the revelatory words that Jesus spoke there.

Last Words (words and music by Eric Park; performed by Tara and Eric Park)

Woman, now behold your son
Son, behold your mother here
Soon my journey will be done
My last breath is drawing near

It would ease my broken heart
If a family has begun
No need now to be apart
Woman, now behold your son

Man beside me, dying too
Penitent with your last breath
Hear now what I say to you
There is life beyond your death

Let me heal your broken heart
Let me set a captive free
I will gladly take your part
Come be in paradise with me

And the soldier that day
When he witnessed the way
The way in which Jesus did breathe his last breath
The soldier stood by
Wiped a tear from his eye, and said
“Surely we’ve beaten God’s own Son to death”
“Surely we’ve beaten God’s own Son to death”

Why have you forsaken me
Warmth of blood upon my brow
There’s no comfort on this tree
There’s no sense of your love now

It would ease my bitter pain
If you’d make your presence new
I thirst for water, fresh like rain
But even more I thirst for you

Father, now forgive this land
Unaware of what they do
They do not yet understand
By killing me they’re killing you

It is finished, life is done
My spirit’s in your gentle care
May the victory now be won
Bring me home, embrace me there

It would ease my broken heart
If my work were not in vain
Let my spirit now depart
Bring redemption to this pain

Opinions, Convictions, and Community

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It is an extended season of rancorous debate. In the surrounding culture, the tone of political conversation has a sense of frightening desperation about it. Even in the ecclesiastical world in which I live and breathe (United Methodism), the divisions in our church are often clearly and painfully illuminated.

As a follower of Jesus, I am interested, not only in the particular position that one holds on an issue, but also in the process by which he or she arrived at that position and, even more important, the way in which he or she engages with those on both sides of the issue.

I have long believed that arriving at a passionately held opinion is the least demanding portion of ethical discourse. Strong opinions, while they may involve a certain degree of deductive or inductive reasoning and sophisticated cognition, require no artistry, nuance, or relationship. They demand nothing more than an individual’s intellectual assent to an articulated position. Following the intellectual assent, the opinion often becomes as comfortable for its holder as rhythmic breathing—rarely contemplated, but regularly expressed.

Holding strong opinions is the easy part. Everyone can do it and normally does.

The real challenge of ethical discourse, however, involves the territory that surrounds the opinion. Has the opinion been reached in a manner that is intellectually holistic and experientially reinforced? Has the opinion been cultivated with a reasonable attentiveness to all of the available data and not simply the portions of data that reinforce our preexisting predilections? Has the opinion been liberated from the weight of rhetoric and tested with the scrutiny of an open and rigorous mind? And is the opinion held with the kind of flexible intellectual grip that permits illuminating engagement with differing viewpoints? These are the questions that lead one well beyond the simple speaking of one’s mind and into the undulating terrain of ethical contemplation and moral decision-making.

If one is a Christ-follower, the task becomes even more complex. Christianity’s narrative is one that is rich with seemingly absurd instructions: Do not simply speak the truth (or speak one’s mind), but “speak the truth IN LOVE” (Ephesians 4:15). Do not simply insist on a particular course of action, but reflect a spirit that is “not arrogant or rude…or irritable or resentful” (1 Corinthians 13:5). Do not become idolatrous about particular opinions, but be perpetually aware of the fact that “our knowledge is imperfect and our prophecy is imperfect” (1 Corinthians 13:9).

In the face of a rather complex social issue in his day, the Apostle Paul addressed the question of what Christ-followers are to do about eating meat that had been offered to idols, since there existed an ethical and theological disagreement between those who felt free to eat what they wanted and those who felt obligated to adhere to strict dietary laws. Paul’s counsel in the matter bears witness to his conviction that, at least in certain matters, the particular position one holds is less important than the manner in which she or he holds it: “We are no worse off if we do not eat, and no better off if we do. But take care that this liberty of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak…If food is the cause of [people’s] falling, I will never eat meat, so that I may not cause one of them to fall” (1 Corinthians 8:8-9, 13).

In this particular moment of Paul’s interpretation of Christian ethics, he expresses the rather countercultural idea that one’s individual viewpoint cannot be so monolithic and uncompromising that it refuses to allow for the preservation of that diverse and heterogeneous community that Christians call church. In other words, to borrow Paul’s language from earlier in this same portion of Scripture, love is the governor of individual opinions and not the other way around, since “knowledge puffs up but love builds up” (1 Corinthians 8:1).

What does all of this have to do with us? Consider this: Followers of Jesus, if they are to be true to the narrative by which they are called to live, must be specifically Christian, not only in the opinions that they hold, but also in the manner in which they arrive at those opinions, steward those opinions, and communicate those opinions. To borrow the Apostle Paul’s framework, Christ-followers are simply not permitted to elevate a particular conviction, whatever that conviction may be, above their moral responsibility to preserve and honor the kind of Christ-centered community that is durable enough to accommodate differing viewpoints without rancor, without malice, and without a sharp-edged insistence upon one’s own rightness.

The Christian narrative, of course, in no way removes from the Christ-follower the responsibility of developing and holding passionate personal convictions. Christians are not called to be devoid of individual perspective. What is powerfully unique about the Christ-follower’s individual perspective, though, is the way in which the Christ-follower is called to manage and articulate it. Specifically, Christ-followers are called to hold and offer their convictions in a manner that bears consistent witness to their stubborn refusal to value their opinions over their relationships with those who do not share them. I see this as a critical portion of the sanctification of individual perspectives. Granted, a person may eventually discern that it is time to separate from a particular segment of community because his or her convictions differ so substantively from the direction of that community that the convictions can no longer be lived out with integrity. Even on those occasions, however, the separation must be stewarded with the kind of durable love that seeks to build more bridges than walls, more understanding than condemnation.

Practically speaking, all of this will mean that Christ-followers will commit themselves to listening respectfully and attentively to opposing viewpoints, thereby avoiding the temptation to become nothing more than “a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.”

It will mean that Christ-followers on both sides of an issue will refuse to allow the issue itself to become a divisive litmus test for relationship, thereby ensuring a commitment to being “patient and kind…not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.”

It will mean that Christ-followers will be far more interested in standing on the solid ground of ever-expanding discernment than they are in jumping on the bandwagon of convenient and divisive rhetoric, thereby generating a spirit that “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

Most of all, it will mean that Christ-followers will live with a perpetual and holistic awareness of the fact that, irrespective of what decisions are made related to various issues, our life-giving hope and deepest deliverance are not to be found in a particular collection of viewpoints, but in Christ’s astoundingly gracious invitation to participate in an often countercultural and radically peaceable Kingdom in which “faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.”

Eighth Avenue Place

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Do you ever wake up with an impulse on your heart to pray about something in particular? That happens to me sometimes.

This morning, I woke up at 4:45 sensing that it was important for me to pray for a ministry that is dear to my heart. The ministry to which I am making reference is called Eighth Avenue Place.

Located in Homestead, Pennsylvania (in the heart of Pittsburgh’s “Steel Valley”), Eighth Avenue Place is a unique Christian community in which people living on the streets have coffee with suburbanites; in which people with divergent narratives and diverse racial and ethnic identities find themselves at the same table, worshiping and breaking bread; in which marginalized, disenfranchised, and addicted people often find themselves drawn more deeply into recovery, healing, and authentic relationships.

That is Eighth Avenue Place.

Through its professional counseling ministry, its addiction recovery ministry, its care for the homeless, its work in community development, and its dual commitment to Christocentric piety and holistic social justice, Eighth Avenue Place creates an always-welcoming “sanctuary” in which unique but interrelated souls might worship, pray, seek, weep, laugh, love, and be loved.

The ministry of Eighth Avenue Place is overseen largely by my friend and colleague, Pastor Keith Kaufold, and his wife Monica. In ways he probably doesn’t even realize, Keith always leads me to a deeper place through his sacrificial faithfulness, his willingness to laugh heartily at life’s absurdities, and his prophetic vision for Gospel-related transformation. Together, Keith and Monica (and those who lead and serve alongside them) are helping to build and sustain a desperately needed ministry of Christ-centered community in a time and place where trustworthy community can be difficult to find.

So, today, even as I type these words, I am praying for Eighth Avenue Place, its ministry, and its leadership. More specifically, I am praying that the Holy Spirit will be so dynamically present at Eighth Avenue Place that the transforming and life-giving presence of God will be experienced in every conversation there; in every cup of coffee consumed; in every moment of laughter, weeping, insight, and prayer. I am praying also that Keith, Monica, and all those involved in leadership there will experience a fresh and energizing joy, accompanied by a renewed sense of divine calling.

A few years back, Tara and I recorded an original song that represents our best effort to tell just a small part of the story of Eighth Avenue Place. I listened to the song this morning, and it led me into a more attentive experience of prayer for this ministry where “the suburbs intersect the streets,” where Jesus changes lives, and where servanthood is practiced in some wonderfully engaging ways. I hope that the song falls meaningfully upon your heart today.

Eighth Avenue
(words and music by Eric Park; recorded by Tara and Eric Park and Rick Witkowski)

Streets replete with untold stories
Buried dreams and hidden glories
Some hearts warm and others broken
Some prayers voiced and some unspoken
We are joined in our addiction
Some to wine and some to fiction
Scattered lives in search of center
Drawn to depths we rarely enter

The suburbs intersect the street
In this haven of commingled souls
And nothing ever tastes so sweet
As sacred food in simple bowls
Poverty and privilege meet
On common ground of what’s perceived as true
Unlikely saints, we now retreat
To respite on 8th Avenue

Black and white and every label
Gathered ‘round a common table
Funny how a truthful vision
Builds a bridge across division
Summer’s heat and winter’s coldness
Make the streets a place for boldness
Open door to those who travel
Open heart when lives unravel

Save the city, save its soul
We are broken, make us whole
On hardened streets
On satin sheets
We are broken, make us whole
We are broken. Always broken.

Streets replete with desperate voices
Fragile hopes and bitter choices
Open door to those who travel
Open heart when lives unravel
Wonder if they’d hear me screaming
Through the rainfall’s steady teeming
Wonder if they know I’m praying
Or care about the words I’m saying

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Journaling As a Spiritual Discipline

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I have practiced the spiritual discipline of journaling since my high school years. In my personal walk with Christ, journaling has proven to be one of my most reliable avenues into prayer, meditation upon biblical truth, and reflection upon the happenings of my life.

What is journaling? For me, it is the discipline of writing (or typing) about one’s activities, experiences, thoughts, feelings, and prayers for the purpose of deepening one’s discernment of how it is that God is redemptively and creatively at work in the seemingly ordinary circumstances of one’s daily living.

I have found many different blessings in the practice of journaling:

*Journaling helps me to become obedient to the biblical instruction to “examine yourselves to see whether you are living in the faith” (2 Corinthians 13:5);

*It enables me to clarify my own thoughts and to distinguish between my true feelings and my split-second emotional reactions;

*It brings my hidden sins and ulterior motives to light;

*It helps to purge my potentially destructive emotional energy;

*It strengthens my discernment concerning the purposes of God and the way in which those purposes are fulfilled over time;

*It broadens my perspective on the grander narrative of which my life is a part;

*It enables me to discern the answering and outcomes of my prayers over time;

*It illuminates the evidence of sanctification in my own life;

*It helps me to listen to Scripture more attentively and to encounter it more meaningfully.

Franz Kafka, though not a Christian, articulated very well the urgency that he attached to discipline of journaling: “I won’t give up the diary again,” Kafka wrote. “I must hold on here. It is the only place I can.”

Likewise, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, one of my favorite writers, once captured in a single sentence the spiritual potential that he discerned in the practice of journaling: “This is not a pen. It is a prayer. One must have compassion for that.”

The other day, I flipped through the pages of a journal that I kept back in early high school (some 35 years ago). Reading the words written by that insecure, self-absorbed, yet earnestly prayerful fifteen-year-old boy brought to my heart a profound gratitude for the relentlessness of God’s grace and the profundity of God’s patience. The pages of that old journal also afforded to me a refreshing glimpse of a season of my life that remains a crucial part of who I am, though I am now far removed from that season chronologically.

That, I suppose, is why I journal in the first place. I journal because journaling helps me to understand how my past and present are inseparably linked in the timelessness of God’s redemptive providence. I journal because journaling deepens my attentiveness to the nuances of this human pilgrimage, no matter whether those nuances are to be found in a 2017 church meeting or a 1982 trigonometry class.

I journal, in other words, because journaling, under the transformational governance of the Holy Spirit, becomes a means of grace that hones my discernment concerning the passing of time, the connectedness of happenings, and the often-surprising intersection between the eternal and the everyday.

A Gracious Graffiti

The Scrawl on the Walls of an Ever-Deepening Journey

Author: Eric Park