I live in a part of Manhattan, on the top of the Upper West Side, on an avenue called West End Ave.
It's a beautiful long drive all the way down to Midtown. I was looking at old photos (here's one below by @joelmeyerowitz, 1968)
2/ What's remarkable in looking at these old photos how much West End hasn't changed in all these years. So much of the city is different (especially in the Upper West Side). But West End Ave is a stretch of about 50 blocks that feels almost unchanged and untouched.
3/ I walk down this avenue daily (it's between Riverside Park and Broadway Ave) and it's remarkable how comforting, especially in this season, to experience a long stretch of NYC that feels the same.
4/ My favorite is walking down this avenue in the thick snow (like the picture above). The snow has this strange effect of quieting the city and taking away all the echo, so that the crunch of your shoes over the snow feels like the only sound.
5/ West End has these leading lines that take your eyes all the way down to the tall towers of Midtown and in the evening, the sun sets (or at least the brightest part of the color) towards that end. It's remarkable.
NYC really is a remarkable place.
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1/ One big lesson I've learned in the past 10-15 years is that I'm most spiritually vibrant when I feel at home in my theological tradition and travel widely in my reading.
2/ I am within an orthodox, historical Protestant, Reformed tradition. I feel at home here. I share my theological convictions and beliefs here.
But I often times feel a commonality with the "sensibilities" of other writers from other traditions. For example:
3/ Henri Nouwen or Ronald Rolheiser, who are Catholic Vatican II types, have a kind of gentle, loving sensitivity to our relationship/identity with Christ that is concerned with consciously feeling comfortable in our skin, that I feel is often lacking in my tradition.
Quick reflection on Peter's reconciliation with Jesus in John 21, where Jesus asks Do you love me a 3rd time and Peter responds, "Lord you know everything; you know that I love you.”
He couldn't appeal to his own energy & passion: "When everyone leaves, I will die with you!" 1/
It's important to let Peter give witness to the spiritual bankruptcy of being carried by the power of your convictions, eagerness, and zeal.
At some point, after failure, humiliations, experiencing limitations, weariness, those things won't sustain you. 2/
I find it instructive that after failure/humiliation, he doesn't appeal to his own fervency. He doesn't double down. He appeals to Jesus. "Lord, you know."
Personally, that's an important lesson for a few reasons: 3/
Here's the honest truth: Good pastors put themselves in the way of potential criticism and regularly within the realm and reach of other people's pain.
It should not then surprise you, pastor, that you may experience depression even though you've never experienced it before.
Carrying the consistent emotional weight of the various pains, fears, criticisms, suffering, and transitions of a congregation (big or small) is a challenging vocation. What it can do to your inner life can/will surprise you.
But while it can surprise you, know that it's not abnormal. Apart from the pastoral weight, sadness is a normal Christian experience.
“The Road to sorrow has been well trodden, it is the regular sheep track to heaven, and all the flock of God have had to pass along it.” Spurgeon