Friends Writing Good Books: Taylor Field

Taylor Field
on the streets of New York

I met Taylor Field back in 1981 when we were both teaching at Hong Kong Baptist College (now Hong Kong Baptist University). He was in the Religion Department, and I was in the English Department. We were both in a two-year volunteer program called the Journeyman Program with the International Mission board of the SBC. Taylor took a very active role, both in the classroom and out, in guiding the young students as they prepared to launch out into their world to find meaningful careers.

Taylor has always been strong in academics as well as action. He came to Hong Kong after having received his master's degree from Princeton and having experience ministering in the inner city of New York. After leaving Hong Kong, he earned a Ph.D and went on to direct Graffiti Ministries in New York City's Lower East Side. His latest book, Upside Down Devotion, has a lot to do with action as well as contemplation. In fact, the subtitle of the book is, Extreme Action for a Remarkable God.

Here is the review I fist posted in June of 2014:

Taylor Field's Upside Down Devotion

Taylor Field has been ministering in New York City’s Lower East Side for almost 30 years at Graffiti Church. In his new book, Upside Down Devotion: Extreme Action for a Remarkable God, he brings a wealth of insight for anyone involved in any of the helping professions. This small volume is a delight to read, and in those pages, Taylor Field moves seamlessly back and forth from insights learned on the streets to insights from literary authors, philosophers, and biblical narratives. He handles the heart of a New Testament passage with just as much insight as he has for the heart of a marginalized person living on the streets. He speaks with straightforward wisdom that will be immediately accessible to readers from all walks of life.

Upside Down Devotion is not the first book authored by Taylor Field. He has written about his work in New York City in A Church Called Graffiti: Finding Grace on the Lower East Side (2001), and Mercy Streets: Seeing Grace on the Streets of New York (2003). Taylor Field has the education and the credentials to be a university professor or an uptown pastor, yet he has chosen to take his learning and his ministry to the inner city streets. In the interest of full disclosure, one reason I know about Taylor’s background and credentials is that we became friends back in 1981 when we were both teaching in Hong Kong. I came to know him as a man of great integrity and strong intellect as well as having a heart for service, and we have kept in touch through the years. It was indeed a pleasure to read this latest work of his and I was glad to be invited to review it.

Taylor Field brings a unique perspective to bear that measures success and effectiveness differently from what one usually sees in the many “how to” guides on the market today. It is from that vantage point of faith and ministry that he began his “Upside Down” series, beginning with Upside Down Leadership: Rethinking Influence and Success in 2012 and now with his latest, Upside Down Devotion. I would definitely put Upside Down Devotion on the list of inspirational books. It is one that those who are working with relief agencies, church ministries, or in social work will find inspiring and encouraging. It is also a book that will bring inspiration and enlightenment to anyone interested in deepening his or her own spiritual life. Taylor Field brings authenticity and balance to his presentation of spirituality and social outreach.

Drawing from the Old Testament prophets, Field shines a light on the true nature of worship and devotion. If a Sunday church service ever seems stale, boring, or out of touch to you, you might be surprised that it can make God downright sick and disgusted. That is what the Old Testament prophet Amos said, and that is how the first pages of Upside Down Devotion unfold. Throughout the book, the author gently guides the reader to a place of balance, where one’s worship and one’s service can come into alignment to allow for healthy authentic living. By reminding us of the liberating words found the words and actions of Jesus, and by sharing his own stories of service to people dealing with issues ranging from addiction to mental illness and homelessness, Taylor Field demonstrates the value of living according to principles. By sharing insights from such writers as Leo Tolstoy, Charles Dickens, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Soren Kierkegaard, he shows us how to live a genuine life that may seem “upside down” to some but meaningful to the one who seeks to practice faith in the real world.   

Upside Down Devotion is a book that offers practical advice to inner city ministries, social workers, relief agencies, and church mission projects (check out the appendix for a handy “Short list of Community Ministry Rules” drawn from the author’s own experiences). It can be a valuable source of inspiration for individuals wanting to live out their faith by giving something back to the community. It is not everyday that one finds a book that brings scholarship and spirituality to the street level where it can be applied to daily life. Upside Down Devotion: Extreme Action for a Remarkable God is such a book.

Book Details:
Upside Down Devotion: Extreme Action for a Remarkable God

Author: Taylor Field

Paperback: 192 pages

Publisher: New Hope Publishers (April 7, 2014)

ISBN-10: 159669405X

ISBN-13: 978-1596694057
For more information, go to: http://www.newhopedigital.com/2014/02/upside-down-devotion/

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9/11: Ten Years Later

[Note: this was first posted on 9/11/2010. I am repeating it here for the 10th anniversary of that day]

Living Through the Grief and the Loss and the Terror

I will never forget that morning on September 11, 2001. My wife called me from work to tell me to turn on CNN. All of us across the country felt the shock and the numbness. All of us felt the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

I had friends in New York City, Taylor and Susan Field. Taylor directs Graffitti Ministries which is on East 7th Street. I tried to call to see if they were alright, but of course, getting through to New York by phone was impossible for several days. I did send an email - it felt almost like tossing out a message in a bottle - I only hoped that there would be someone to read it and respond. It was weeks before I knew for sure that they were okay. Taylor later wrote a book about his ministry in New York called Mercy Streets: Seeing Grace on the Streets of New York. In it he included a very moving chapter about that day on 9/11.

I heard comments about this tragic event being the first time that terrorism had impacted upon our own land here at home. Like everyone else in the country, I watched the news each day and hoped for some resolution, some return to normalcy. Even as I was feeling the shock and the sorrow, I knew that this was not the first experience of terrorism on our shores.

On the first anniversary of 9/11, I wrote the following poem as a way to bring my thoughts and feelings together to commemorate the day. The poem is written in two voices. I have itallicized every other stanza to help keep the two voices separate while at the same time blending those voices together in a search for where to go from here.

When Towers Collapse

by Charles Kinnaird

It was an invasion
Of stealth, arrogance and deceit
That brought the two towers down
And inflicted a wound that would not heal.

                                                                                       When the steel and concrete gave way
                                                                                       Something inside gave way
                                                                                       As if the soul could drop to Sheol
                                                                                       While the body still finds its breath.

“From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever,”
Chief Joseph told us.
There is the urge to fight back,
But fighting will not rebuild the towers.
Killing will not heal our wounds.
Our songs may remember the two towers
But the towers will never be replaced.

                                                                                    How will thousands of bodies ever be found?
                                                                                    How will each soul be remembered?
                                                                                    How will the hole be filled?
                                                                                    Too many empty spaces
                                                                                    Where fathers, mothers, sisters and sons once sat.
                                                                                    So many empty places in too many beds,
                                                                                    All vacated with the passing of a single day.

Your twin towers collapsed.
We had our own towers, so to speak.
There was the Land
And there was our Culture –
Those were the strong towers
That held our lives
And nurtured our spirits.
Our land was taken
And our culture collapsed over time
After a systematic campaign of terror.
Where is the monument that could hold our grief?
Where is the house that can contain our sorrow?

                                                                                    There is the instinct to reciprocate,
                                                                                    To lash back at the enemy.
                                                                                    Let them taste their own bitter tears.
                                                                                    Visit hate with hate.

We lived with devastation and heartache
With a wound that would not heal.
Our names still echo throughout the land:
Tallapoosa, Wetumpka, Sylacauga,
Ohatchee.
Notasulga, Tuscaloosa, Weogufka,
Chatahootchee.
Why could our daughters and sons not grow
In the lands that bear our names?

                                                                                  May we never forget those whose lives were taken.
                                                                                  We must learn to walk with sorrow and wisdom,
                                                                                  Celebration and sadness.
                                                                                  We must learn to live with grief for what was,
                                                                                  Joy for what will be,
                                                                                  And gratitude for what remains.

Chippewa, Tallahassee,
Minnetonka.
Chattanooga, Ouachita,
Oneida.
Our names continue to call out
Like too many empty beds.
Like so many empty homes
Our names call out.
We must learn to live with the pain
From the wound that will not heal
While we reach for the balm
That comes from living
In the hoop of the world.

                                                                                Today we walk on bloodstained ground.
                                                                                Both the blood of our forebears
                                                                                And the stain of our own doing.
                                                                                We see times of collapse
                                                                                And times of building up.
                                                                                Some days, we will fight.
                                                                                One day, we will fight no more forever.

The hawk rises
But our wound will not heal.
We may know joy
But we cannot hide our grief.
We may live with wisdom,
But we cannot erase the sorrow.
We will not erase the sorrow.

9/11: Living Through the Grief and the Loss and the Terror

I will never forget that morning on September 11, 2001. My wife called me from work to tell me to turn on CNN. All of us across the country felt the shock and the numbness. All of us felt the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

I had friends in New York City, Taylor and Susan Field. Taylor directs Graffitti Ministries which is on East 7th Street. I tried to call to see if they were alright, but of course, getting through to New York by phone was impossible for several days. I did send an email - it felt almost like tossing out a message in a bottle - I only hoped that there would be someone to read it and respond. It was weeks before I knew for sure that they were okay. Taylor later wrote a book about his ministry in New York called Mercy Streets: Seeing Grace on the Streets of New York. In it he included a very moving chapter about that day on 9/11.

I heard comments about this tragic event being the first time that terrorism had impacted upon our own land here at home. Like everyone else in the country, I watched the news each day and hoped for some resolution, some return to normalcy. Even as I was feeling the shock and the sorrow, I knew that this was not the first experience of terrorism on our shores.

On the first anniversary of 9/11, I wrote the following poem as a way to bring my thoughts and feeling together to commemorate the day. The poem is written in two voices. I have itallicized every other stanza to help keep the two voices separate while at the same time blending those voices together in a search for where to go from here.

When Towers Collapse

by Charles Kinnaird

It was an invasion
Of stealth, arrogance and deceit
That brought the two towers down
And inflicted a wound that would not heal.

                                                                                   When the steel and concrete gave way
                                                                                   Something inside gave way
                                                                                   As if the soul could drop to Sheol
                                                                                    While the body still finds its breath.

“From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever,”
Chief Joseph told us.
There is the urge to fight back,
But fighting will not rebuild the towers.
Killing will not heal our wounds.
Our songs may remember the two towers
But the towers will never be replaced.

                                                                                How will thousands of bodies ever be found?
                                                                                How will each soul be remembered?
                                                                                How will the hole be filled?
                                                                                Too many empty spaces
                                                                                Where fathers, mothers, sisters and sons once sat.
                                                                                So many empty places in too many beds,
                                                                                All vacated with the passing of a single day.

Your twin towers collapsed.
We had our own towers, so to speak.
There was the Land
And there was our Culture –
Those were the strong towers
That held our lives
And nurtured our spirits.
Our land was taken
And our culture collapsed over time
After a systematic campaign of terror.
Where is the monument that could hold our grief?
Where is the house that can contain our sorrow?

                                                                                There is the instinct to reciprocate,
                                                                                To lash back at the enemy.
                                                                                Let them taste their own bitter tears.
                                                                                Visit hate with hate.

We lived with devastation and heartache
With a wound that would not heal.
Our names still echo throughout the land:
Tallapoosa, Wetumpka, Sylacauga,
Ohatchee.
Notasulga, Tuscaloosa, Weogufka,
Chatahootchee.
Why could our daughters and sons not grow
In the lands that bear our names?

                                                                                May we never forget those whose lives were taken.
                                                                                We must learn to walk with sorrow and wisdom,
                                                                                Celebration and sadness.
                                                                                We must learn to live with grief for what was,
                                                                               Joy for what will be,
                                                                               And gratitude for what remains.

Chippewa, Tallahassee,
Minnetonka.
Chattanooga, Ouachita,
Oneida.
Our names continue to call out
Like too many empty beds.
Like so many empty homes
Our names call out.
We must learn to live with the pain
From the wound that will not heal
While we reach for the balm
That comes from living
In the hoop of the world.

                                                                            Today we walk on bloodstained ground.
                                                                            Both the blood of our forebears
                                                                            And the stain of our own doing.
                                                                            We see times of collapse
                                                                            And times of building up.
                                                                            Some days, we will fight.
                                                                            One day, we will fight no more forever.

The hawk rises
But our wound will not heal.
We may know joy
But we cannot hide our grief.
We may live with wisdom,
But we cannot erase the sorrow.
We will not erase the sorrow.