Healing Wings on 'Highway Winds': An Interview with Wesley Randolph Eader

I first discovered Wesley's music when I visited Door of Hope, a church in Portland. A young man with long blonde hair was leading worship and we sang the song "Oh Perfect Love Come Near to Me".  The song described what was going in in my spiritual life with poetry that felt torn out of some long lost hymnal. I had never heard it before and wondered if someone at the church wrote the song.

That night I discovered the music of Wesley Randolph Eader, writer of the most extraordinary hymns of our modern time. I introduced his songs to my family, my friends, and then my church. A year later, I sat down with Wesley for an in depth interview on his work, his church life, and his latest album of world weary storytelling. 

And now I can share the result of that interview with you. My profile on Wesley has been published by Mockingbird. I'm proud of this piece, thrilled to have it published, and excited for you to read it.

If you like what you read and want more of Wesley, I've published an edited transcript of my full interview here. 

Mountains Beyond Mountains

I step off the LRT and into Lion's Park station just after 11pm, having finished my last shift of work. It's after I hoist on my backpack and make my way out onto the sidewalk that I notice the rain. All the way to my uncle and aunt's house it pours, increasing in intensity by the minute. It comes at me in sheets, blowing sideways off the pavement in waves of water. Streams pour off the brim of my hat. It soaks through my jacket and my shirt, my boots and my socks. It runs in rivulets down the sidewalk and surges into the drainpipes. I laugh, then let out a whoop of joy over the sheer craziness of the circumstances. What a perfect start to my week long West Coast vacation!

Five minutes later, I kick off my soggy boots in my family's living room. Five more minutes, and the freak storm has ended.

The next day dawns far too early. My clothes are air-dried and my leather satchel is packed with food, books, and headphones. My uncle drops me off at Calgary's Greyhound bus station. The wooden sign in the boarding area announces my bus's destinations:

BANFF

LAKE LOUISE

YOHO NATIONAL PARK

REVELSTOKE

SALMON ARM

KAMLOOPS

LANGLEY

ABBOTSFORD

VANCOUVER.

I have several reasons to make a 15 hour bus journey to the Coast instead of catching a 90 minute flight. Chief among these is cost. The appeal of gaining such a long head start on the 6 books I chose for the trip was also a factor. And I wanted to travel the land. I wanted to feel the breadth of our country. I wanted to read the landscape like a book, crawling up and over the immense backbone of our western continent we call the Rocky Mountains.

I have a friend who recently moved from Edmonton to Calgary. She can't get enough of our mountains. Every other week she arranges a hike for us Calgary natives. Day hikes. Night hikes. It doesn't matter.  She says the sight of the mountains from her window never ceases to thrill her. Hearing her respond to the mountains with such joy has reawakened this jaded local to their beauty. To her, the immense solidity of the massive rocks reminds her that she is both "insignificant and beloved at the same time."

But what if those mountains are clocked in clouds, as they were my entire trip West?

The coach heaves its way up and over the winding highway. The engine roars its disapproval as it forces itself up a punishing curve, then sighs in a sort of passive complaint as it clings to the roadway down another steep section. In the valley below me, I see clouds floating above a rich green forest. These greens and greys are interrupted by intense white cataracts of falling water. The peaks are slow to reveal themselves. It is easy to lure yourself into believing that they didn't even exist, and that this world of trees and rock and clouds is all there is.

But then the bus turns another corner, or the wind shifts, revealing an opening through clouds, and the towering walls of rock reassert themselves. "I'm here" they seemed to say. "Though you do not see me, though you doubt your map and your knowledge of the land, I am still here. Powerful and strong. Sure and lasting"

Life occasionally gives us clear vistas, moments were the world and the road ahead are visible with clarity and joy. But those are the exception. The rest of the time, we are rumbling our way through valleys and hills of repetitive mists. I start to wonder if what I see out my window is, in fact, the truth. My head knows what it is supposed to believe, but everything else is yelling the opposite. I get depressed and I want to give up. Or, worse, I get complacent and don't care. 

And then the wind shifts and I see some hazy glimpse of Reality. A service at church clarifies and encourages. A conversation with a friend reveals I'm not alone and that I am making a small difference for someone else. A song, or a book, or time spent in prayer awakens what was previously lost or forgotten. These moments don't linger, but if I peer closely, I see them with enough regularity to keep me hopeful and content. I need such moments. I seek these moments out.

Humility and the Craft of Hip-Hop: A Visit to Humble Beast

Trinity Church of Portland is located on the tree filled campus of Western Seminary and I arrive for a service half an hour late. I quietly ease myself into a back row, the sermon already underway.  Since their teaching pastor, Art Azurdia, is away on sabbatical, one of the elders, a professor of counselling at the seminary, is taking his place. As he preaches from 2 Kings 6 and necessity of having our eyes opened to the greater reality of God’s work amongst us, I glance around the chapel noting the ordinariness of the congregation. The church isn’t large, but it is filled with all ages and all are listening attentively. (I later learned that whenever the congregation outgrows the building, they plant a daughter church.) After the sermon, Bryan “Braille” Winchester leads us through a communion liturgy with the eloquence and passion I’ve come to expect from the emcee, extolling the excellencies of the Gospel we are celebrating. An amateur church band ends the service with unabashed enthusiasm. 

I leave the building an hour after the service, deeply encouraged by both its teaching and the long conversation I had with a member of the congregation, Josh Hill. Josh had shared with me the story of how he became the Director of Operations at Humble Beast, the ministry that brought me to Trinity Church and the city of Portland.

Bryan “Braille” Winchester leads the congregation of Trinity Church through a communion liturgy.

Humble Beast, a hip-hop label dedicated to producing excellent content it gives away for free, calls Trinity its “home church” and submits to the church’s statement of faith. The label consists of four artists, with diverse styles and lyrical approaches, all united under a lush, acoustic driven production. Their talent is legendary in the hip-hop community. Propaganda is a modern day prophet, preaching into his culture while restoring hope in his community of Los Angeles. Jackie Hill Perry’s intricate wordplay produces a cracked mosaic drawing us to seek our joy in the Lord. JGivens’s depth of lyrics and intricate soundscapes tell a multi-layered story as complex and varied as life itself. I turn to Beautiful Eulogy when my soul is dry and my heart is broken, and they restore me in the hope of the Gospel, my cheeks often getting wet in the process. To say that their music has impacted my life is an understatement. I was eager to see what happens behind the scenes and to learn more about their unique relationship to their local church.

I arrive at the white bungalow in the suburbs of greater Portland that housed the studio at the time of my visit (they have since relocated). Josh welcomes me in. The team has just finished their morning devotional meeting and are beginning the day’s work, quickly dispersing from the main room to enter various meetings and recording sessions. In the kitchen, whose shelves are packed with enough equipment to stand in for a coffee shop’s merchandising wall, are gathered two of the label’s three producers, Daniel Steele and Courtland Urbano. In dress and mannerisms they couldn’t be more different; Courtland has a sculpted moustache and quiet smile, and Daniel wears an XL t-shirt and a backwards snapback cap. I learn that Daniel provided the majority of production on Jackie Hill Perry’s remarkably acoustic driven album, so I ask him about its unusual sound. 

Daniel Steele prepares some beats for an upcoming project. Sitting next to him (not pictured) is James "JPoetic" Calkins, a Humble Beast intern.

“I would describe our sound at Humble Beast as boutique” Daniel explains, carefully choosing his words. “Do you see Courtland making coffee?” I watch Courtland carefully pours hot water from the gooseneck spout of a copper kettle, engrossed yet clearly enjoying his task. Daniel continues: “That’s how we craft our music.”

The analogy is apt. Throughout our conversation I hear sounds from the recording studio, located deeper inside the building. 10 seconds of a track are played and then paused, played and paused, again and again. I wander into the studio, where Braille and Jeremiah “JGivens” Givens are fine-tuning a song for JGiven’s upcoming album. The two are utterly immersed in the music. Braille, helming the computer, repeats yet again the 10 seconds of track, closing his eyes and swaying to the beat - “oh here we, here we go, Geronimo, look out below” - before pausing and adjusting the deep base line. JGivens, sitting next to him, nods wordlessly. Again the line is played and this time the snare is tweaked. Then three separate lines of background vocals are fine tuned, followed by the effects. All morning the artists work, and I’ve only heard the first third of the song. Boutique indeed; this is hip-hop craftsmanship. 

Hip-hop craftsmanship: I lost track of time while observing Braille and JGivens work on one of the standout tracks of JGiven's album Fly Exam.

That afternoon, an adjacent office is cramped with Jeremiah, Courtland, Anthony Benedetto (who’s responsible for the visual style of the label), and Thomas “Odd Thomas” Terry, the owner and proprietor. The four are planning a music video they are producing for JGiven’s song “10 2 Get In”. The office is packed with computers and cameras. Artwork, logos, bookshelves, and timeline filled whiteboards cover the walls. There is a serious tone to the discussion. The message they are communicating and the preciousness of their resources demand their best abilities. I notice the weight of this responsibility particularly in Thomas.

Thomas is also an elder at Trinity and he has a meeting with the other three elders later that afternoon. The whole team is getting hungry and Thomas suggests a Lebanese restaurant near the church. We all pile into several vehicles and our commute gives us some time to talk. I ask him about the ego struggle that so regularly accompanies the creation of art. “You always have to fight your pride, the way people perceive you, and your affirmation” he tells me. “The pride— and sometimes slipping into finding your self-worth, dignity, and value in your artistry—is something I think every artist has to wrestle with. I don’t know many people who have conquered that.”

I’m relieved that I am not alone in this battle. He continues; “It’s a constant day by day thing. Where am I at? How is this impacting me? For the artist who's figured that out, I would like to talk with that person. But I think that there is a responsibility to constantly approach God with your art and with your talents and say, “God, search me and expose the areas of my life where new areas of pride because of artistry has popped up, or I’ve believed things that are untrue, or I've believed things that are exaggerated about myself.” I don’t think it’s special. I think everyone has to wrestle with those things, but art just tends to put it on display more.”

I wonder how being connected to the local church affects this struggle. “I think one of the things the church does is it should—if it’s a healthy church—give you a good balance, reminding you that you are just one of many people within the church, that you are only one part of the body. They shouldn’t elevate you because you’re an artist over and against the person who is not artistically bent, but who is serving the body in an equally important role.”

Thomas and Jeremiah excitedly bounce ideas for their upcoming music video, the innovative.

We arrive at the restaurant along with the rest of the team. Thomas will have to eat quickly in order to make the meeting. While we wait for the food to arrive, I ask about Humble Beast’s relationship with Trinity Church. “When we come to Trinity we don’t necessarily come with our hip hop burden and say “do something with our hip-hop.” We basically just serve in our church.” This includes ordinary tasks like stacking chairs and brewing coffee, as well as more specific roles, such as serving in the liturgy and being an elder.  “They encourage us to keep on, they encourage through prayer, and support our efforts. But we haven’t come into the church saying “Here’s what we do; support what we do.” We are members of the church that have a particular vocation that has a ministry bent. We are artists who've found that in order for us to be effective we need to submit to a local church.”

Thomas leaves for his meeting and I end up next to JGivens in the back seat of a car returning to the studio. Jeremiah is staying in Portland for several weeks recording his upcoming album Fly Exam, but he was born and raised and continues to live in Las Vegas. I ask him about his church and he tells me about its location in ‘Naked City’, a mile and a half radius that five years ago was considered one of the city’s most troubled neighbourhoods. It was then that a family moved into the area and planted a church. Through a balanced blend of ministries—including open air preaching, food distribution, and weekly discipleship—the church has grown to 150 people. Some of its main contributors were initially those most violently opposed to its work. Jeremiah told me about the church’s active role in the community, their careful balance of word and deed ministries, and how folks who were just kids when the church started have now grown up and are almost raised by church families. “We’ve taken them on their first drive to the ocean or even their first time outside of Naked City.” 

JGivens on God's sovereignty in his life: "it's just dope!" This moment of joy stayed with me and defined my trip to Portland.

It was out of this church that Jeremiah’s rap ministry was born, beginning with live outreach performance on the streets and in local churches. As a kid, a career in hip-hop was far from his mind. “Growing up, all I wanted to do was design rollercoasters as a Disney Imagineer.” After he completed his engineering degree and interned for Disney, he realized that it wasn’t what he wanted to do every day. Nor was successfully selling $17,000 contracts for a communications start-up he worked for. “I went home and I was like “I’m out.” I’m going to rap these songs for my church.””

“So I sold my car, sold everything, lived at home and just had a phone bill, doing shows and selling CDs.” But Jeremiah applies his engineering degree and the problem solving skills it taught him everyday. He is also incredibly creative. “Art is a lot bigger than music. It’s everything—it’s the way you arrange your clothes.” He discussed the aesthetics of his upcoming album and the music videos he and his collaborators at Humble Beast were creating to supplement the narrative of the album. The album’s story is all about pride and the subsequent fall. It mirrors Jeremiah’s own journey through drug addiction and the resulting humility that came from being anchored in the local church. All of the aesthetics, from the album cover to his Instagram feed, support this story.

“Remember, I wanted to work for Disney,” he tells me as he shoots hoops in the small basketball court outside the studio. “So my whole way of producing something is a Walt Disney mindset, it’s the entire experience.” I remark on how interesting it is that these lifelong desires, while not fulfilled directly, are still being used by God in the end. “Right?” Jeremiah exclaimed. “He redeems it! God has been like “I’m going to let you do what you wanted to do you, just didn’t know you wanted to do it like this.” It’s just dope!” We laugh together, truly enjoying the way God turns our selfish dreams and aspirations into something that magnifies him in ways much better than we could have imagined. 

As I sit outside the studio in the summer heat, I reflect back on what I’ve witnessed that day. These are men who are honing their skills with excellence. They are deeply grounded in their church communities, discipling while being discipled. Their unique circumstances led them to this place, despite disappointments, disillusionment, and even failure. But God had worked through it all, impacting many though the overflow of their lives: their music. Even me, in my world of Calgary.

I return home having seen a little clearer how God has been using my messy circumstances, my gifts, and my failings. I’ll pray all the more for faithfulness and humility, and I’ll stay even more rooted, thankful, and committed to the oversight of my church community. 

My conversation with Odd Thomas was so helpful and encouraging that I couldn't fit it all in this essay. I've instead published a transcript of the entire chat here.  

Job: Reflections on a Suffering Servant

This post was originally written in February 2014. 

I just finished reading through Job, a chunk of scripture found towards the middle of the Bible. Job is fascinating from a literary perspective. Forty chapters of rambling Hebrew poetry sandwiched between two chapters of sparse narrative. It's an unusual context. Job, an ancient Middle Eastern patriarch, was 'blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil" (1:1) and God blessed him with offspring, livestock, possessions, and respect from his community. He was utterly exemplary in his behaviour but in verse six the curtain to the heavens is pulled back and we, the audience, are given a rare glimpse into the heavenly courts. "The sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came among them." Satan, ever the accuser, challenges Job's exemplary behaviour. "Stretch out your hand" he says to the Lord "and touch all that he has and he will curse you to your face."  God gives Satan permission to do this and in swift, relentless strokes, Job is stripped of his servants, oxen, donkeys, sheep, and camels (struck down by Sabeans, fire from heaven, and Chaldeans respectively). But before the news-bearer has finished giving a report of this to Job, another runs up announcing that Job's children, having gathered together in celebration, were killed when the house they were in collapsed. Soon after, Job's health falls apart, his wife urges him to curse God, and he is left covered "head to toe" in sores in an ash heap and scraping himself with broken pottery. But "in all this Job did not sin with his lips."

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The narrative portion of the book ends when Job's three friends come to weep over him. After a weak of weeping, "for his suffering was very great," Job opens his mouth and forty chapters of poetic dialogue begin. The contrast is immediately apparent. Gone are the swift strokes of storytelling and the heavenly perspective. What follows is verbal violence and mud-slinging between the grieving Job, who upholds the claim that he did not sin and that's God's actions towards him are unjust, and his friends, who maintain that God is just and Job is guilty of sin.

The fact is, both these human opinions are incorrect. Job is not being punished for his sin (we know this from the prologue) and yet God's actions are always just. Endless chapters of back and forth dialogue, in which these opinions are hashed and re-hashed, end when God Himself answers Job "from the whirlwind,” accosting Job's understanding. "Where were you when

I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding" is the thrust of his argument. God uses examples of his awesome and intricate power demonstrated in his creation that literally leaves Job with his hand over his mouth. In the face of such intimate and transcendent power and knowledge and such management of the world of nature, what response can Job give? In two short speeches he demonstrates repentance and humility. 

There is plenty to learn from the book of Job and many of written on Job's response to both suffering and the character of God. But there were two aspects of the book that really stood out to me this time through. 

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The first was how the frustrating and messy dialogue between Job and his friends, despite the many wrong ideas and outspoken temper, still resulted in progress in Job's thinking. Much of what Job says is wrong. But through it all, he makes more and more statements that are humble instead of arrogant and express humility and faith in God's fairness. He begins to become aware, especially in chapter 28, that he himself cannot solve his problem through his own reasoning but rather "the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom."

The takeaway for us? Conversations with friends over important issues are worth having, even if wrongheaded ideas are frequently spouted. Working through these issues may grow and mature our understanding, but nothing like the perspective of God himself. 

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Yet there is a second thread running through the book that gives even more hope to the reader who notices it. Hidden between the long and often arrogant speeches are phrases that sound extra familiar to our ears, none of which are as explicate as 19:25-36 when Job declares "I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God." 

These are hints and foretastes (especially chapter 22) of the Redeemer that Job does not see and yet will one day sanctify him. Christ is the one who suffered unjustly far more then Job did, for Job was still conceived in sin and Christ was not. And it is Christ's suffering that makes ours bearable. In the words of George Macdonald "the Son of God suffered unto death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His." 

Not only is God's wisdom so much higher then ours, but his empathy is routed in the suffering that Christ himself received on our behalf. And if we can learn this from an ancient book of Hebrew poetry, reading it is worth our time indeed. 

Fretting and Resting in 2014

This post was originally written in January 2014.

My friend posted a video on his blog detailing his plans for 2014. Not New Year’s resolutions, (which he labelled as) “bullshit”, but a list of goals he would like to accomplish. They includes things like finishing his book of modern day fairy tales, increasing his average YouTube vieo view count to 300, and shooting a short film. All of them significant yet all of them achievable. And were he to achieve half of these goals, his year will be more influential then my past three.

The end of a year is a time to take stock of the last one and make plans for the next. My goals are less ambitious then Kyle’s. Over the weekend I made a list of books I would like to read in 2014. And looking back over 2013, certain value statements can be made about how I used my time. For example, I read 39 books (three more then what I read last year, 63 less then 2011), watched 72 movies (31 more movies then books), and posted 188 photos to Instagram (leaving 177 days when I posted nothing).

When I stare at these numbers my year looks pretty useless. To hide my guilt  I try to congratulate myself on the difficult course I completed with success, the advancements I achieved in my career, and the new friendships I have formed. But there were friendships left stagment too, time that could have been better spent completing more courses, and money better saved.

Such is time. Regret and loss. Achievement and possibility. I suppose trite lists like the books I have read say little and the lists that I used to keep -highlighting memories savoured and graces given - speak more accurately to time's passing.

Today one of our pastors preached on Matthew 11:25-30. He paused on the opening phrase “At that time, Jesus…” At that time.

The incarnation that we celebrate at Christmas was a space and time event. Again and again in the gospels we are reminded of the particularity of the events they record, events in space and time that reverberate to this day.

So in that context it is interesting to note the last couple verses of that passage. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

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Our pastor emphasized that this rest is not exactly a rest from our work in this world and our labours against sin, but a rest from our own efforts to achieve salvation.

This salvation is salvation from sin and judgment, but it also includes salvation from our self-worth being bound up in how we spend our time. How fitting it is that we celebrate the space-time event of the the Incarnation (Christmas), which brought about our rest, just before the dawn of a new year.

The rest that has been achieved for us does not mean we rest from our efforts to set goals, to read well, and achieve in 2014 things that give God glory. Yet it does mean that we do all this knowing that our efforts in our space and time are ordained by the same One Who established our salvation in past time and space. And it means that looking back over 2013 we can have peace that what happened happened well. As our pastor said, “Look back on 2013 with rest. Look ahead with rest. Strive to enter this rest and rest in His, our King’s, great work.”