- Home
- Article Topics
- On the Lighter Side
- Journey Tales
Journey Tales
- By Steve Case
- Published 03/4/2008
- On the Lighter Side
- Unrated
Steve Case
Steve Case has been in youth ministry for nearly 20 years. He is the author of several books including the laugh-out-loud humor book Rejected Sunday School Lessons. He has been honored to have the "back page" of The Journal since it began.
View all articles by Steve Case“Being in youth ministry is like running a rest stop”
Its time for me to use this space and confess something that I have never talked about before.
(Pause for dramatic effect). I was…yes…I was part of the great Eastwood Mall Journey Ticket Riot of 1981. A dark spot in my past and, I would assume, in the history of the Eastwood Mall in Niles, Ohio. I don’t know how Journey felt about it, but I would assume they are filled with shame, as well.
The Confession
There used to be a Ticketron booth at the Eastwood Mall in Niles. That’s before they were sucked up by the great vacuum that is Ticketmaster years ago. In l981, if you wanted tickets you either had to go to the box office or to your local Ticketron branch. Eastwood Mall had one.
The good folks who ran the mall would always open the doors early and allow people to come in and peacefully line up at the booth. On the day Journey tickets went on sale, they kept the outer doors locked. The line got longer, and a manager came over and looked concerned. The line got longer, and a security guard came over and dangled his keys at the growing crowd and then walked away.
When the doors were unlocked the crowd pushed inward. The problem with that was that the doors were supposed to open outward. The glass in the doors shattered, yet the crowd surged forward. People fell. One kid had his hand stepped on and broke his finger.
Other than that there were no injuries, but the crowed turned into a swarm and some shoving took place by the booth window. The mall manager promptly shut the place down, and no tickets were sold. The newspapers screamed about death and destruction. The local television news showed video of broken glass and showed a picture of the latest Journey album. My buddy Dave’s pastor did a sermon on the dangers of rock and roll.
Dave and I really wanted to see Journey. We asked permission and borrowed his mother’s credit card, and I called the Cleveland Coliseum box office directly. The woman on the phone asked “Are you a member?”
I said, “Yes,” though I had no idea what I was a member of. The next voice I heard said, “How many tickets would you like?”
I bought enough for us and for all of our friends. Dave’s mother was reimbursed, and we were IN to the concert that nobody else could get tickets for. We also has seats so high that lead singer Steve Perry was only about three inches tall—but that didn’t matter. We were there. I remember that concert. It stands out in my mind as one of the great moments of my adolescence.
Rest Stops
One of the strange things about journeys (the actual journeys, not the band) is that they are full of stops. If you want to get from here to there, you’d better be willing to pull over or else have a bladder like Fort Knox. Very often, the trip really is marked by the journey itself rather than by the destination.
Jesus did not say, “I am the destination,” or, “I’m the end of the journey.” Jesus said, “I am the way.” Jesus is the journey. Yet too often when we preach and teach we talk about Jesus as if he is “out there” at the end of the road. Churches treat our students like they are Christians in training instead of full-fledged Christians. As if someday they will be “real” Christians.
Being in youth ministry is like running a rest stop. A really, really good rest stop. You have the clean bathrooms and the vending machines with the “good” candy—and cold drinks. Maybe there’s a woman at a fresh produce booth just outside the door. Maybe there’s a guy with a guitar who will sing songs for the change people throw in his open case. Your youth ministry is a rest stop on someone else’s journey.
Remember the time we stopped at that cool bakery and blessed the woman’s shop?
Remember the time we took all that food to Mrs. Landry after her husband had his stroke?
Remember the time we led worship and talked about the mission trip and people cried?
Remember the time we stayed up all night and …
Remember the time we sang…
Remember the time we..
Remember the time…
You are the rest stop in young people’s journeys. They are traveling with Jesus. They may not even know that he’s in the passenger seat fiddling with radio and checking the map, but he’s there. Then he speaks to them—and though they may think its their own thoughts, he says things like, “Let’s pull over and see what that church is doing. Let’s talk with the minister about what happened at home. Let’s see if the youth minister knows the answer to that question that’s been in the back of my head for years.”
Life is road trip.
Jesus is the journey, not the destination.
Teenagers pull over.
You stand there behind the counter of a great rest stop and say, “What can I get for you today?”
Then they move on and another car pulls in.
(Pause for dramatic effect). I was…yes…I was part of the great Eastwood Mall Journey Ticket Riot of 1981. A dark spot in my past and, I would assume, in the history of the Eastwood Mall in Niles, Ohio. I don’t know how Journey felt about it, but I would assume they are filled with shame, as well.
The Confession
There used to be a Ticketron booth at the Eastwood Mall in Niles. That’s before they were sucked up by the great vacuum that is Ticketmaster years ago. In l981, if you wanted tickets you either had to go to the box office or to your local Ticketron branch. Eastwood Mall had one.
The good folks who ran the mall would always open the doors early and allow people to come in and peacefully line up at the booth. On the day Journey tickets went on sale, they kept the outer doors locked. The line got longer, and a manager came over and looked concerned. The line got longer, and a security guard came over and dangled his keys at the growing crowd and then walked away.
When the doors were unlocked the crowd pushed inward. The problem with that was that the doors were supposed to open outward. The glass in the doors shattered, yet the crowd surged forward. People fell. One kid had his hand stepped on and broke his finger.
Other than that there were no injuries, but the crowed turned into a swarm and some shoving took place by the booth window. The mall manager promptly shut the place down, and no tickets were sold. The newspapers screamed about death and destruction. The local television news showed video of broken glass and showed a picture of the latest Journey album. My buddy Dave’s pastor did a sermon on the dangers of rock and roll.
Dave and I really wanted to see Journey. We asked permission and borrowed his mother’s credit card, and I called the Cleveland Coliseum box office directly. The woman on the phone asked “Are you a member?”
I said, “Yes,” though I had no idea what I was a member of. The next voice I heard said, “How many tickets would you like?”
I bought enough for us and for all of our friends. Dave’s mother was reimbursed, and we were IN to the concert that nobody else could get tickets for. We also has seats so high that lead singer Steve Perry was only about three inches tall—but that didn’t matter. We were there. I remember that concert. It stands out in my mind as one of the great moments of my adolescence.
Rest Stops
One of the strange things about journeys (the actual journeys, not the band) is that they are full of stops. If you want to get from here to there, you’d better be willing to pull over or else have a bladder like Fort Knox. Very often, the trip really is marked by the journey itself rather than by the destination.
Jesus did not say, “I am the destination,” or, “I’m the end of the journey.” Jesus said, “I am the way.” Jesus is the journey. Yet too often when we preach and teach we talk about Jesus as if he is “out there” at the end of the road. Churches treat our students like they are Christians in training instead of full-fledged Christians. As if someday they will be “real” Christians.
Being in youth ministry is like running a rest stop. A really, really good rest stop. You have the clean bathrooms and the vending machines with the “good” candy—and cold drinks. Maybe there’s a woman at a fresh produce booth just outside the door. Maybe there’s a guy with a guitar who will sing songs for the change people throw in his open case. Your youth ministry is a rest stop on someone else’s journey.
Remember the time we stopped at that cool bakery and blessed the woman’s shop?
Remember the time we took all that food to Mrs. Landry after her husband had his stroke?
Remember the time we led worship and talked about the mission trip and people cried?
Remember the time we stayed up all night and …
Remember the time we sang…
Remember the time we..
Remember the time…
You are the rest stop in young people’s journeys. They are traveling with Jesus. They may not even know that he’s in the passenger seat fiddling with radio and checking the map, but he’s there. Then he speaks to them—and though they may think its their own thoughts, he says things like, “Let’s pull over and see what that church is doing. Let’s talk with the minister about what happened at home. Let’s see if the youth minister knows the answer to that question that’s been in the back of my head for years.”
Life is road trip.
Jesus is the journey, not the destination.
Teenagers pull over.
You stand there behind the counter of a great rest stop and say, “What can I get for you today?”
Then they move on and another car pulls in.
