Dozens of children from Harlem and the Bronx piled off a bus in Central Park for an afternoon of ice skating with Angel Tree.
It’s a simple childhood memory for many: a father and his children singing nursery rhymes and reading books together. A story on NextCity.org reminds us of those little moments taking place in many American homes right before bedtime—the kind of memories that stay close to our hearts forever.
Zane Tankel knows what it means to have a second chance.
The now-75 year old remembers growing up in a tough neighborhood in Patterson, New Jersey. A self-described “tough guy,” Tankel regularly skipped school, learning to fight, steal, and intimidate. “I went away for a little while as a kid,” he admits.
The need to be heard. It’s a core craving for all humanity. But for those behind prison bars, voices are mostly muffled, or at least, dismissed.
Because of New York artist Lauren Adelman and juvenile defender Francine Sherman, voices from prison are being heard and appreciated in the form of artistic expression.
The following is a version of remarks given by Prison Fellowship President and CEO Jim Liske at Movement Day NYC, a gathering of Christian leaders discussing how to cultivate Gospel movements in urban areas across the country. For more information about Movement Day, visit www.movementday.com.
On Oct. 23, Prison Fellowship and other organizations from all over the globe gathered in New York City for the fifth annual Movement Day. This event brings together leadership teams from the world's largest cities to build partnerships that help them better reach their respective cities with the grace-filled Gospel of Christ.
The following story originally aired as a BreakPoint commentary on August 7.
In 1980, the New York Mets selected an 18-year-old baseball phenom, Darryl Strawberry, with the first pick in the Major League draft.
Being a Mets fan in the 1970’s was tough—just ask my BreakPoint colleagues Eric Metaxas and Roberto Rivera.
When the word “prison” is mentioned, a some very common images come to mind – cold, gray bars set against drab, colorless walls; small, dark cells intended to isolate and punish rather than to reform or rehabilitate. Acres of razor wire surrounding these facilities bespeak the philosophy that those on the inside are to be set apart, not to be connected in any meaningful way to society at large.
If there is someone who knows the criminal justice system – from both ends – it is Bernard Kerik. A one-time beat cop in New York City’s 14th Division, Kerik rose through the ranks to serve on Mayor Rudolph Giuliani’s security detail in the early 1990s.
Park Avenue. Soho. Chelsea. Midtown.
When one thinks of exclusive addresses in New York City, the first thing that likely comes to mind is a penthouse overlooking Central Park, or perhaps an historic brownstone in a trendy part of town.