The James Hartline Report

From The Journal Of James Hartline

December 23, 2005

"The Many Mothers In My Life"
*
When Jesus therefore saw His mother,
and the disciple standing by, whom He loved,
He said unto His mother,
"Woman, behold they son!"
Then said Jesus to the disciple,
"Behold they mother!"
And from that hour,
that disciple took her into his own home.
John 19:26-27(nasb)
*
Bakersfield
December, 1965
     A piercing howl could be heard in the dark night. Some must have thought it was a wounded animal, crying out from some recently inflicted injury. Screeching, deep from within the inner soul of that lame creature, came a repeated yelp of pain. Lights came on, doors swung open, faces peered out into the black night. Concerned neighbors, walking out into the frigid December cold, perked their ears in the prayerful hope that they could better gauge where the cry had come from. And then, as if on cue, there it was again. Almost in unison, all of the neighbors recognizing the cry's source, let out a collective sigh of resolved air. As usual, it was just the little boy on Crestmore Street, crying as he always did at that time of the year.
     If they could see into that little boy's home, they would see the same scene played out every year: a little boy, alone, rejected, abandoned..  All lights had been turned off. This was not the type of manifestated environment others would imagine during the Christmas season. Yet, every Christmas season, the same bleak and painful scenario was played out for him. There weren't many social events in Bakersfield, California in the 1960's. A bland, rural town, mostly smelly oil rigs and refineries, combined with endless fields of cotton and alfalfa, stood in stark contrast to the big cities of San Francisco to the north and Los Angeles to the south. The Bakersfield Christmas Parade was one of the few city events that brought out the hopes and dreams of the area's families, all united under one festive December banner, each year. Thus, it was something that an abused child were look forward to each year, as a reprieve from a life that was scorched with daily beatings and emotional deprival.
     This always made the wound even more grevious, when the boy's mother would always find an excuse the day of the parade, for punishing him, and denying his going with the rest of his family. This was a demented scenario played out every Christmas. His angry and abusive mother would always find a way to punish her little son, before he could receive his gifts. It was, in a twisted way, her way of reminding her son, that there was always a painful price to pay, if one was to receive any good thing in this life.
     Frozen with fear, facing a kitchen corner wall in the pure blackness of the lightless house, a cry of isolation and rejection gurgled up from his little, hungry belly. Finally, out of the pure agony of being abandoned by his family, he released another screech into the cold atmosphere of his silent house. Also on cue, a car drove up the driveway to the frontdoor of the house, where the boy stood huddled inside. Keys jingling, a door unlocking, and then a voice that terrorized the whimpering boy pierced the lightless house, "Shut up! You got what you deserved. Now get up and get in the car!" Once again, that damnable scenario had played out its festering climax. Punishment than reward, his mother had it down to a wicked art. At the parade, as Santa sat atop his passing sleigh, children cooed and shouted excited chants of exultation. One little boy, lucky to be at the parade at all, just stared coldly at the passing red suited giver of gifts, and wondered if Santa could let this one little boy get on his sleigh and drive him as far away from Bakersfied, California, as the reindeer could fly him. At the time, that little boy had no idea, just how far away from Bakersfield he would some day fly.
San Diego
December, 2005
      That was forty years ago, and I have indeed flown a long way since those cold Bakersfield winters and abusive holiday seasons. My poor old mother, now nearly 68 years of age, still lives in Bakersfield. Not much has changed with her. I occasionally hear from her, but she really never has come around to mending the broken places within herself, much less the breach between herself and her son. God has mended me however, but one day, I had to come to that place of surrendered realization that my mom will probably never be a mom for me.   I have learned, in my walk with the Lord, to release my mom from her responsibility for my upbreaking. I have forgiven her, but it never lessens the pain or hope of having that good mother-son relationship.
      I have often pondered that same aspect in considering how Mary must have felt in that dark day when she saw one of her sons hanging on that executioner's wood, rusting steel nails impaled into his hands and feet, the groaning from Jesus' throat intermingled with her own agonized wimpers combining to form an atomosphere of familial dispair. Where does the son go as his image of a mother not to be, descends into that valley of lost hope? Where does the mother go, when her son wanders far from the path of that mother's great aspiration for her offspring? What message is there for all us, when we do not realize in our family relationships, that classic mirage of the Brady Bunch fantasy?
      Three months ago, I had gone with my friend George Kerr to the Donovan State Prison to fill out the application to become a volunteer with the Chaplain's Program. I had, in my past, been a prisoner at that prison, the penalty for my many years of being a convicted thief. That was years ago, and I had finally gotten to that place in my life of wanting to go back and help the other inmates find a better way through Jesus Christ, just like I had. I have found, in my walk with the Lord, that the best Christmas present one can give, is to give one's self in service to those that are beaten down by the very circumstances that we, ourselves, had once been held captive. Thus, with continuous expectation of being approved, I waited for the
envelope that would contain my volunteer application approval.
       Finally, two weeks ago, during this Christmas season, the envelope arrived. I was so excited, as I opened the letter, expecting to read the date when I go into the prison to minister to those still incarcerated. Expectancy soon turned to gloom, as I read the denial. My applications had been disapproved. The reason was made clear: I had not been discharged from prison for the minimum ten years. I just sat there, very disappointed.
       And then I heard the voice of the Lord say to me, "Why are you so sad?"
       "Because I can't go visit the prisoners," I retorted.
       "So, you are upset, because you can't go back to prison...." the Lord inquired.
       With that realization, my spirits perked up. Oh yeah, I shouldn't be sad, I should be glad. For nineteen long years, I could not get out of prison, no matter how much I wanted. And now, in a twisted way, I was upset, because I couldn't get back into prison....no matter how much I wanted. It was one of the shining moments, when I realized that the Lord, and His word, had truly brought me full circle back to the place of restoration. A knock on my front door, also brought me back to the reality of my current circumstances. "What is it?" I said through the closed front door. "James, you have a big package up front, a really big package," my neighbor replied.
      Now full of curiosity, at who would be sending me a big package, I forgot about my prison volunteer application, and raced for the front of my property. There it was, a gigantic brown box. "What on earth?" I wondered what this was.
     As I ripped open the very tough tape, and clawed opened the top with my hungry little fingers, my eyes stared in disbelief. I had never seen so many wrapped gifts in one box. In my nineteen years in prison, I had never once received a Christmas present. Christmas has become just another day for me. It had never been a real pleasant experience for me in the first place, much less in the dark, grey confines of a concrete and steel prison.
      I just stared in wonderment, as to who would have sent me all these gifts in one box. Each one of the wrapped gifts had a card, so I opened a card to read who it was from. It read:
"May The Peace And Joy Of Christmas Be With You Always,"
Love All Of Your MOM'S
Your CWA Mom's, We Love You, James!
     I tell you, I was just overwhelmed. All of the dear, sweet ladies of Concerned Women for America, took time from their busy holiday times with their husbands and children, to put together a gigantic Christmas box full of goodies, and special wrapped presents just for me. I have been a servant of the Most High God, crying out in the wilderness for many years, and it was as if the widow woman had arisen all over again to feed Elijah in the midst of the drought.
     I have learned one of heaven's greatest revelations. When our earthly family assignments don't go according to our most earnest desires, God will mend the broken places and send us a replacement family. My earthly mom, may never come around, but God has brought me many, many mom's in her stead. It is the glory of the living God to bring healing in our soul in this way.
     Jesus conveyed that important principle as He was dying on the cross. He said to His mother Mary, "Your son," referring to the Apostle John. And to the Apostle John, "John, your mother." From that day on, Mary and John would become a new family, looking after each other. Jesus knew that they would need mending after His terrible execution. He knew these two souls would need healing from seeing the trauma inflicted upon Christ's battered body. It is His way. It is heaven's way, to fill in the void, repairing the breaches created by broken family relationships. God will bring that person to you to repair the family void and mend the broken places inflicted upon us by failed family obligations. In turn, He will also bring us to those who need healing in the same way. There are many lonely mothers and widows that need "new" sons. And there are many sons that need "new" mothers.
     In turn, there are many Godly moms in our society who are crying out for the Sons of God to rise up and help them. I have been given a mandate from the Hand of the Lord to rise up and help defend all of the moms of my generation. The Lord has said to me, "Son, rise up, go fight for all of your moms. Fight for them, as a good son would do. Defend them and drive out from the doorsteps, every evil that has besought them, and every devil that has sought to destroy their families."
     This Christmas, my CWA moms, my VIP moms and my other church moms, have made me walk down the streets, singing just a little louder, and a whole lot stronger.
From The Journal Of James Hartline
A San Diego Prophet's Tale
Dated December 23, 2005
Preparing For My Departure
But Running My Race, Until I Leave
James Hartline, Publisher
The James Hartline Report
Educating The Church
Fighting For Our Generation

The Journal of James Hartline

November 21, 2006

My Gethsemane:

Wrestling With Death

To Gain Eternal Life

"Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane,

and saith unto the disciples, "Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder."

Then saith He unto them, "My soul is exceedingly sorrowful,

even unto death: tarry ye here and watch with Me."

Matthew 26:36,38

Oct. 5, 2005 Cover Story In San Diego CityBeat:

"How James Hartline Became Hillcrest's

Most Notorious Christian Soldier"

(www.sdcitybeat.com/article.php?id=3628)

I have found that place where eternity has staked out a burial plot for the carnality of all mankind. It is the place where all personal dreams and ambitions are brought into direct conflict with the will and purposes of God. It is called Gethsemane. Gethsemane, the garden of anguish, the garden of death. It is the last place that Jesus went to prior to His betrayal. It was in Gethsemane, that the Master wrestled with His humanity and overcame it. With drops of blood flowing down His tormented brow, Jesus crucified each and every emotion and thought, bringing them into subjection to the will of the Father. All of His fears, His anxieties, His entire shuddering flesh: brought into alignment with the impending cross of cruxifiction. And the cross prevailed upon the mind of Christ. That is Gethsemane's purpose: the wrestling out of all spots and blemishes from the resisting soul until nothing remains but the purified will of the Father.

I, too, have been to Gethsemane. Strangely, and unfortunately, I find myself returning again and again to Gethsemane to wrestle with my humanity. It is always a low blow to my carnal mind, when I know I must drag my screaming carcass back to that garden of death to bring some place of resistance into agreement with the will of my heavenly Father. It seems that there is a daily resurrection of some portion of my buried flesh. And when that triumphant hand raises itself up out of the dirt of its burial plot, I must once against drag that snarling, rebellious corpse back to Gethsemane. In this life, Gethsemane's existence will always be an unfortunate and painful necessity.

We all must go to Gethsemane. Each man's Gethsemane is uniquely different. We all will surely know when we have entered into that place where human reality fades and the critical debate between our flesh and spirit will fight to the death over our eternal priorities. Each time we enter into Gethsemane's dark and eerie domain we get ever closer to the place where Christ, Himself, surrendered all. Oh, how I moan at times in fearful thought, that Christ should ever find me on the outskirts of Gethsemane, asleep, while He intercedes with the Father for more of my will to be given over to His heavenly purposes.

And He came and found them sleeping, and said to Peter,

"Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch for one hour?

Keep watching and praying, that you may not come into

temptation: the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Mark 14:37-38

My Gethsemane has been a lonely and arduous battle for me. The long shadows of death have encompassed me for nine years now. On December 1, 1997, I was infected with the virus that causes AIDS. There is no cure. That is the beginning and the end of the matter. Without a miracle from God, I will one day succumb to this wretched disease. Those who engage in homosexuality will eventually bite into what the Bible calls the "Vine of Sodom." Once I bit into that seductive fruit, the poison began to make its parasitic march throughout my bodily organs and systems. Oh, what a fatal flaw, did my thinking provide me, when I thought that sin's consequences would pass me by on its deadly way to others.

I have had to go to Gethsemane many, many times to wrestle with God and my flesh in dealing with AIDS. Each time, the wrestling has brought me closer to Him. Most bound in homosexuality will die in their sins rather than repent and surrender to Christ. The mind, once given to that reprobate state, will rarely find its way out of that pit of delusion and eternal damnation. I am most fortunate. For, in my wrestling over this disease of AIDS, I have surrender my flesh and all homosexual desires to God. In the process of seeking healing from AIDS, I have been completely delivered from homosexuality. Gethsemane has served me well in the eyes of God.

Arrows of Hate, Arrows of Scorn

"Blessed are ye, when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you

from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil,

for the Son of man's sake."

Luke 6:22

Most American Christians are obvlious to the extreme hate that is now manifesting in major metropolitan areas of the United States towards those that adhere to a belief in the Bible. Nowhere is that hate more intense then inside of the homosexual communities within America's urban areas.

Living inside of Hillcrest, the homosexual stronghold of San Diego, California, it seems as if I have been swallowed up at times, into a great caldron of hostility and bigotry because of my faith. What have I done wrong? What have I said that has germinated such anger towards me. Simply, standing for Christ and proclaiming the Word of God, has brought me into a war that I did not invent. Nevertheless, by surrendering to the will of God, I have enlisted in such a battle. It is a war over philosophies. It is a war over ideas. And most assuredly, it is a war with titanic spiritual dynamics: it is the war of ages between God and the rebels under satan's spell. Everyone who chooses to pick up the cross of Jesus Christ will enter into this conflict. To wave a white flag in surrender to satan, is to drop the cross and deny Christ.

There is a permeating emnity between those bound in the snare of homosexuality and those that speak the truth of the Bible. Once I renounced my former life and its sinful attire, I too, became the focus of a major campaign of hate and intolerance by San Diego's homosexual advocates. On a daily basis, I am ridiculed and mocked by those that claim that I am hateful and demented because of what they term "religious zealotry." They claim that opposition to the sin of homosexuality is intolerant zealotry. I say, in stark opposition to them, that those who will actually die in their quest for sexual fulfillment, are the ones who are demented zealots.

On August 21, 2005 the entire world was made aware that my life was constantly threatened by radical members of San Diego's homosexual community, when World Net Daily published an international story

detailing a death threat made against me

that had been posted on the Hillquest Website:

(http://worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=45879)

For nearly seven years, I have lived just one block from San Diego's Gay and Lesbian Center. I have been the target of many threats living in that location. The Gay and Lesbian Center is the physical manifestation of an entire neighborhood in complete rebellion to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. From the promotion of homosexual marriages and pornography to an orchestrated campaign against the Boy Scouts of America, this government funded temple of immorality stands as a testament to rebellion against the Word of God. It was, however, the indoctrination of young teenagers into homosexuality, lesbianism and transsexualism by the Gay and Lesbian Center, that really stirred my soul to go to war against this organization of evil.

"Even so, it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven,

that one of these little ones should perish."

Matthew 18:14

"Greater love hath no man than this,

that a man lay down his life for his friends"

John 15:13

This is where I have many times had to go to Gethsemane. I know that those who are determined to take these little ones and steal their innocence for ungodly purposes, have plotted my demise. But God has commanded me to stand for Him in the midst of such gross darkness. I have taken my fears, my burdens, my pains: all potential negative outcomes, to Gethsemane. I have wrestled them down to the earth, and pinned them to the ground into submission to the will of my Father in heaven.

There is no place in Hillcrest that I can walk where I am not recognized. My photographs have been circulated throughout the city. A cover story in the widely read weekly newspaper, San Diego CityBeat, circulated my picture under the title "The Enemy Within: How James Hartline Became Hillcrest's Most Notorious Christian Soldier." On many days, as I walk about the streets of Hillcrest, hateful glares will come my way, but my eyes stay focused on Christ and His mission for me. How we have come to a place in our society where the alledged "victims" of intolerance and hate crimes, have turned out to be an army of victimizers against Christians, is truly a sign of how asleep the watchman on the walls have been.

So the shipmaster came to him, and said unto him,

"What meanest thou, O sleeper? Arise, call upon thy God,

if so be that God will think upon us, that we perish not."

Photo from Fox News placed

on gay website that regularly mocks me

called the James Hartline Watch.

(www.hillquest.com/community/jhartline.htm)

Free From My Steel Cocoon

How HIV Turned James Hartline to Christ

By Amy Reid and Tim Branson
On CBN"s 700 Club

(www.cbn.com/700club/features/amazing/james_hartline021706.aspx)

You can watch the interview and story of James Hartline that was told

internationally on CBN's The 700 Club:

(www.cbn.com/vod/index.aspx?s=/vod/AR28)

Free From My Steel Cocoon:

What Do I Do With This Liberty?

"Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise Thy name:

the righteous shall compass me about;

for Thou shalt deal bountifully with me."

Psalm 142:7

"And I will walk at liberty: for I seek Thy precepts."

Psalm 119:45

Once we have been to our Gethsemane, where do we go from there. Well firstly, we know we would not have been to Gethsemane, if the Lord had not drawn us there. Thus, we know that since God brought us there, to crucify our own plans, and our own ambitions, He will also draw us into His purposes afterwards. For so many years, I had known nothing but sorrow, sickness and failure. How could a man who had been involved in homosexuality for thirty years, been in prisons for nineteen years, as well as mental illnesses and drug use, do anything worthwhile for the Lord Jesus Christ?

And Jesus looking upon them said,

"With men it is impossible, but not with God:

For with God, all things are possible."

Mark 10:27

If the devil could have killed me, he would have already done it. God has called me, and it is irrelevant what man thinks of that, or of me as a person, for that matter. Whom God calls, He qualifies. It is not a matter of education, or societal standing, or physical prowess. Simply, I am the least likely. In all facets, in the eyes of man, I am qualified for only one thing: the trash heap of all things failed. My God has called me to look the devil in the face and remind him that he has no say in my destiny or my success. It is God. He called. He qualifed. He equipped. And the devil has lost. I am eternally grateful for Gethsemane.

Nov. 1, 2004 Rally To Save The Mt. Soldedad Cross

Plotting to save the Mt. Soledad Cross with Pastor Leo Giovinetti.

Pastor Leo & Mission Valley Christian Fellowship adopted me

as their "Christian Pit Bull" and son in the Lord.

The Journal of James Hartline

Preparing For My Departure:

But Running My Race Until I Leave

James Hartline, Director

The Hillcrest Mission

www.hillcrestmission.org

You can now obtain your copy of the great testimonial booklet

by James Hartline entitled:

"Broken Rainbow - After The Gay Life Isn't Gay Anymore."

$10.00 Donation

Send Contribution to:

The Hillcrest Mission

P.O. Box 632763

San Diego, CA. 92163

Prayer Requests:

619-645-4867

You Can Also Financially Partner With The Very Important Work

Of The Hillcrest Mission By Sending Much Needed Donations to:

The Hillcrest Mission

P.O. Box 632763

San Diego, CA. 92163

The James Hartline Report

Educating The Church - Fighting For Our Generation

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