Julian's inner-city ministry labor of love

In the second half of the 1989 Tennessee football season, coach Johnny Majors decided a drastic move was necessary to shore up his secondary. So he moved redshirt freshman wide receiver Carl Pickens to free safety.

Longtime UT fans probably remember how the move paid off for a team on its way to an 11-1 season. They might not remember the flip side of the move.

When Pickens moved to defense, Jason Julian went to the bench.

For Pickens, the move was temporary. He returned to offense the following season and established himself as one of UT's all-time great receivers.

For Julian, the move was final. He would never start another game.

But now, almost 20 years after he played his first game at UT, Julian is still capitalizing on his sports background. He's the director of Urban K-Life of St. Louis, an innovative Christian ministry aimed at influencing inner-city youth. Julian and fellow staffers work as voluntary coaches and counselors in inner-city schools, then lead teen Bible studies outside school.

Julian's journey from here to there - from Halls to inner-city St. Louis - has been more spiritual than logical and marked by contradictions and surprises.

He was good enough to start in UT's secondary as a true freshman but played mainly on special teams as a junior and senior.

He grew up in a virtually all-white environment, but the love of his life is the black woman he married eight years ago.

He once was "the most confident, happy-go-lucky person you would ever meet." And then he tells you that a year after he played his last game at UT, he contemplated suicide.

"I didn't want to die," he said. "I just wanted the pain to go away."

A Sudden Impact At UT

Julian grew up in a football family. Both of his older brothers, Kevin and Eric, played for Halls. His father, Jerry, was a public-address announcer at home games. His mother, Pat, who taught physical education at Halls, was a trainer for the football team. Jason was a ball boy as a youngster and a star on Halls' state championship team as a junior.

A year later, he signed with the college team he had followed through high school.

"I reached the pinnacle when I signed with Tennessee," he said. "For a Knoxville guy, that's your dream."

On the field, the dream kept getting better.

Although Julian's goal was to be a full-time placekicker at UT, the coaches were too impressed with his athletic ability to allow it. Moreover, when the 1988 team started 0-6, the coaches were more prone to try younger players.

Julian's parents, who now are retired and living in Kingston, had mixed feelings about their son securing a starting position in the second half of his freshman season.

"Naturally, we were really proud of him," Pat said. "But we were concerned that he had not been able to try the position (placekicker) he went there for. And we had mixed feelings about the coaches burning his redshirt."

Jerry also was concerned about his son's physical limitations.

"We envisioned him as a kicker," Jerry said. "We didn't envision him as a free safety in D-I football. I never thought he had the height or speed to play the position consistently."

Julian was only 5-foot-10, 185 pounds and his fastest 40 yards wouldn't turn anybody's head. But he had a sixth sense for football, and a Bill Bates-like knack for making plays.

"Everything on the field moved slow for me," Julian said. "In high school, I could remember every play that happened in the game."

The UT coaches soon noticed Julian's intuitiveness for the game. And when they saw him make a textbook open-field tackle in practice against future star running back Chuck Webb, they knew they didn't want Julian just kicking field goals.

Julian became the starting free safety, and the team won its last five games. After the season, defensive coordinator Doug Mathews told Julian he wanted him to be a defensive captain next season - as a sophomore.

Down The Depth Chart

While Julian thrived on the field, he was lost off it. The sense of loss dated back to the last half of his senior year at Halls. He had a falling out with a close group of friends he had grown up with. He and his girlfriend broke up about the same time.

Jolted by the losses and feeling insecure for the first time in his life, Julian struggled to fill the void. He focused on football and partying at UT.

"I was drunk every single weekend for four and a half years, and two and three days (during the) week," Julian said. "I didn't get in trouble, because I could cover it up. I knew how to be dead-dog drunk walking down the street and pretend I was sober."

His problems eventually manifested themselves on the field. He became distracted and fearful of making mistakes.

"I had become a robot on the field," he said. "I remember stumbling as I was backpedaling on a play, then wondering what that would look like. On the inside, I was a mess."

When Pickens replaced him in the secondary for the last month of the 1989 season, Julian felt mainly relief.

"I was glad to be off the field," he said. "I didn't want to be out there making mistakes."

Julian was switched to wide receiver and spent the last half of his college career playing on special teams.

Near the end of his senior season, a teammate pulled him aside in the locker room.

"Jay, what happened to you?" he asked. "When I came here, you were the man. You were the only white starter on defense. You made plays in practice all the time. Black guys used to say 'I don't know how that white boy can get that done.' "

Julian had no answer.

"I felt so ashamed," he said.

Changing Directions

Julian's mother knew something was wrong. She had watched her son go from extrovert to introvert.

"He had never experienced failure before (his breakup with friends)," she said. "Then he lost his starting position, and he succumbed to depression."

At her advice, Jason began meeting with a Christian counselor.

"I thought he would give me a pill or shot or tell me something that would make the internal anguish go away," Julian said. "In reality, he was telling me I had a deeper problem."

There was no quick fix. During his on-again, off-again relationship with the counselor, Julian continued to treat his depression with alcohol, which only exacerbated the condition. In his lowest moment, he composed a suicide note.

Then he remembered how enjoyable his life had once been.

"So I hung in there, thinking there was something worth waiting for," he said. "I just didn't know what it was."

With the help of his Christian counselor, Julian finally found it. The date was July 31, 1993.

Julian was sitting in a bar acting happy as he drank his way through another night. Then, it hit him.

"I just realized I couldn't do that anymore," he said. "I went home, cried and gave my life to the Lord."

Julian attended Beaver Dam Baptist Church growing up and always considered himself a Christian.

"But I never established a daily relationship with the Lord," he said.

His new relationship consumed him the way football once did and led him to St. Louis, where he received a master of arts degree in theological studies. He also received an education outside of seminary that would - with the help of his sports background - prepare him for his future ministry.

Breaking Color Barrier

Although Julian wasn't around blacks in school, he always had an affinity for the black culture. When he attended football camps in the summer, he ended up hanging out with the black athletes. He did the same thing at UT.

So it's not surprising he developed a friendship with Jennifer Mahaffey, one of the few black students at Covenant Seminary. Julian began accompanying her to a small church, which had a mixed racial congregation and a black minister.

Following one sermon, the minister asked for volunteers to the church's sports outreach program.

Reluctantly, Julian volunteered and soon found himself on the harshest of basketball playgrounds, where 30 guys shot at goals with no nets, on courts outlined by chain-link fences.

Julian waited his turn. And waited.

"It was like the movie, 'White Men Can't Jump,' " he said. "I was out there in baggy shorts with my cap on backwards. They blew me off for about 30 minutes."

Finally, the lone white guy insisted on a game, and the playground veterans relented after a brief argument. Julian performed so well he was the first player taken for the next game.

An inner-city playground is no longer foreign territory to Julian. Three years ago, he established Urban K-Life of St. Louis, a ministry connected to the Kanakuk and Kids Across America Sports Camps in Branson, Mo.

Although there are 38 other K-Life chapters around the country, Julian's is the only one in the inner city.

"It has been the miracle of miracles," Julian said. "We're only in our third year, and we already have six staff members. Our vision is to have our staff members in all 12 St. Louis inner-city high schools.

"We don't do any proselytizing in the schools. We coach them and help them with academics."

Outside school, the teenagers are invited to attend outreach and Bible studies. Julian often conducts those studies at his home, where his wife, Mary, also interacts with the teenagers.

"The new kids at the studies are shocked," Julian said.

They conceal their surprise until they're back in the van.

"They'll say, 'Coach J, I didn't know you had a black wife,' " Julian said. " 'That's cool.' "

Mary, a St. Louis native, met Julian in the church he began attending with his classmate from seminary. They now have two sons, Joshua and Isaiah, and a 10-month old daughter, Genesis.

Their extended family includes the teenagers that come with Julian's ministry.

"A lot of these kids are hurting," Julian said. "Ninety-five percent of them come from single-parent, lower-income families.

"They buy into the Hip-Hop message, that it's all about the bling and sex. Still, there's something inside them - just like there was with me - saying, 'There has to be more to life than that.' "

Julian's parents are thrilled with what their son has done and overcome. But they admittedly had misgivings about his K-Life ministry.

"When I first heard what he was doing, my reaction, was, 'Jason, you've got to be nuts,' " his father said. " 'That's where they kill people.

'Son, what kind of gun do you want me to send you?' "

Their son assured them, "The people out there selling drugs see our van and say, 'He's with the church. Don't bother him.' ''

Jason's parents felt better after they accompanied him on one of his routine trips into the inner city. Since then, they haven't worried.

"He's in the Lord's hands," Pat said.

Sports editor John Adams may be reached at 865-342-6284.

© 2008, Knoxville News Sentinel Co.
Want to use this article? Click here for options!