Wow. Wouldn't it be weird to wake up one day and find out you were in the Bible? That happened to me yesterday. Sort of.
I was just shipped a new copy of Zondervan's "Today's Devotional Bible" and on page 1433 was a devotional excerpt from Buck Naked Faith. That's cool. I'm very honored. Thanks Zondervan.
Last week while in Nashville I had the chance to be interviewed on the Drew Marshall show. Drew is one authentic and cool guy. He is a big fan of Mike Yaconelli's "Messy Spirituality", which makes him top-notch in my opinion. If you are interested the link to the interview is here: http://www.drewmarshall.ca/listen2006.html#061202 .
Okay for those of you that know me well, I wil make a public confession (I have already told Drew Marshall this). In the interview, when he asked what type of motorcycle I rode I said "a Harley". Yes, a blatant, vile and all encompassing deception on my part... Lord have mercy on me, a sinner.
Actually, I ride a Kawasaki Vulcan 1500cc. But radio inteviews move so fast and I'm so use to telling people when they ask, "What's a Vulcan" that it is "like a Harley, but made by Kawasaki...yada...yada..." that I just jumped straight to "It's a Harley" for the sake of time. I'm sure I'll get some nasty feedback from those of you who are purists. But keep this in mind: If you would be willing to buy me a Harley, I would gladly be riding one. In the meantime I feel blessed to even own a "HARDLY Davidson" wannabe. There. My conscience is clear. :-)
Monday, December 11, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
Nashville in winter
I'm sitting here in Barnes and Noble, Nashville. Right next to the Grand Ol' Opry. It's 30 degrees outside, but my Americano is definitely warming my soul. Wow, this is a city that could sure stand to read "Plastic Jesus" or "The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne". Still people are MUCH more polite on roadways than Los Angeles. :-)
Just finished a couple days with my Native American Friends, Suuqiina and Qaumaniq. They were dedicating some property they have developed for an Arts/worship and wellness center. What a wonderful experience. There where cultures represented from all over the world. Just imagine a 1.5 hour worship set that flowed somewhat like this: Opening with some "standard" Chris Tomlin/Matt Redman stuff... then into some powerful Gaelic/Celtic worship using two harps and native flutes... then we flowed into a radical blend of Jewish/Native American sounds... to some Maori/New Zealand sounds... then a 15 minute native drumming and worship set using a large buffalo drum and at least 8 hand drums... finished off with some intimate Vineyard worship songs.
Okay sounds a bit chaotic, but it flowed so powerfully. Here is what is cool: NONE of it was scripted. Suuqiina just told people to bring their instruments and then allowed some of the "experienced" musicians to lead. It was such a fresh reminder of what I often read in Revelations where EVERY tribe, EVERY tongue, EVERY nation will worship at the throne. Oddly I got drafted into running the sound board. With all the drumming and a lady with a tambourine right next to my ear, that was a challenge. Still it wasn't about professionalism, it was about honor and passion. (None-the-less I think I need to start a love your soundman campaign for local churches. I forget how hard those guys/gals serve.)
Took three days to dedicate the wellness center in memory of Alle (Quam's granddaughter) who tragically died at the age of 3 some 7 years ago. But that is what I appreciate about Native values. They aren't in a hurry to do things. It is about honor, community, and motivation. Not speed and efficiency.
Speaking of efficiency. I've got to hurry to the airport so I can get home. Don't want to miss my flight...
Pray you are well.
Just finished a couple days with my Native American Friends, Suuqiina and Qaumaniq. They were dedicating some property they have developed for an Arts/worship and wellness center. What a wonderful experience. There where cultures represented from all over the world. Just imagine a 1.5 hour worship set that flowed somewhat like this: Opening with some "standard" Chris Tomlin/Matt Redman stuff... then into some powerful Gaelic/Celtic worship using two harps and native flutes... then we flowed into a radical blend of Jewish/Native American sounds... to some Maori/New Zealand sounds... then a 15 minute native drumming and worship set using a large buffalo drum and at least 8 hand drums... finished off with some intimate Vineyard worship songs.
Okay sounds a bit chaotic, but it flowed so powerfully. Here is what is cool: NONE of it was scripted. Suuqiina just told people to bring their instruments and then allowed some of the "experienced" musicians to lead. It was such a fresh reminder of what I often read in Revelations where EVERY tribe, EVERY tongue, EVERY nation will worship at the throne. Oddly I got drafted into running the sound board. With all the drumming and a lady with a tambourine right next to my ear, that was a challenge. Still it wasn't about professionalism, it was about honor and passion. (None-the-less I think I need to start a love your soundman campaign for local churches. I forget how hard those guys/gals serve.)
Took three days to dedicate the wellness center in memory of Alle (Quam's granddaughter) who tragically died at the age of 3 some 7 years ago. But that is what I appreciate about Native values. They aren't in a hurry to do things. It is about honor, community, and motivation. Not speed and efficiency.
Speaking of efficiency. I've got to hurry to the airport so I can get home. Don't want to miss my flight...
Pray you are well.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Promise Keepers Canada
My buddy Lawrence and I have been hanging out in Calgary, Alberta (Canada) for the past couple days for one of Promise Keepers national events. Been cool to see over 2000 men coming together in this COLD city to learn, and grow and worship together. Yours truly, The BuckNakedFaith guy got to speak at the opening session. I suppose they figured they would start at the bottom and work their way up with speakers, because I was followed by Stephen Arterburn (author of "Every man's battle") and then KP Yohannan (president of "Gospel for Asia"). :-)
The cool part has been the opportunity Lawrence and I have to pray for numerous men, mainly in their twenties who are sensing a real call on their lives to live for something greater than themselves.
There is a snow storm moving in on Sunday and we are supposed to leave on Monday. I rented a little Toyota Matrix. Now we are wishing we would have upgraded to the Hummer. :-)
Southern Cal is sounding good.
The cool part has been the opportunity Lawrence and I have to pray for numerous men, mainly in their twenties who are sensing a real call on their lives to live for something greater than themselves.
There is a snow storm moving in on Sunday and we are supposed to leave on Monday. I rented a little Toyota Matrix. Now we are wishing we would have upgraded to the Hummer. :-)
Southern Cal is sounding good.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Plastic Jesus on the streets
Plastic Jesus hit the streets this month. Whew... thanks for all your prayers, encouragment and support! That's really cool.
As promised here is another exerpt...
****
Chapter Two
Keeping Up With the Jones’s
On Identity
The other day I was reading a blogsite, in which the writer, who had heard me speak at a conference, referred to me as the “quintessential poster child for the metrosexual pastor.” Okay. That short phrase contains a whole lot of verbage, most of which I had to look up to understand.
I don’t particularly like having sex on subways or trains, so why would someone say that I’m a metrosexual? And aren’t poster children usually disabled or on the picture to solicit sympathy?
I jumped over to Google and did a search on metrosexual. Of course, any search containing the word sex is bound to yield some dangerous links. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of me, even though I was sitting next to a couple of middle-aged church ladies at my local coffee shop, The Bella Rosa.
Wordspy.com yielded my answer:
metrosexual (met.roh.SEK.shoo.ul) n. An urban male with a strong aesthetic sense who spends a great deal of time and money on his appearance and lifestyle…. A metrosexual is a clotheshorse wrapped around a dandy fused with a narcissist. Like soccer star David Beckham, who has been known to paint his fingernails, the metrosexual is not afraid to embrace his feminine side. Why "metrosexual"? The metro- (city) prefix indicates this man's purely urban lifestyle, while the -sexual suffix comes from "homosexual," meaning that this man, although he is usually straight, embodies the heightened aesthetic sense often associated with certain types of gay men.
Hey, I resemble those remarks…
I mean it’s not like I’m a candidate for the cable television hit, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, the show where five highly fashionable gay men attack and transform some unaware, underdressed, undereducated, and undersocialized jock whose hip, Barbie-doll girlfriend signed him up for a makeover.
Actually, just the other day I was looking in my closet and noticed a wide array of Hawaiian shirts. What great inventions those things are for guys. They match any color pants or shorts we wear. Plus, they hide any stain that we put on them—whether mustard, wine, or brie. And where else can you find a shirt that is so floral and yet so irresistibly masculine? Last season, when they were in fashion, I definitely felt like the Big Kahuna.
Yep, I could walk around most any church conference in the middle of winter, and it was like springtime on the islands. Everyone cool had on a Hawaiian shirt and sported a tightly-cropped goatee. All we needed was Don Ho leading worship, and the set would have been complete.
But this year is a different story. As I’ve walked around the malls and attended emergent church conferences, I’ve felt a little out-of-place. Hawaii is not hip this year. No, this year it is the retro T-shirt and trucker hats for the guys, and pink and black for the ladies. I’m thankful mullets aren’t back in style yet, because I am still shaving my head and holding onto my soul-patch goatee to be edgy.
So I’m staring at my closet, wondering what to do with all my Hawaiian shirts. Suddenly they are not so avant-garde looking. They aren’t even made in Hawaii.
How can I wear something not authentic, when I’m trying to speak on authenticity?
Of course, the Philippines are islands too, but that is beside the point. No, what I really want is a cool retro T-shirt… maybe a “sugar daddy” one, or one that says, “I get pumped at Gold’s Gym.”
Yeah, that would be cool. I want to be cool. Being cool is part of ministering the gospel. The gospel is cool. Where’s my credit card?
Okay, so maybe I am a bit of a meterosexual. But I don’t find my identity in what I wear or in what others are saying about me. Okay, so I don’t find all of my identity in what I wear or what others are saying about me. Man, I wish I hadn’t read that blogsite …
The whole Hawaiian-shirt-in-the-closet dilemma got me thinking about all the stuff we grab onto in our struggle to find our identity. This struggle is core to how we interact in this world.
*****
Peace out...
Eric
As promised here is another exerpt...
****
Chapter Two
Keeping Up With the Jones’s
On Identity
The other day I was reading a blogsite, in which the writer, who had heard me speak at a conference, referred to me as the “quintessential poster child for the metrosexual pastor.” Okay. That short phrase contains a whole lot of verbage, most of which I had to look up to understand.
I don’t particularly like having sex on subways or trains, so why would someone say that I’m a metrosexual? And aren’t poster children usually disabled or on the picture to solicit sympathy?
I jumped over to Google and did a search on metrosexual. Of course, any search containing the word sex is bound to yield some dangerous links. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of me, even though I was sitting next to a couple of middle-aged church ladies at my local coffee shop, The Bella Rosa.
Wordspy.com yielded my answer:
metrosexual (met.roh.SEK.shoo.ul) n. An urban male with a strong aesthetic sense who spends a great deal of time and money on his appearance and lifestyle…. A metrosexual is a clotheshorse wrapped around a dandy fused with a narcissist. Like soccer star David Beckham, who has been known to paint his fingernails, the metrosexual is not afraid to embrace his feminine side. Why "metrosexual"? The metro- (city) prefix indicates this man's purely urban lifestyle, while the -sexual suffix comes from "homosexual," meaning that this man, although he is usually straight, embodies the heightened aesthetic sense often associated with certain types of gay men.
Hey, I resemble those remarks…
I mean it’s not like I’m a candidate for the cable television hit, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, the show where five highly fashionable gay men attack and transform some unaware, underdressed, undereducated, and undersocialized jock whose hip, Barbie-doll girlfriend signed him up for a makeover.
Actually, just the other day I was looking in my closet and noticed a wide array of Hawaiian shirts. What great inventions those things are for guys. They match any color pants or shorts we wear. Plus, they hide any stain that we put on them—whether mustard, wine, or brie. And where else can you find a shirt that is so floral and yet so irresistibly masculine? Last season, when they were in fashion, I definitely felt like the Big Kahuna.
Yep, I could walk around most any church conference in the middle of winter, and it was like springtime on the islands. Everyone cool had on a Hawaiian shirt and sported a tightly-cropped goatee. All we needed was Don Ho leading worship, and the set would have been complete.
But this year is a different story. As I’ve walked around the malls and attended emergent church conferences, I’ve felt a little out-of-place. Hawaii is not hip this year. No, this year it is the retro T-shirt and trucker hats for the guys, and pink and black for the ladies. I’m thankful mullets aren’t back in style yet, because I am still shaving my head and holding onto my soul-patch goatee to be edgy.
So I’m staring at my closet, wondering what to do with all my Hawaiian shirts. Suddenly they are not so avant-garde looking. They aren’t even made in Hawaii.
How can I wear something not authentic, when I’m trying to speak on authenticity?
Of course, the Philippines are islands too, but that is beside the point. No, what I really want is a cool retro T-shirt… maybe a “sugar daddy” one, or one that says, “I get pumped at Gold’s Gym.”
Yeah, that would be cool. I want to be cool. Being cool is part of ministering the gospel. The gospel is cool. Where’s my credit card?
Okay, so maybe I am a bit of a meterosexual. But I don’t find my identity in what I wear or in what others are saying about me. Okay, so I don’t find all of my identity in what I wear or what others are saying about me. Man, I wish I hadn’t read that blogsite …
The whole Hawaiian-shirt-in-the-closet dilemma got me thinking about all the stuff we grab onto in our struggle to find our identity. This struggle is core to how we interact in this world.
*****
Peace out...
Eric
Friday, September 01, 2006
Plastic Jesus excerpt #1
Since I've had a number of encouraging emails regarding the release of "Plastic Jesus" this month, I thought I would post an excerpt from each chapter to give ya'll a feel of what the book is about. I'd love your feedback if you get a chance. Of course, Navpress would love you to buy it. ;-)
Table of Contents
Chapter One: When Suburbia Loses Its Appeal
Chapter Two: Keeping up with the Jones’s (On Identity)
Chapter Three: A Promising Career (On Calling)
Chapter Four: A Television in Every Room (on Doubt and Discouragement)
Chapter Five: A Powerful SUV (On Discovery and Learning)
Chapter Six: A Really Big House (On Intimacy With God)
Chapter Seven: A Perfect Lawn (On Brokenness)
Conclusion: Rethinking Suburbia
Chapter One
When Suburbia Loses It Appeal
“How are the breasts?” His question brought me out of my stupor and focused my attention back to the task at hand. No doubt this dapper forty-something’s silicone-invested wife purposely had her assets on display, but I was a waiter and a purported follower of Christ. Both roles had momentarily been put on the backburner in lieu of this visual burden.
“Whoa. I’m sorry for being so rude, please forgive me.” I muttered, swallowing my pride and lifting my eyes to make contact with Mr. Dapper.
Oddly, his face was buried in the menu and not glaring at me.
“What do you mean? You’re not being rude. I was just wondering which of the specials you recommend—the chicken breast Oscar or the hazelnut Shrimp.”
That was close. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Go with the hazelnut shrimp.” I suggested, partly because I wanted nothing more to do with breasts for a few minutes.
“And for you ma’am, what can I get for you?” I said returning to Mrs. Silicone, this time with disciplined eyes.
“I’ve lost my appetite. Just give me a salad.”
I detected a bit of cayenne bite in her response. A bite not directed at me, but to Mr. Dapper across the table.
I’ve been a waiter long enough to know when a couple has brought into public something that should have been dealt with in the car, and I knew trouble was brewing.
“Right away” I responded, making a hasty retreat.
Sure enough, as the evening unfolded Ken and Barbie unraveled. She left with tears; he left without remembering my tip. Oh, well. On this night I’d rather be broke than broken.
Who would’ve guessed it? Of all the people I run into during my everyday, hurry-up-and-wait life, who would have thought that this suburban couple, who shone success and good looks on the outside, could have been experiencing so much decay underneath? They had likely driven to the restaurant in a nice car and flashed their freshly- whitened teeth while palming the maître d' a twenty in order to get a preferred seat in the restaurant (due to the water view, not the waiter view). All so that they could enjoy a pleasant make-believe evening. But something was percolating underneath that exterior of perfection. Something painful, something avoided, and something that needed to get out.
Not What We Appear to Be
The suburbs are filled with picture-perfect couples who live in picture-perfect houses that could double as palaces in most third world countries. One could naively drive through these communities, see the manicured lawns and oil-free driveways, and assume that since all is well outside, all must be well on the inside.
But we are not that naïve. We know money can’t buy happiness. It can only buy the therapy that helps us cope without it. We know that a big house can’t buy close family relationships. It can only create more room in which family members can hide from each other. We know that a powerful SUV doesn’t provide freedom. It only provides the illusion that “If I really wanted to, I could leave the pavement that surrounds my life.”
No, life in suburbia is not always what it appears to be. Author David Brooks agrees.
He writes these insightful words:
America, especially suburban America, is depicted as a comfortable but somewhat vacuous realm of unreality: consumerist, wasteful, complacent, materialistic, and self-absorbed. Sprawling, shopping, Disneyfied Americans have cut themselves off from the sources of enchantment, the things that really matter. They have become too concerned with small and vulgar pleasures, pointless one-upmanship, and easy values. They have become at once too permissive and too narrow, too self-indulgent and too timid. Their lives are distracted by a buzz of trivial images, by relentless hurry instead of genuine contemplation, information rather than wisdom, and a profusion of superficial choices.
Well said, Brooks. But while Brooks is pointing fingers at literal suburbia, Jesus is pointing his finger to a different location—spiritual suburbia. Only the true light of God can help us put into words what we have been sensing for quite some time—that all is not well in spiritual suburbia.
***** well, that's a bit of chapter one****** more later...
Table of Contents
Chapter One: When Suburbia Loses Its Appeal
Chapter Two: Keeping up with the Jones’s (On Identity)
Chapter Three: A Promising Career (On Calling)
Chapter Four: A Television in Every Room (on Doubt and Discouragement)
Chapter Five: A Powerful SUV (On Discovery and Learning)
Chapter Six: A Really Big House (On Intimacy With God)
Chapter Seven: A Perfect Lawn (On Brokenness)
Conclusion: Rethinking Suburbia
Chapter One
When Suburbia Loses It Appeal
“How are the breasts?” His question brought me out of my stupor and focused my attention back to the task at hand. No doubt this dapper forty-something’s silicone-invested wife purposely had her assets on display, but I was a waiter and a purported follower of Christ. Both roles had momentarily been put on the backburner in lieu of this visual burden.
“Whoa. I’m sorry for being so rude, please forgive me.” I muttered, swallowing my pride and lifting my eyes to make contact with Mr. Dapper.
Oddly, his face was buried in the menu and not glaring at me.
“What do you mean? You’re not being rude. I was just wondering which of the specials you recommend—the chicken breast Oscar or the hazelnut Shrimp.”
That was close. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Go with the hazelnut shrimp.” I suggested, partly because I wanted nothing more to do with breasts for a few minutes.
“And for you ma’am, what can I get for you?” I said returning to Mrs. Silicone, this time with disciplined eyes.
“I’ve lost my appetite. Just give me a salad.”
I detected a bit of cayenne bite in her response. A bite not directed at me, but to Mr. Dapper across the table.
I’ve been a waiter long enough to know when a couple has brought into public something that should have been dealt with in the car, and I knew trouble was brewing.
“Right away” I responded, making a hasty retreat.
Sure enough, as the evening unfolded Ken and Barbie unraveled. She left with tears; he left without remembering my tip. Oh, well. On this night I’d rather be broke than broken.
Who would’ve guessed it? Of all the people I run into during my everyday, hurry-up-and-wait life, who would have thought that this suburban couple, who shone success and good looks on the outside, could have been experiencing so much decay underneath? They had likely driven to the restaurant in a nice car and flashed their freshly- whitened teeth while palming the maître d' a twenty in order to get a preferred seat in the restaurant (due to the water view, not the waiter view). All so that they could enjoy a pleasant make-believe evening. But something was percolating underneath that exterior of perfection. Something painful, something avoided, and something that needed to get out.
Not What We Appear to Be
The suburbs are filled with picture-perfect couples who live in picture-perfect houses that could double as palaces in most third world countries. One could naively drive through these communities, see the manicured lawns and oil-free driveways, and assume that since all is well outside, all must be well on the inside.
But we are not that naïve. We know money can’t buy happiness. It can only buy the therapy that helps us cope without it. We know that a big house can’t buy close family relationships. It can only create more room in which family members can hide from each other. We know that a powerful SUV doesn’t provide freedom. It only provides the illusion that “If I really wanted to, I could leave the pavement that surrounds my life.”
No, life in suburbia is not always what it appears to be. Author David Brooks agrees.
He writes these insightful words:
America, especially suburban America, is depicted as a comfortable but somewhat vacuous realm of unreality: consumerist, wasteful, complacent, materialistic, and self-absorbed. Sprawling, shopping, Disneyfied Americans have cut themselves off from the sources of enchantment, the things that really matter. They have become too concerned with small and vulgar pleasures, pointless one-upmanship, and easy values. They have become at once too permissive and too narrow, too self-indulgent and too timid. Their lives are distracted by a buzz of trivial images, by relentless hurry instead of genuine contemplation, information rather than wisdom, and a profusion of superficial choices.
Well said, Brooks. But while Brooks is pointing fingers at literal suburbia, Jesus is pointing his finger to a different location—spiritual suburbia. Only the true light of God can help us put into words what we have been sensing for quite some time—that all is not well in spiritual suburbia.
***** well, that's a bit of chapter one****** more later...
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Crossing Thresholds
Lately, I sure have been thinking a lot about thresholds that we cross.
Obviously, moving and changing churches has had a lot to do with that. Still it goes a bit deeper than that. I closed out 10 incredible years in Port Angeles last month, stepping through a chronological threshold. There seems to be something psychologically significant about certain numbers. Thanks be to Rick Warren's purpose driven life to remind us again of the significance of the number 40. 40 days... 40 years... etc. My friend, David Parker turned 50 yesterday. That seems to be a pretty big threshold in peoples lives. I find out in a decade...
My crossing a threshold also influenced others to examine thresholds in their lives. My friend, Michael Chapman crossed into what he considers his calling as I stepped out of my role in at the Olympic Vineyard and he stepped in to become the new pastor. So once again I realize that we don't live our lives in isolation, but community.
Take a quick scan through your Bible at the significance of thresholds. It seems that God intends something so simple in the physical to have significant spiritual ramifications. Over and over again in the Old Testament God uses thresholds to define a place of being covered and protected by His presence or being outside it. It signifies moving from one place into another, often closer to his heart and promises. Israel crossed a threshold in the Jordan, moving from wandering to promise. The blood on the threshold of the doors protected God's people from judgment and death.
So I wonder. Are there significant thresholds that you have passed in your life that have brought you from Bondage to Freedom? or perhaps even further: from Freedom to Promise/purpose in you life? Have you stepped over a line and absolutely known it? Or has your life been a bit more blurry and less definitive. I'm sure like mine, it is a blend of both. I'm sure others who read this blog would like to hear a bit of your story as well...
Obviously, moving and changing churches has had a lot to do with that. Still it goes a bit deeper than that. I closed out 10 incredible years in Port Angeles last month, stepping through a chronological threshold. There seems to be something psychologically significant about certain numbers. Thanks be to Rick Warren's purpose driven life to remind us again of the significance of the number 40. 40 days... 40 years... etc. My friend, David Parker turned 50 yesterday. That seems to be a pretty big threshold in peoples lives. I find out in a decade...
My crossing a threshold also influenced others to examine thresholds in their lives. My friend, Michael Chapman crossed into what he considers his calling as I stepped out of my role in at the Olympic Vineyard and he stepped in to become the new pastor. So once again I realize that we don't live our lives in isolation, but community.
Take a quick scan through your Bible at the significance of thresholds. It seems that God intends something so simple in the physical to have significant spiritual ramifications. Over and over again in the Old Testament God uses thresholds to define a place of being covered and protected by His presence or being outside it. It signifies moving from one place into another, often closer to his heart and promises. Israel crossed a threshold in the Jordan, moving from wandering to promise. The blood on the threshold of the doors protected God's people from judgment and death.
So I wonder. Are there significant thresholds that you have passed in your life that have brought you from Bondage to Freedom? or perhaps even further: from Freedom to Promise/purpose in you life? Have you stepped over a line and absolutely known it? Or has your life been a bit more blurry and less definitive. I'm sure like mine, it is a blend of both. I'm sure others who read this blog would like to hear a bit of your story as well...
Thursday, July 20, 2006
We Made It!
Holy Sunshine Batman!
We made it to Lancaster. The temperature has been hovering around 102 degrees each day. At least the humidity is low. :-)
Our journey to Southern Cal went well. After piling a family of 4 into a pick-up truck and packing our home into a 6x10 cargo trailer we ventured down the Oregon coast, through Mount Shasta and into the desert. It was good to have lots of play time with the kids and Cindy, before we moved into our new home.
I'll be preaching the month of August here at the Desert Vineyard so keep praying for me. More to come... but I have to keep unpacking.
We made it to Lancaster. The temperature has been hovering around 102 degrees each day. At least the humidity is low. :-)
Our journey to Southern Cal went well. After piling a family of 4 into a pick-up truck and packing our home into a 6x10 cargo trailer we ventured down the Oregon coast, through Mount Shasta and into the desert. It was good to have lots of play time with the kids and Cindy, before we moved into our new home.
I'll be preaching the month of August here at the Desert Vineyard so keep praying for me. More to come... but I have to keep unpacking.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Moving to the desert
July 5th... July 5th... July 5th...
The date keeps bouncing around my head. That will be my official departure date from the wonderful town of Port Angeles, WA as my tribe and I make our way down to Lancaster, CA to be a part of the Desert Vineyard. How ironic that my Lord leads me from the Rainforest to the Desert. Just shows that I am unable to do anything outside the extreme, I suppose.
So many people ask me why I would be willing to leave such an incredible church and community and go serve a "big church". Though I understand the gist of the question, it still seems a bit odd to ask. As follower's of Christ, are we not ALL called to not own any part of our lives? I LOVE living the adventure of following Jesus. Here is the odd part: I'm still not 100% sure that I've heard God on this one. But one thing Cindy and I are sure of: we would rather risk obedience to our calling and be wrong, that live in comfort and always wonder.
We are excited to be a part of the Desert Vineyard team. God is doing amazing things in Lancaster. Though the climate and landscaping seem pretty harsh to us as a NW family, the church and people we have met are incredibly life giving. Hey, the kingdom of God is less about geography as it is about people. :-)
So the next season begins. We have packed a family of 4 into a 6x10 foot cargo trailer (that itself is a miracle) and head out July 5th... We will take a week to get there and enjoy some quality family time and give the kids time to adjust to the move.
Keep an eye out for the release of "Plastic Jesus: exposing the hollowness of comfortable Christianity" in mid September!
The date keeps bouncing around my head. That will be my official departure date from the wonderful town of Port Angeles, WA as my tribe and I make our way down to Lancaster, CA to be a part of the Desert Vineyard. How ironic that my Lord leads me from the Rainforest to the Desert. Just shows that I am unable to do anything outside the extreme, I suppose.
So many people ask me why I would be willing to leave such an incredible church and community and go serve a "big church". Though I understand the gist of the question, it still seems a bit odd to ask. As follower's of Christ, are we not ALL called to not own any part of our lives? I LOVE living the adventure of following Jesus. Here is the odd part: I'm still not 100% sure that I've heard God on this one. But one thing Cindy and I are sure of: we would rather risk obedience to our calling and be wrong, that live in comfort and always wonder.
We are excited to be a part of the Desert Vineyard team. God is doing amazing things in Lancaster. Though the climate and landscaping seem pretty harsh to us as a NW family, the church and people we have met are incredibly life giving. Hey, the kingdom of God is less about geography as it is about people. :-)
So the next season begins. We have packed a family of 4 into a 6x10 foot cargo trailer (that itself is a miracle) and head out July 5th... We will take a week to get there and enjoy some quality family time and give the kids time to adjust to the move.
Keep an eye out for the release of "Plastic Jesus: exposing the hollowness of comfortable Christianity" in mid September!
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Eric from Port Angeles
We'll I did it. I went and saw Da Vinci code. Not that bad of a flick. Tom Hanks was pretty flat as an actor, but the albino monk dude was awesome. What a switch from his character in "A Knights Tale". Oh, wait I'm supposed to attack Dan Brown and talk about the millions of people who are going to fall away. Sorry, I'm not into preaching against stuff or people. Seems more healthy to move towards what I love than away from what I don't.
One thing does kinda bother me though. Da Vinci actually was NOT his last name. No student of art would call him Mr. Da Vinci. That simple means from Vinci. Like the famous mystic Julian of Norwich. We wouldn't call her "Mrs. of Norwich". Or we would call me "of Port Angeles". Anyway, just a quirk in the whole thing. Nothing to lose your salvation over...
On the churches side of the issue, I'm amazed how few professing Christians actually know how we got the Bible and the early history of the church. If nothing else this movie phenom should encourage us to get back to school. I know I need to. Well, I gotta get back to my buttered popcorn. X-men III is next!
One thing does kinda bother me though. Da Vinci actually was NOT his last name. No student of art would call him Mr. Da Vinci. That simple means from Vinci. Like the famous mystic Julian of Norwich. We wouldn't call her "Mrs. of Norwich". Or we would call me "of Port Angeles". Anyway, just a quirk in the whole thing. Nothing to lose your salvation over...
On the churches side of the issue, I'm amazed how few professing Christians actually know how we got the Bible and the early history of the church. If nothing else this movie phenom should encourage us to get back to school. I know I need to. Well, I gotta get back to my buttered popcorn. X-men III is next!
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Back on Blogger
Hey friends, drifters, and "how did I get to this site?" people!
After a long haitus from my blogsite, I 've decided to get back and get busy. Mind you I haven't been abscent, I was just blogging over at Amazon.com on my books page for a bit and writing for Kingdomrain.net. However, this site feels so much more like home.
As many of you know I'm starting to pack up and move to Lancaster, CA. From the rainforest to the dessert I go. Wow. We are excited and grieving at the same time. But transitions can be good for our faith and our family if we do them right.
So I repost this blog on Transitions as my own gets closer and closer...
A few months ago I was invited to speak at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. Of course, having failed my geography classes miserably in high school, I didn’t realize that visiting Duluth in mid February can be a frightfully chilling experience. Being a window seat kinda guy, my view of my descent to Duluth positioned me right next to the landing wheels of our turbo propped United Express plane. As the snow covered tarmac approached I suddenly felt a bit uneasy. Staring at the tires, I realized that they where noticeably absent of any snow tread or even those cool little spiking things that half of Port Angeles puts on their tires at the first sign of snow.
So I’m thinking, “Traction is important on vehicles trying to stop on the snow. My 4-Runner has great snow tires and still slides sometimes. This plane is a lot heavier and moving a lot faster than my 4-Runner. Geez, where are those Les Schwab guys when I need ‘em?...”
Of course, the freakiest part of landing an airplane is that transition point. You know, that place when you haven’t quite landed, but aren’t really in the air? Or when you are taking off—you can feel the lift, but the plane is still on the ground. I stared at my bald tire friends out the window and realized that, during this transition time, my life was in their hands. I realized that there wasn’t a thing I could do to make that plane land safely. I couldn’t press done in my seat harder to make the plane heavier. I couldn’t flap my arms really, really fast in order to keep it aloft. Nope. All I could do is have faith. Faith in those tires… faith in that plane… and most importantly faith in the pilot. The fact that you are reading this column is evidence enough that I made it through that snowy transition and landed safely.
Still the whole experience got me thinking about transitions in our lives. They seem to be some of the most awkward and nerve-racking experiences we as human have to endure. We like the status quo. We like things predictable and tidy. But life is not that gracious. It demands flexibility and change. Our kids grow up, our parent’s grow old, and our bellies grow wide. We move to different houses, different cities, and even into different lifestyles. Transitions occur in our lives at varying degrees and speeds. So the key to success is not avoiding awkward transitions, but learning how to handle them. Let me offer three things to keep in mind to help you land safely on the other side of change.
Focus: Keep in mind that every transition has a beginning, middle, and an end. Knowing where you are in the process and where you desire to be when it is over can help you make healthy and life giving decisions in the midst of it. This is especially important when transition surprises us. Without focus, the death of a loved one or a unexpected career change can cause us to make poor decisions that actually compound the problem instead of navigating it.
Friends: I see too many people in transition pull away and isolate themselves from others. Likewise the awkwardness of not knowing what to do, causes many of us to avoid those we know who are in transition. My advice, regardless of what side of the coin you are on—walk in the opposite spirit. Where your natural inclination may be to run and hide, or avoid and deny, turn to pursue and love. Friends are gifts from above that add stability and sanity to our lives.
Faith: If I’m flying the plane myself, then the weight of success or failure depends on me. If I’ve entrusted my life to someone who knows it better than I even know myself, then faith dictates that I trust. Jesus said that he was the Master of Life. By that very statement, I believe he means that he knows a lot about life. Not just church or offerings, but life. He knows a lot about marriage and parenting, about careers and callings, about love and loss, and a lot about the present and future. To let him be the master of my life means I get to be his apprentice and learn from him how to live this life—and live it abundantly.
So may your Faith, Friends, and Focus help you land safely through the next transition in your life. And if you happen to be on an airplane sometime in the future and see some guy flapping his arms trying to keep the plane in the air, just come remind me to listen to my own advice and trust the pilot.
After a long haitus from my blogsite, I 've decided to get back and get busy. Mind you I haven't been abscent, I was just blogging over at Amazon.com on my books page for a bit and writing for Kingdomrain.net. However, this site feels so much more like home.
As many of you know I'm starting to pack up and move to Lancaster, CA. From the rainforest to the dessert I go. Wow. We are excited and grieving at the same time. But transitions can be good for our faith and our family if we do them right.
So I repost this blog on Transitions as my own gets closer and closer...
A few months ago I was invited to speak at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. Of course, having failed my geography classes miserably in high school, I didn’t realize that visiting Duluth in mid February can be a frightfully chilling experience. Being a window seat kinda guy, my view of my descent to Duluth positioned me right next to the landing wheels of our turbo propped United Express plane. As the snow covered tarmac approached I suddenly felt a bit uneasy. Staring at the tires, I realized that they where noticeably absent of any snow tread or even those cool little spiking things that half of Port Angeles puts on their tires at the first sign of snow.
So I’m thinking, “Traction is important on vehicles trying to stop on the snow. My 4-Runner has great snow tires and still slides sometimes. This plane is a lot heavier and moving a lot faster than my 4-Runner. Geez, where are those Les Schwab guys when I need ‘em?...”
Of course, the freakiest part of landing an airplane is that transition point. You know, that place when you haven’t quite landed, but aren’t really in the air? Or when you are taking off—you can feel the lift, but the plane is still on the ground. I stared at my bald tire friends out the window and realized that, during this transition time, my life was in their hands. I realized that there wasn’t a thing I could do to make that plane land safely. I couldn’t press done in my seat harder to make the plane heavier. I couldn’t flap my arms really, really fast in order to keep it aloft. Nope. All I could do is have faith. Faith in those tires… faith in that plane… and most importantly faith in the pilot. The fact that you are reading this column is evidence enough that I made it through that snowy transition and landed safely.
Still the whole experience got me thinking about transitions in our lives. They seem to be some of the most awkward and nerve-racking experiences we as human have to endure. We like the status quo. We like things predictable and tidy. But life is not that gracious. It demands flexibility and change. Our kids grow up, our parent’s grow old, and our bellies grow wide. We move to different houses, different cities, and even into different lifestyles. Transitions occur in our lives at varying degrees and speeds. So the key to success is not avoiding awkward transitions, but learning how to handle them. Let me offer three things to keep in mind to help you land safely on the other side of change.
Focus: Keep in mind that every transition has a beginning, middle, and an end. Knowing where you are in the process and where you desire to be when it is over can help you make healthy and life giving decisions in the midst of it. This is especially important when transition surprises us. Without focus, the death of a loved one or a unexpected career change can cause us to make poor decisions that actually compound the problem instead of navigating it.
Friends: I see too many people in transition pull away and isolate themselves from others. Likewise the awkwardness of not knowing what to do, causes many of us to avoid those we know who are in transition. My advice, regardless of what side of the coin you are on—walk in the opposite spirit. Where your natural inclination may be to run and hide, or avoid and deny, turn to pursue and love. Friends are gifts from above that add stability and sanity to our lives.
Faith: If I’m flying the plane myself, then the weight of success or failure depends on me. If I’ve entrusted my life to someone who knows it better than I even know myself, then faith dictates that I trust. Jesus said that he was the Master of Life. By that very statement, I believe he means that he knows a lot about life. Not just church or offerings, but life. He knows a lot about marriage and parenting, about careers and callings, about love and loss, and a lot about the present and future. To let him be the master of my life means I get to be his apprentice and learn from him how to live this life—and live it abundantly.
So may your Faith, Friends, and Focus help you land safely through the next transition in your life. And if you happen to be on an airplane sometime in the future and see some guy flapping his arms trying to keep the plane in the air, just come remind me to listen to my own advice and trust the pilot.
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