New Blogging Home

Hey friends! Join me at my new site:
www.myspace.com/bucknakedfaith

See ya soon!

Keeping the faith sights

geez... sometimes when I surf the net, I feel like one of those bottles bouncing around the ocean waves, totally at the mercy of the wind and currents. That can be fun when I've got time. But there are times I just like to find some cool inspiration to kickstart my day or relationship with God. I'm sure you've got your favs, but here are a few of my recent favs.

Always something good to read:
www.relevantmagazine.com

Edgy and connected:
www.theooze.com

Brokenness in a sexual world:
www.xxxchurch.com

Some great emergent friends:
www.allelon.org

the Invisible Children website:
http://www.invisiblechildren.com/home.php

There are so many great preaching sites out their with podcasts and audio streaming... My list would be redundant or offensive.

Buck Naked Faith in the Bible

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. :-)

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.

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.

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

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...