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.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
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.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Sex and Christianity?
Hey friends. It took Kingdomrain.net a while but my Question & Answer section is finally being posted. Check it out. Drop me a question or two through the site and let me (and them) know what you think.
www.kingdomrain.net
Keep praying for me. Lot's of traveling these days, but marriage/family and my own little Vineyard tribe is where my heart is. Still God has been using the message of BNF to reach a lot of folks these days.
Book number two: Escaping Suburbia (or Wonderbra Spirituality) is trying to get published. It is in a holding pattern with NavPress right now. Not cuz they don't like it, but due to some internal production problems. Pray for release, please...
Grace and Peace my friends,
Eric
www.kingdomrain.net
Keep praying for me. Lot's of traveling these days, but marriage/family and my own little Vineyard tribe is where my heart is. Still God has been using the message of BNF to reach a lot of folks these days.
Book number two: Escaping Suburbia (or Wonderbra Spirituality) is trying to get published. It is in a holding pattern with NavPress right now. Not cuz they don't like it, but due to some internal production problems. Pray for release, please...
Grace and Peace my friends,
Eric
Thursday, August 25, 2005
100 Huntley Street
Hey, I'm still waiting for the Kingdomrain.net site to post my new stuff. Sorry about the delay. In the meantime I thought you might think this is cool. I was on 100 Huntley Street last week. Follow the link if you want to catch the show. They use RealPlayer.
http://www.crossroads.ca/broadcas/program.htm
I pray you are well, my friends.
http://www.crossroads.ca/broadcas/program.htm
I pray you are well, my friends.
Monday, July 18, 2005
A shift of view
Hey friends,
Sorry it has been such a long time since I've posted. Honestly I've been doing some other writings. Here is one opportunity that I'm very excited about. The website www.kingdomrain.net will be hosting a somewhat weekly column of mine regarding culture and sexuality issues. It'll be called something like "Ask Dr. Eric". Pretty unique, huh. :-) So feel free to send them some questions that'll make this ol' sex professor squirm.
I have decided that I would rather devote my time to a website that is much more well rounded in what YOU can discover and learn and dialogue about. Blogsites can tend to be rather unidimensional (mine at least).
So surf over to www.kingdomrain.net and start looking for my column. Plus they have some great stuff on recovery issues, worship, leadership, and life...
Walk with peace. Walk in love. Walk with purpose, my friends.
Sorry it has been such a long time since I've posted. Honestly I've been doing some other writings. Here is one opportunity that I'm very excited about. The website www.kingdomrain.net will be hosting a somewhat weekly column of mine regarding culture and sexuality issues. It'll be called something like "Ask Dr. Eric". Pretty unique, huh. :-) So feel free to send them some questions that'll make this ol' sex professor squirm.
I have decided that I would rather devote my time to a website that is much more well rounded in what YOU can discover and learn and dialogue about. Blogsites can tend to be rather unidimensional (mine at least).
So surf over to www.kingdomrain.net and start looking for my column. Plus they have some great stuff on recovery issues, worship, leadership, and life...
Walk with peace. Walk in love. Walk with purpose, my friends.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Liquid Love
I was reflecting again on some great hereos of faith. I suppose Hebrews 11 does that to me. Take a guy like Charles G. Finney.
It is estimated that between 1857-58 over 100,000 people came to Christ as a result of his labors.
Over the course of his ministry it is estimated that over 500,000 people professed Christ at his tent meetings. Now's here's the kicker: it is reported that 80% of those "converts" remained faithful to God till death.
Where does a guy or gal tap into that type of power and annointing? Was it just from reading Olsteen's new book or some other self-help manual?
No, it seems Finney had an encounter with God like few of us have, but probably need...
Upon returning home after his conversion experience he writes in his journal:
“There was no fire, and no light, in the room; nevertheless it appeared to me as if it were perfectly light. As I went in and shut the door after me, it seemed as if I met the Lord Jesus Christ face to face. It did not occur to me then, nor did it for some time afterward, that it was wholly a mental state. On the contrary it seemed to me that I saw Him as I would see any other man. He said nothing, but looked at me in such a manner as to break me right down at His feet…I wept aloud like a child, and made such confession as I could with my child utterance. It seemed I bathed His feet with my tears; ad yet I had no distinct impression that I touched Him, that I recollect.
I must have continued in this state for a good while… I returned to the front office and found that the fire that I had made of large wood was nearly burned out. But as I turned and was about to take a seat by the fire, I received a mighty baptism of the Holy Ghost. Without any expectation of it, without ever having the thought in my mind that there was any such thing for me, without any recollection that I had ever heard the thing mentioned by any person in the world, the Holy Ghost descended on me in a manner that seemed to go through me, body and soul.
I could feel the impression, like a wave of electricity, going through and through me. Indeed it seemed to come in waves and waves of liquid love; for I could not express it in any other way. It seemed like the very breath of God. I can recollect distinctly that it seemed to fan me, like immense wings.
No words can express the wonderful love that was shed abroad in my heart. I wept aloud with joy and love; and I do not know but I should say, I literally bellowed out the unutterable gushings of my heart. The waves came over me, and over me, one after the other, until I recollect I cried out, ‘I shall die if these waves continue to pass over me.’ I said, ‘Lord, I cannot bear any more;’ yet I had no fear of death.”
Wow... Lord I want to experience your presence in such a profound way that it changes the way I walk, talk, and interact with this life I live.
It is estimated that between 1857-58 over 100,000 people came to Christ as a result of his labors.
Over the course of his ministry it is estimated that over 500,000 people professed Christ at his tent meetings. Now's here's the kicker: it is reported that 80% of those "converts" remained faithful to God till death.
Where does a guy or gal tap into that type of power and annointing? Was it just from reading Olsteen's new book or some other self-help manual?
No, it seems Finney had an encounter with God like few of us have, but probably need...
Upon returning home after his conversion experience he writes in his journal:
“There was no fire, and no light, in the room; nevertheless it appeared to me as if it were perfectly light. As I went in and shut the door after me, it seemed as if I met the Lord Jesus Christ face to face. It did not occur to me then, nor did it for some time afterward, that it was wholly a mental state. On the contrary it seemed to me that I saw Him as I would see any other man. He said nothing, but looked at me in such a manner as to break me right down at His feet…I wept aloud like a child, and made such confession as I could with my child utterance. It seemed I bathed His feet with my tears; ad yet I had no distinct impression that I touched Him, that I recollect.
I must have continued in this state for a good while… I returned to the front office and found that the fire that I had made of large wood was nearly burned out. But as I turned and was about to take a seat by the fire, I received a mighty baptism of the Holy Ghost. Without any expectation of it, without ever having the thought in my mind that there was any such thing for me, without any recollection that I had ever heard the thing mentioned by any person in the world, the Holy Ghost descended on me in a manner that seemed to go through me, body and soul.
I could feel the impression, like a wave of electricity, going through and through me. Indeed it seemed to come in waves and waves of liquid love; for I could not express it in any other way. It seemed like the very breath of God. I can recollect distinctly that it seemed to fan me, like immense wings.
No words can express the wonderful love that was shed abroad in my heart. I wept aloud with joy and love; and I do not know but I should say, I literally bellowed out the unutterable gushings of my heart. The waves came over me, and over me, one after the other, until I recollect I cried out, ‘I shall die if these waves continue to pass over me.’ I said, ‘Lord, I cannot bear any more;’ yet I had no fear of death.”
Wow... Lord I want to experience your presence in such a profound way that it changes the way I walk, talk, and interact with this life I live.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Online interview with Brian Orme
Recently Brian Orme posted an online interview with the author of Buck Naked Faith... oh, that's me. Cool. Anyway, I thought you may enjoy reading it and then surfing around his blog a bit. He is a great thinker, writer, and follower of Christ. Enjoy, and then post a comment or two here or there.
http://deeper.typepad.com/deeper/2005/04/buck_naked_fait.html
http://deeper.typepad.com/deeper/2005/04/buck_naked_fait.html
Monday, April 18, 2005
Kudzu and the Kingdom of God
At times I wonder if my prayers get above the ceiling, if I have any influence in my city, if the church makes any real difference in the community, if faith is anything more than wishful thinking. But then I remember that by its very nature the Kingdom of God HAS to grow.
All of us have to deal with discouragement from time to time. So did Jesus' disciples. When Jesus sensed that their morale was down, he told three parables that are recorded in the thirteenth chapter of Matthew.
---Those parables tell us that the Kingdom of God has something in common with kudzu, the unofficial state flower of Mississippi.
In fact, some folks credit kudzu with having preventing the whole state of Mississippi from being washed down the river.
For the sake of you who may be new to the south, let me explain that kudzu is that leafy vine that you often see growing up telephone poles or covering little valleys down here. If they ever find a commercial use for the stuff, the South will surely rise again.
Nothing can grow like kudzu. It is the only plant whose growth is measured in miles per hour. You remember the story of Jack and the Beanstalk? That was no beanstalk; it was a kudzu stem.
--- The best way to plant kudzu is to throw it over your shoulder and run. It's important to plant kudzu at the right time.
Always do it at night. If you do it in broad daylight, your neighbors will take you to court.
Here are some cool websites that explore the wonders of Kudzu!
http://www.cptr.ua.edu/kudzu/
http://www.hower.org/Kudzu/Kudzu/index.iwp
We Christians are part of a kudzu-kind of kingdom. When we are faithful and walking in our callings, God blesses his kingdom with prodigious growth and transforming influence.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Clean Blood
Hey friends here's one of my favorite Easter stories...
CLEAN BLOOD: The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio. You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. It's not influenza, but three or four fellows are dead, and it's kind of interesting.
They're sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's not three or four villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.
By Monday morning when you getup, it's the lead story. For it's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and they have coined it now as "the mystery flu". The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?" That's when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen. That night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English: "There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. "It has come to Europe. Panic strikes. As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week and you don't know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. Then you die.
Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement: "Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing."
Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are selling little masks for your face. People are talking about what if it comes to this country, and preachers on Tuesday are saying, "It's the scourge of God." It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says, "Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." While the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made," Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu."
Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders.
Then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing: "Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals."
Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it. Your wife and your kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they say, "Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home."
You stand around scared with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on, and that this is the end of the world. Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute, hold it!" And they say, "It's okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got the right type."
Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another some are even laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, "Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect. It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."
As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying.
But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we need we need you to sign a consent form."
You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. "H-h-h-how many pints?" And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!"
"But but..."
"You don't understand. We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We - we need it all - we need it all!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?"
"If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?" In numb silence you do. Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Can you take his hands and say, "Son, your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn't just have to be. Do you understand that?"
And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've - we've got to get started. People all over the world are dying."
Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is saying, "Dad? Mom? Why - why have you forsaken me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come because they go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care.
Would you want to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED! DON'T YOU CARE?" Isn't that what God is saying? "MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?" "Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe now we begin to comprehend the great love you have for us. Amen " Author Anonymous
May you reflect and rejoice in Abba's love for your this week.
Eric
CLEAN BLOOD: The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio. You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. It's not influenza, but three or four fellows are dead, and it's kind of interesting.
They're sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's not three or four villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.
By Monday morning when you getup, it's the lead story. For it's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and they have coined it now as "the mystery flu". The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, "How are we going to contain it?" That's when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen. That night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English: "There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. "It has come to Europe. Panic strikes. As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week and you don't know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. Then you die.
Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement: "Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing."
Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are selling little masks for your face. People are talking about what if it comes to this country, and preachers on Tuesday are saying, "It's the scourge of God." It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says, "Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." While the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made," Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu."
Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders.
Then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing: "Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals."
Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it. Your wife and your kids are out there, and they take your blood type and they say, "Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home."
You stand around scared with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on, and that this is the end of the world. Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. "Wait a minute, hold it!" And they say, "It's okay, his blood is clean. His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got the right type."
Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another some are even laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, "Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect. It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."
As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying.
But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and your wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we need we need you to sign a consent form."
You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. "H-h-h-how many pints?" And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!"
"But but..."
"You don't understand. We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We - we need it all - we need it all!"
"But can't you give him a transfusion?"
"If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? Would you sign?" In numb silence you do. Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?"
Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Can you take his hands and say, "Son, your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything happen to you that didn't just have to be. Do you understand that?"
And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've - we've got to get started. People all over the world are dying."
Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is saying, "Dad? Mom? Why - why have you forsaken me?"
And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come because they go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care.
Would you want to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED! DON'T YOU CARE?" Isn't that what God is saying? "MY SON DIED. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I CARE?" "Father, seeing it from your eyes breaks our hearts. Maybe now we begin to comprehend the great love you have for us. Amen " Author Anonymous
May you reflect and rejoice in Abba's love for your this week.
Eric
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Stanley Grenz 1950-2005
Stan Grenz passed away early in the morning March 12, 2005-- 24 hours after suffering a massive brain hemhorrage. He will be greatly missed by us all. There are lives, such as his, that influence a generation. I will forever be thankful for Stan's impact on my understanding of the Kingdom, but even more so for helping me fall more in love with my heavenly father.
Enjoy Abba, my friend. Eric
Enjoy Abba, my friend. Eric
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Contemplative Prayer... something old... something new
Recently a web friend submitted this question to me... It sounded like a great question to get other people's feedback on.
******
Dear Eric Sandras,
Recently I have been exposed to some articles written in regards to a new movement among evagelicals called contemplative prayer. According to these articles it is being pushed strongly in so-called "Emergent Churches" headed by such men as Brian McLaren. I am just curious as to your position on this new movement, and if, you use this in your church. If you do, or are in support of it, would you mind passing on a description of what exactly it is and some biblical support of it. I am trying to wrap my mind around what many call an excellent way to commune with God and what some others say is nothing more than eastern mysticism and occultic practices invading the church. If you could offer some insight on this it would be greatly appreciated... Thanks for your time.
Your Brother in Christ,
Jon
******
Dear Eric Sandras,
Recently I have been exposed to some articles written in regards to a new movement among evagelicals called contemplative prayer. According to these articles it is being pushed strongly in so-called "Emergent Churches" headed by such men as Brian McLaren. I am just curious as to your position on this new movement, and if, you use this in your church. If you do, or are in support of it, would you mind passing on a description of what exactly it is and some biblical support of it. I am trying to wrap my mind around what many call an excellent way to commune with God and what some others say is nothing more than eastern mysticism and occultic practices invading the church. If you could offer some insight on this it would be greatly appreciated... Thanks for your time.
Your Brother in Christ,
Jon
***
Contemplative prayer, as I see it, is a mix of something old and something new. It's beauty is a new awareness and practice of some of the most powerful spiritual disciplines that have been practiced in the church throughout history. There are many styles and variations on the theme, but at its heart is to create space to listen to and receive from our heavenly Father.
The other day I walked into my son Carter's room because he wanted me to build card houses on his floor with him. In trying to do so I sat on a Spiderman action figure and crushed a matchbox car under my foot. In pain and frustration I asked him to clear some space on his floor for me, if he really wanted me to sit down with him. He wanted to spend time with his Dad in a bad way, so he did clean his floor. On any other day I'd have to threaten to punish him to get him to clean it. Then it hit me...
There are times in my life that I really want to spend time with Jesus, but he needs me to clear some space in my cluttered mind and life. Contemplative prayer makes that "space cleaning" a discipline or habit. Most ANY spiritual discipline can be used for non-Biblical reasons as well. The main point is what is our motivation?
For me, sometimes lighting some candles, opening one of my 1850's versions Bibles, and reading in silence is just to create space. I have some native friends who use the tradition of the sweat lodge to do the same thing. We just want to connect with our Father in heaven.
Richard Foster's "Celebration of Discipline" is a great book that explores some ancient disciplines for a new generation. Many of the servant leaders at Church of the Savior in Washington, D.C. are living examples of building a contemplative lifestyle into hardcore ministry.
I'd love to read some of your examples of contemplative prayer practices or how you "create space" in your life to play or pray with God...
Peace to you.
Monday, February 28, 2005
The Dogmatics of Aluminum Foil
I sometimes marvel at Jesus' patience with the dogmatism and intolerance of the religious leaders. They argued about inconsequential matters and made people follow laws that they themselves could not keep. It is this patience of Jesus and his ability to speak truth and life into situations-- despite his anger and frustration that amazes me. His example keeps me humbly asking for more grace to live the life that he offers.
In Luke 20 the religious posers are arguing with Jesus, asking him about marriage in heaven. What is so obvious in this scene is that it's a set up. They don't even believe in heaven, the afterlife and resurrection. They're just asking these questions to trip Jesus up and Jesus sees their trivial behavior so plainly.
Let me give you a little illustration from the realm of cooking. Ask any great cook about aluminum foil and you're bound to get an opinion on which side is "best." Some swear the shiny side must always be on the outside of a baked potato, while others condemn such nonsense and emphatically claim exactly the opposite.
Meanwhile, the manufacturer stays amused and gives a good lesson in dogmatism and tolerance.
When foil is made, it is rolled. One side of the foil gets shiny because it comes in contact with the heavy roller. The other side stays dull because it never makes contact with the roller. Both sides produce the same results!
Still many a family has become divided over the "shiny side out" dogmatism. Thanksgiving celebrations have been ruined and mother-in-laws left in shambles as the debate has raged on. In the meantime the foil is left in the cupboard, and the potatoes are left to rot because young emerging cooks are afraid to risk and possibly turn the wrong side out... So sad, so sad...
Okay, perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit... But I'm sure that's how Abba looks at some of the petty arguments we get into in church life. I'm sure he looks at us, sighs, and says, "Just bake the potato!"
In Luke 20 the religious posers are arguing with Jesus, asking him about marriage in heaven. What is so obvious in this scene is that it's a set up. They don't even believe in heaven, the afterlife and resurrection. They're just asking these questions to trip Jesus up and Jesus sees their trivial behavior so plainly.
Let me give you a little illustration from the realm of cooking. Ask any great cook about aluminum foil and you're bound to get an opinion on which side is "best." Some swear the shiny side must always be on the outside of a baked potato, while others condemn such nonsense and emphatically claim exactly the opposite.
Meanwhile, the manufacturer stays amused and gives a good lesson in dogmatism and tolerance.
When foil is made, it is rolled. One side of the foil gets shiny because it comes in contact with the heavy roller. The other side stays dull because it never makes contact with the roller. Both sides produce the same results!
Still many a family has become divided over the "shiny side out" dogmatism. Thanksgiving celebrations have been ruined and mother-in-laws left in shambles as the debate has raged on. In the meantime the foil is left in the cupboard, and the potatoes are left to rot because young emerging cooks are afraid to risk and possibly turn the wrong side out... So sad, so sad...
Okay, perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit... But I'm sure that's how Abba looks at some of the petty arguments we get into in church life. I'm sure he looks at us, sighs, and says, "Just bake the potato!"
Monday, February 14, 2005
A glimpse into my next book...
I've received a few emails asking if and when I will have a second book out. Well, I just finished writing the first draft last week! Of course that means that it goes to an editor at NavPress for an overhaul and rework. But I thought I'd share a bit with you. This section comes out of the chapter on "Doubt and Discouragement". Tell me what you think. Just be gentle, I'm fragile. :-)
*****
Jesus and Grover Together
As the steam dissipated from the mirror, I found myself gazing at someone whom I wasn’t sure I knew. I stood there repeatedly asking myself the same question, “Are you even saved?” The guy in the mirror had a freshly shaved face, a couple shiny new earrings, and thanks to his new Sonic Care toothbrush—some pearly white teeth. But underneath the cutting edge emergent pastor look there was a seemingly sewer pipe full of doubt bringing a stench to my spiritual air.
This was a real bad way to start a Sunday morning. I stood there looking into my own eyes and I couldn’t honestly say that I truly believed anymore. Today God felt like an imaginary friend. My son had his stuffed Grover doll, my daughter had her Polly Pockets, and I had Jesus. My kids could invite 3 or 4 friends over to play house or Sesame Street and I thought that was cute. But in 2 hours, I was inviting 200 friends over to play church—and that stressed me out. I felt like a total poser. Like agent Muldar of the X-files, I cried out, “I want to believe!”
Maybe my mind had just been playing tricks on me all these years. This morning God seemed so distant—so make-believe. And here I was promoting my own version of a Wonder-bra spirituality. I was trying hard to prop of my externals so that no one would notice the fear and unbelief brewing within.
Now don’t get me wrong. I was sincere. At least this morning I sincerely wanted to be sincere. Actually, I sincerely wanted to be sincere about my sincerity. Maybe that’s why this whole faith and doubt thing was getting so complex. I was becoming as complex spiritually as toddlers become pretendingly, if that’s even a word.
Follow me here for a moment. What we look at in toddlerhood as simple pretend play is actually a progression of some amazingly complex brain power. Watch a two year old play and you’ll notice they have an incredible ability to pretend they are something else—“I’m a kitty (meow)… I’m a bear (grrr)… I’m a fireman (woo, wooo) etc.” Pretty straight forward pretending—I pretend to be someone or something else.
Then toddlers take an intellectual leap. Soon they can take an inanimate object (like a doll) and pretend to talk to it and have it talk back. Yep, now I’m not only the one involved in pretending, but I get an object to pretend with me. Or give a kid a toy gun and suddenly he is pretend shooting at every moving object that walks by. But the complexity continues…
****
Okay, so there is a piece. What do ya think?
*****
Jesus and Grover Together
As the steam dissipated from the mirror, I found myself gazing at someone whom I wasn’t sure I knew. I stood there repeatedly asking myself the same question, “Are you even saved?” The guy in the mirror had a freshly shaved face, a couple shiny new earrings, and thanks to his new Sonic Care toothbrush—some pearly white teeth. But underneath the cutting edge emergent pastor look there was a seemingly sewer pipe full of doubt bringing a stench to my spiritual air.
This was a real bad way to start a Sunday morning. I stood there looking into my own eyes and I couldn’t honestly say that I truly believed anymore. Today God felt like an imaginary friend. My son had his stuffed Grover doll, my daughter had her Polly Pockets, and I had Jesus. My kids could invite 3 or 4 friends over to play house or Sesame Street and I thought that was cute. But in 2 hours, I was inviting 200 friends over to play church—and that stressed me out. I felt like a total poser. Like agent Muldar of the X-files, I cried out, “I want to believe!”
Maybe my mind had just been playing tricks on me all these years. This morning God seemed so distant—so make-believe. And here I was promoting my own version of a Wonder-bra spirituality. I was trying hard to prop of my externals so that no one would notice the fear and unbelief brewing within.
Now don’t get me wrong. I was sincere. At least this morning I sincerely wanted to be sincere. Actually, I sincerely wanted to be sincere about my sincerity. Maybe that’s why this whole faith and doubt thing was getting so complex. I was becoming as complex spiritually as toddlers become pretendingly, if that’s even a word.
Follow me here for a moment. What we look at in toddlerhood as simple pretend play is actually a progression of some amazingly complex brain power. Watch a two year old play and you’ll notice they have an incredible ability to pretend they are something else—“I’m a kitty (meow)… I’m a bear (grrr)… I’m a fireman (woo, wooo) etc.” Pretty straight forward pretending—I pretend to be someone or something else.
Then toddlers take an intellectual leap. Soon they can take an inanimate object (like a doll) and pretend to talk to it and have it talk back. Yep, now I’m not only the one involved in pretending, but I get an object to pretend with me. Or give a kid a toy gun and suddenly he is pretend shooting at every moving object that walks by. But the complexity continues…
****
Okay, so there is a piece. What do ya think?
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