“There’s one,” Lauren says. “See if he needs anything.”

I slow to a stop at the intersection, pulling close to the curb. “Roll down your window and ask if he’s hungry.”

Window down, cold air trailing traffic rushes in. It’s a cloudless blue sky, but the November sun in southern California is useless. “Hi there. Happy thanksgiving.” Lauren’s voice is filled with the kind of joy rarely found in adults, but rather in children on Christmas mornings and birthdays. It’s this voice that caused my heart to stumble then fall forever in love with her the first time we spoke over the phone. “Are you hungry?”

(more…)

AM I VISIBLE? Black marker words scribbled on a brown piece of cardboard. He sat with his legs crossed, eyes closed, gently rocking back and forth on the skateboard between him and concrete. Knees escaping, pale and dirty like prisoners ought to be, from the holes in his jeans.

AM I VISIBLE? A busy Hollywood street corner. Rush hour traffic going nowhere fast. I catch glimpses of him through passers-by. Students hurrying home. Women in high heels and pencil skirts. Fathers with daughters on their shoulders. Children helping mothers carry bags filled with pumpkin pies, cranberries, and Thanksgiving turkeys.

No one stops. No one notices.
(more…)

I deliberated good and long about how to go about this before I sat down to write. I reached out to historians, professors, seminary students, and scholars with worlds of wisdom in their minds and hearts far surpassing the usual flotsam and jetsam banging around in mine. I consulted the Bible, God, friends, and my wife. And when I received the answers to my inquires about the church, its origins, our American Biblical translations, and whether or not ten million dollars is better spent on a new building or caring for the orphans and widows of our world, I accepted what I already knew: This conversation is 2000 years old. Jesus had it with the Pharisees, Paul had it with the church of Corinth, David Platt wrote about it in his book Radical, and Bill Hybels even apologized to his congregation and the world for “missing the mark.”

(more…)

I remember the moment I believed I’d finally become a mature, God-honoring Christian. I was in a multi-million dollar, cushioned-seat, air-conditioned sanctuary, where the pastor had just invited another member of his leadership team to the stage to give a ten minute sermon about tithing before the actual sermon began. It was right after the rock band performance (they were excellent, by the way) where the worship leader said in the middle of his power ballad cover of a David Crowder song, “Close your eyes and put your hands in the air. It’s just you and God here,” even though his face was plastered in true 1080 high definition on two 15 foot screens hanging above the platform. “God?” I asked, looking up at him. “I can see your pores.”

(more…)

A young bartender once told me he thought the Bible was extremely unfair and prejudiced after I informed him I was a man of faith. “Here you are, boss,” he said, dropping off my drink a few moments later. Now there are only two types of men in this world: the one who calls you, “boss,” and you have a sudden desire to make him the best man at your wedding, and the one who calls you, “boss,” and you have a sudden desire to uppercut him onto the dessert table at a wedding. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said to the young bartender after imagining his suit all covered in cake and cookie crumbs. The answer was unexpected, as I could tell he’d clearly been looking to pick a fight about the Bible’s contradictory nature. Perhaps more impressed than angry, he followed up by asking what I thought was the most despicable part of the Bible. “Grace,” I said.

(more…)

“How have you been not going to church?” Clint asked, sipping a margarita on the back patio.

Matt leaned against the wall, taking quick, careless puffs on his cigar. The sunlight reflecting off his glasses, the cloud of smoking rising around him, he seemed more like an apparition than my friend. “I’ve hit a plateau. My relationship with Jesus isn’t any different, but it’s not any worse.”

“It’s been what, a year now?”

Matt nodded. “I don’t even think about church on Sunday. This is my community now. You guys right here. And I’m fine with that. Church is wherever I go. Wherever Jesus was standing, church was under his feet. I don’t see what the big deal is about being a Christian who doesn’t attend a church regularly.”

(more…)

I no longer know what it means to be a Christian.

While everyone, everywhere else was going to church this past Easter Sunday, I intended to stay in bed eating marshmallow Peeps, and perhaps starting work on my new screenplay idea starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt, James Franco, and Ryan Gosling. I could have finished it that afternoon too. My pitch is the three of them standing around, dressed well, smoking cigarettes, and squinting. People will tell you to write what you yourself would read or watch. I’d watch that.

(more…)

This is the story of how I tend to be the most ungrateful human being on the planet, and a young guy named Josh.

I wake up every morning, my head protected from the rain and my body protected from the cold outside because of the roof I sleep under. When I wake up, I wake up warm and rested because of the 350 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets burying me into a deep sleep each and every night. Soon after being awakened by my cellphone that conveniently doubles as an alarm, which also functions as a camera and a computer and a GPS, I walk to the bathroom on my well-functioning feet to relieve my healthy bladder.

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A few days ago a young woman asked to have her picture taken with Lauren and I in a coffee shop. I was flattered, yet couldn’t help but think, “You obviously have me confused with someone else. Zac Efron’s hair, perhaps.”

I felt awkward and perplexed. Why would she want a picture with me? With us? It seemed silly. As the camera flashed I thought of the kindly fellow who once dutifully informed me he’d, “punch that stupid wave right out of my hair,” if we ever exchanged pleasantries in person, as well as all the other charming things I’ve been called including, but not limited to: maxi-pad, mentally challenged, terrorist, and false prophet even though I’ve never prophesied anything except for what I am going to have for lunch. And if I could prophesy, I’d take that trick right to the Roulette tables in Vegas instead of the Internet.

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I don’t know why someone got paid to write a book on this. I’ve been doing it for months and no one has offered me a dime for my thoughts. On Fridays I usually write. And I usually do this on the other six days of the week too. I eat three meals, sometimes four. Also a weekly thing for me. I see friends, but I never limit that to just Fridays either. And if I’m feeling a little rambunctious, I like catching new release movies with Lauren Lankford in the afternoon to get the bargain matinee price and avoid the lines.

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