Erwin McManus is a difficult man to sum up. Equal parts preacher, artist, entrepreneur, and iconoclast, his ministry over the past decades has consisted as much of breaking pastoral expectations as fulfilling them. His passion for creativity and artistry of the spirit are highlighted in his latest book The Artisan Soul, a spiritual "manifesto for creativity."
I sat down with McManus in a little bistro in Los Angeles' Larchmont neighborhood to discuss the new movement of life at Mosaic and the experiences of failure and honesty that are leading the community to discover the voice of its own artisan soul.
Let's begin at the end. Mosaic baptized 468 new Christians in 2013. That's a departure from the year before, right?
It's a departure from every year before. From the beginning, our community has been focused on people outside of Christianity. But that emphasis means that a lot of hard work is represented in every person who is baptized. It took sweat, blood, tears—brutal hard work—for each new Christian. It took talking to them for years about faith. Months, if it was fast. In the past, the most baptisms we ever had in a year was 118. The average was around 60, I think.
What changed?
Much of the change was a personal one for me. I've worked in the business world and as a futurist the whole 20 years that I've led at Mosaic. But about five years ago I took a hard detour and stepped back to focus on fashion and film. The system of Christian celebrity was not a good space for me, and it was brutal on my kids—my son in college was frequently confronted by people railing against me as a heretic. At one point he said, "Dad, I don't want to spend every day in my life defending being McManus." It was hard. I would literally go on Trip Advisor every day and start looking at places where I could disappear. Where no one would know I existed.
Christian celebrity was not a good space for me, and it was brutal on my kids.
I wanted to quietly become a non-story in the Christian world. Even though I was still connected to Mosaic, I wasn't profoundly integrated. I thought I was going to step out of public conversation with the broader Christian movement. I stopped writing books or speaking at Christian events.
Five years later my son sent me a note: "Dad, if we make bags and make films but don't take Jesus to the world, we've accomplished nothing." He challenged me to reengage. Reflecting on that later, I told my wife Kim, "I feel like God turned a light on." I felt like I was alive again.
A lot of people had only seen me in success. now they saw me in absolute, utter failure.
In the meantime, my company did really well. I had 30 or 40 employees around the country. We were making a lot of money. I thought I was going to reach the fashion and film industries for Christ. I felt like the church didn't want to imagine or create. At one point, I was walking on the beach and felt like I had heard God say to me, "I want you to absorb the beauty of the universe and give it to the world." That became my mission for life. But I think the false assumption I made is that I could only do that outside of the church.
Beautiful things were happening. God was working in amazing ways—already bringing an unusual number of people to faith. I reconnected with Mosaic, and began to make sense of my own story.
And then right after that, my company was stolen from me. I lost millions of dollars in one day. I had to fly home and tell my wife that we lost everything. I felt like I was going to die. Everything had felt so affirming. So clear. Like God was moving. Then the bottom fell out.
When everything collapsed, it coincided with Mosaic's leadership retreat—we had all our leaders come together all day. I just took the day to share what had just happened. I walked through my disorientation, pain, loss, sense of betrayal, hope, my aspirations. At one point I said, "I'm telling you all this because I want you to watch God restore and rebuild my life." You see, a lot of people had only seen me in success. Now was my chance to let them see me in absolute, utter failure. I was going to be proof of whether God was good or not.
Where did you go out of that place?
Not where. Who. Who would we decide to be?
It was a genuine shift. It was a stripping away of any pride and of any separation between us. We became a tribe together. It wasn't my pain being watched by other people. It was all of us going through pain together. It felt like we became a community of one heart and mind. The Scriptures talk about that.
The first thing a pastor or any leader needs to do is to start living a life that terrifies him.
But it was also a moment of simplicity for our leadership, for understanding that we needed to focus on one thing. We released every one of Mosaic's campuses, so that we could each focus on the one thing, the one place we knew we had to be.
I lost everything, but it made me say, "What I'm going to do now is what is at the core of my intention in life." And it made me say to our leadership, "If you want to join, then walk with us." Mosaic is not just a place to go to church. It's a movement that could change human history. And that redefining of my voice changed everything.
How did that work itself out in the life of the church?
In the middle of that dark moment, we felt the urge to prove that God is real and that he is here. We threw the gauntlet down—it was exciting. I see a real turning point that came when I began to honestly say, "Look. We all know you're all cool. So just leave cool at the door." It changed the atmosphere inside our auditorium.
The stories are extraordinary. One guy that came from Denver, not a follower of Christ, had a dream. In the dream he saw this beautiful girl. He said, "What's your name?" And she said, "My name is Mosaic." The next day he flew into LA, took a wrong street to a meeting he was supposed to go to, drove by the building and saw Mosaic, walks in and gives his life to Christ.
The daughter of one of the highest military commanders in an Islamic state was brought by a Buddhist who works for Disney. Both of them come to faith. This former Muslim is sitting with me and my wife in the lobby. Another Muslim walks in and asks, "Can I find Jesus here? I want to become a Christian." So I have this brand new Muslim who just came, who just got baptized, helping as this new Muslim who just walked in the building comes to faith. She takes her out to lunch to start discipling her. And what's amazing is the girl whose family is really high in the military we didn't know she could be baptized because she said her life would be definitely threatened. She lost her visa, had to go back to her country, so she decided to be baptized before she went back—knowing the implications. People far, far from Jesus coming to him.
At one point, during a Christmas service, we were using battery powered candles (we can't do open flames anymore because we set one woman's hair on fire in one of our services). I'm in the moment, inviting people to give their lives to Jesus. I say, "Hey, if you're an atheist and you're not even sure why you're here and if you would say, 'Hey, God, if you're out there, I want you to find me,' just hold up your light." And all over, the lights came up. I had goose bumps. It felt more profound than conversion in that moment. Because I realized we had atheists joining us, thinking There might be a chance. Our posture is to say, "Look. We're going to believe for you. We're just literally going to carry you until you realize you can believe for yourself."
I literally think we're carrying people into God's presence. Having 468 baptisms is just a declaration that we've stepped out of what we can do, and now we're receiving what can be done when eternity and time intersect.
Is this a break from how most Christians think of failure?
I won't say who it was, but one megapastor, a person of massive church influence, when I told him I started my company and was living my life as an artist, said to me, "Oh. You better not fail." I said, "Well, I think it's an important experiment." And he goes, "Only if you don't fail." I realized at that moment that's why the megachurch is what it is, because it's powerful and safe. So, I said the first thing a pastor or any leader needs to do is to start living a life that terrifies him. You can't call people to live a life you don't live. And you can't call them with a voice you don't have.
"Voice" is a key theme in The Artisan Soul. What do you say to pastors struggling with their voice in ministry?
Don't try to be someone you aren't. Know who you really are. The worst thing, for creativity or spirituality, is when people try to go and be something else. It doesn't go well.
This is part of my story. The worst talk I think I've ever given in my life was at the Passion conference one year. When I was asked to speak they wanted me, "To do a talk like John Piper would." At the time, I didn't know who John Piper was. And so when I got there to speak, I have to be honest, I was listening to this narrative in my head going, What would John Piper do? I was fighting with my internal narrative. I spoke. And when I got done my friend came to me and he goes, "What was wrong with you? You were frantic." And I go, "Yeah, because I was trying to figure out who John Piper is channeled through Erwin McManus." I'm sure John Piper is awesome, but the moment you try to be something else or someone else you're nothing else.
How can we find our voice, then?
Well, once someone introduced me to a crowd as if I was going to bring them all this insight. I said, "Hey, I didn't come here to bring anything to you. I came to pull something out of you." When we talk about our voices as leaders, I don't think it's about putting things into people. It's about pulling things out of people. We need to know ourselves in that space.
I'm an immigrant from El Salvador, but I don't speak with a Spanish accent. Why? Because I knew that the sound of my voice would determine for other people whether I spoke on their behalf or not. I want my voice to resonate for people—"Gosh, he's speaking for me." Not just speaking to me. When we open up the Scriptures if people feel like you're telling their story to God, then they'll feel like that you're telling God's story to them
We know Jesus is Lord. We know that Jesus is God, walked this earth sinless and perfect. He was crucified, buried, raised from the dead. I believe in Adam and Eve—I don't have to, but I do. I believe in the parting of the Red Sea and fire from heaven. I'm strangely orthodox—squeaky orthodox. But I think we've taken the Bible and flattened it until it is one dimensional and easily explained. And the gap there strained my voice. I'm sure it does for others, too.
Back to the John Piper story—the real tragedy for me is that I spent so much of my life trying to be someone I'm not. We all need to consider that.
Did your failure help you consider that?
I'll say it this way—it took failure to convince me that real tribe of Jesus would follow me naked and unashamed. When I came to Jesus, I was willing to be naked and unashamed, but there was something missing. You know, when you're naked, everybody sees all the wounds. They see all the scars. I wasn't at the point to lead others into that yet. I don't know if I was willing to say to everyone this is the life you need to live as well. Just take off the clothes and run with me. I've seen a lot of people live out what I try to live out and their lives have been full of pain and failure. And I want to live that out? I want to call people into that?
When you think about it, Jesus wasn't just willing to die for us. He was willing to call us to die for him. That, to me, is a more difficult cross to bear. But there's joy there, too. I'm not morose or living a life of emotional monasticism. I've learned to dance in the rain.
Why is it that Christianity is so about truth and so often afraid of beauty? Because truth closes, because truth is still true even if we don't live it. We, in a sense, can hide behind truth. It exists apart from us. But beauty strips us naked. That's why living out the good and beautiful and true is essential—because the world only knows us for truth, but we've abandoned them when it comes to beauty. And so our truth is not beautiful to them.
I think that's what's happening at Mosaic. Maybe we're doing it all wrong, but Mosaic is beautiful and we're going to trust that truth emerges from this. I don't have to change anyone. But God really does change people. The church is almost proof that we don't believe God changes anyone. Too often the church is like the person running behind you with a blanket, trying to cover up your nakedness. But what if that doesn't work?
This is why I was walking away—because this never resonated with me. I believe the gospel unleashes beauty and wonder in people. But 20 years of evangelicalism for me put all the emphasis on just making sure people honor God by the way they live.
You want to know what's changed? You want to know what 468 baptisms is? I've stopped trying to fit into the clothes, into the armor that isn't mine.
Paul Pastor is associate editor of Leadership Journal.
Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
