Sam graduated in April 2011 with a Masters in Christian Studies at Regent College, where he specialized in Christianity and Culture.

He is passionate about helping 20somethings rekindle a fascination for their faith.

He has written a book, called The Default Life. You can read some of it here, or watch the trailer on YouTube.

Sam is available for speaking events. He specializes in using pop-culture and technology to communicate the Gospel. He would describe himself as a 'post-modern apologist' -- meaning, instead of arguing about theology, he'd rather persuade using insights and ideas drawn from modern life and pop culture.

In his free time Sam plays guitar, leads worship at Tenth Ave Church in Vancouver, plays basketball and cheers for the Canucks.

Check out the book on Amazon.

"Equal parts pop-culture criticism, personal memoir and passionate rant on the meaning of everything, The Default Life takes a tour of our culture's strange ideas and habits through the eyes of a 20-something. If you've ever wondered how Tony the Tiger influences your perception of reality, how iPhones and Coldplay have teamed up to make dating impossible, or how Disneyland and Saved by the Bell ruined childhood, this book is for you. You'll never look at your world the same again."

Read the intro and first chapter here.

Hype:

“Sam is seeking to honestly and creatively engage with important issues that he sees emerging in his own life and the lives of his peers. I think we could use more young writers like Sam who are trying to live through the unique challenges of our time with love, faith, and a sense of humour.”
– Shad K, Juno Winning Rap Artist

"A Brilliant Debut... Sam seems to balance nicely an often-amusing smarty-pants tone with a genuine interest in, and compassion for, his fellow human beings. He has a commendably low tolerance for crap, while recognizing that he, too, purveys some of it from time to time, as we all do. So he does not talk down to his audience, but across to us as a good guy on the same trip we're all on, a companion who sees things, hears things, and thinks things most of us can benefit from his sharing with us."
– John Stackhouse, author of Can God Be Trusted and Humble Apologetics.

'Cruising with Jesus'

- a piece written April 2011

“It’s the one with the big X” I said.

“There’s two with big X’s–which one is yours?” said the driver.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know which ship you’re on?”

Confused, I stared into a horizon of cruise ships large enough to take the sky hostage.

“It’s the one with all the Christians.”

“The what?”

“The Christians!”

“Oh, I thought you said Germans.”

(as if there is such a thing as a cruise without Germans)

“I don’t know that one. Are you sure its a Celebrity ship?”

“I think so.”

I secretly hoped that the reason they were called Celebrity Cruise Lines was because there would be a secret celebrity on board, and you’d have to figure out who it was, and perhaps I’d finally get to live out my life long dream of hanging out with Zach Morris from Saved by the Bell. Except, he’d probably get all the girls. Maybe Gary Busey will be on board, and he’ll scare all the girls in my direction.

“Let’s try the one on the right,” I said.

My brother and I jumped out of the cab, grabbed our gear, and asked the first person with a name-tag we could find, “Hey — is this the Christian cruise?”

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“We’re here for the cruise for Christian Creatives.”

“Well, let’s see your papers.”

“We don’t have any papers.”

“You don’t have any papers?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Who is your contact?”

“I don’t know. I think his name is Randy… something. Do you have wireless here? I can check my email.”

“No. We don’t have wireless. Neither do we have public washrooms, drinking fountains, or vending machines.”

Ok, he didn’t actually say that. But he might as well have. In this day and age, WiFi should just be there, like oxygen.

The man looked confused. He said we should check the manifest.

“Manifesto? What has this got to do with Communism?” I said to my brother, who either didn’t get it, or didn’t want to encourage me. Sure enough, our names were there, on actual paper, in stubborn black and white.

“Samuel and Benjamin… McLoufflin?”

“McLoughlin. Like the singer.”

“Ok Mr. McLoufflin, right this way,” said the lady with the badge, ushering us towards security.

“Where are your papers?” the lady at the welcome desk said. Her name was Cynthia.

“We don’t have any papers. I thought we were living in the electronic age.”

“NO papers?? Do you at least bring ID?”

“Oh – the shiny paper with my picture on it? Yes, I did manage to remember to bring that.”
Of all the Americans I’ve met who wear name-tags, I have yet to meet one who appreciates sarcasm. Cynthia was no exception.

As we walked up the stairs and towards the ship, I grew suspicious that what I thought I was getting into–and what I had sold to my brother as pure reality–was a bit misguided.

For some reason, I had the idea I was signing up for a cruise that would be full of Christian creatives––musicians, writers, painters and so on––who would all be young, and fashionable, and smart, and single.
I thought we would fill every seat in the theater, and together we would fashion a single-minded vision to rescue creativity from the Michael Bays and P Diddies of this world and disembark ready to lead the charge to take back art itself for Christ. Then we would all go drink wine and smoke cigars and practice “authentic community” while debating the meaning of the word “missional,” and/or the latest controversy de jour, namely, Rob Bell’s questionably theology.

We trotted onto the ship, eager to start our journey and find a bevy of beautiful, charming women who would enjoy every minute of our company and laugh at every witty remark made in casual conversation by the hot tub:

“Sam, what’s your book like?”

“Well, it’s kind of like a James Bond martini. You’ll be shaken, not stirred.”

“Hahaha, that’s the funniest thing we’ve ever heard!”

“Yes well, I’m no Ken Davis, but I try.”

However, as I lined up with elderly couples, six-year-olds and a few overly tanned Germans, I realized my expectations were maybe just a tad optimistic.

I asked the first crew member I ran into about Re:Create, the name of the conference.
She responded with a blank stare.
“Try guest relations on deck five!”

A few minutes later I asked Ria, the lady at the desk, about the conference. “You know, the one with all the Christians? Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

NO, she said. This was just a normal cruise. She said she would check on the conference. Apparently, there could be lots of conferences on a cruise at the same time. My dreams took a vicious blow.
Five minutes later, she returned with a piece of paper and a name. “Are you with Randy’s cruise?”

“Ya, I think so.”

In Australia, they don’t give their children this name, because ‘randy’ means something like ‘sexually eager.’

“Ok, the group meets in the conference room at 5:30″

After a nice buffet lunch and some exploring, I made my way to the conference room, where––to my chagrin––I did not find a Christian singles club. Instead, just a group of about eighty or so friendly strangers ready to shake my hand and tell me how much they love Vancouver. There was a scant lot of young people, though there were more than a few Canadians, and one strange man still clutching a life jacket. “Isn’t this the meeting for the fire drill?”

“I suppose this’ll have to do,” I sighed.

–

After the meeting, I found a corner on the back deck, and sat down with a surprisingly drinkable cup of decaf. At least this part of my dream came true. I pulled up a pdf of A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, an article written for Harper’s Magazine by one of my favorite writers, David Foster Wallace. It is about an encounter he had on what could have been this very ship in 1996. The original title was “Shipping Out: On the (nearly lethal) comforts of a luxury cruise.” 

Now, I don’t think Harper’s really wanted Wallace to start off by talking about suicide, but Wallace is not your average writer:

“Some weeks before I underwent my own Luxury Cruise, a sixteen-year-old male did a half-gainer off the upper deck of a Megaship. The news version of the suicide was that it had been an unhappy adolescent love thing, a ship-board romance gone bad. But I think part of it was something no news story could cover. There’s something about a mass-market Luxury Cruise that’s unbearably sad. Like most unbearably sad things, it seems incredibly elusive and complex in its causes yet simple in its effect: on board the Nadir (especially at night, when all the ship’s structured fun and reassurances and gaiety ceased) I felt despair. The word “despair” is overused and banalized now, but it’s a serious word, and I’m using it seriously. It’s close to what people call dread or angst, but it’s not these things, quite. It’s more like wanting to die in order to escape the unbearable sadness of knowing I’m small and weak and selfish and going, without doubt, to die. It’s wanting to jump overboard.”

Now, I am not your average writer either. Three years ago, Wallace himself committed suicide. There were some mental health issues that were involved, but if you look at the trajectory of his writing, you realize he was very seriously concerned about the mentally-draining, spiritually-suffocating environment of unfettered noise and excess and distraction that is present in our culture. It is that spirit of the modern age that offers a consumer-approved product for every desire we might have.
“Want to experience everything life has to offer? Why not go on a cruise!”
Companies like Celebrity Cruises understand that humans have wants and needs, and offer us everything we could seemingly want to keep us satisfied: a 24 hour buffet, infinite entertainment options, adventurous excursions and a ship full of other bored humans with which to make jovial small talk.

“It is hot, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, very hot. Very hot indeed.”

There is something wrong with a 24 hr buffet. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s just not right.

I decide I can’t read anymore. I get up and begin to move about. As I wander the deck, bemused and lost, I can feel it, too. Not the sunshine––the despair. The unbearable sadness. Not within me––but around me. I can see it in the eyes of countless strangers who have bought into this dream of adventure, excess, and exciting recreational opportunities: lost amid our own abundance, drifting wherever the sea takes us.

We are breathing, eating, sleeping––but we are not truly living. For many of us, our spirits have been dulled by the ‘nearly lethal’ comforts of this life, which do not encourage virtues of discipline, fortitude, courage, or empathy, and do not foster real, honest conversations in real, honest community.

We’ve been taught by countless advertisements and inspiring testimonials that this will be the experience of a lifetime: getting sun-burnt with a belly full of bacon as a band plays Jimmy Buffet tunes. This is the dream, the end-goal, the destination that consumer society provides for us: a retirement at sea.

But there is so much more to life, to being fully alive, than this.

I know it. And I think the rest of my Christian cruise-mates are figuring it out too.

–

“Let’s talk about the TRUTH,” the man said. His eyes were wide, and his face, concerned.
“The truth…. is… that some people are only alive, because it is ILLEGAL to kill them.”
People started to cry–not because they were touched, but because their guts hurt.

Ken Davis is a special man. He’ll make you laugh til you cry, and then cry till you laugh again.

Maybe you had to be there.

When I got a chance to chat with him, I noticed that he shared my concern about cruises, about what they represent about our modern lives. We didn’t actually talk about it, but I could see it in his eyes. His concern, however, was for something deeper––not the actual act of going on a cruise, but the despair… the mindset that thinks this is a good use of time. The belief that life should be lived by drifting in semi-hedonistic default mode. However, Ken understands that the best rebellion against this belief is NOT choosing to boycott cruises: the best rebellion is to live FULLY ALIVE despite where you are at any given moment, whether lying exhausted in a hilly swamp (ask him), or fully relaxed on a sundeck.
We are not here to ‘cruise’ through life, but to live intentionally — to be Fully Alive–even on a cruise ship.

After all, in the words of St Irenaeus, “The Glory of God is Man Fully Alive.” Not Man Fully Complacent.
But what does this look like?
I think it’s something i’m still figuring out.
This is the challenge that faces me and the rest of us creatives daily –– to not give into the rhythms of complacency in our everyday lives. To not settle for the dreams that society chooses for us. To look beyond, and dream up something big. This is the beginning.

–

My last meal at the cruise didn’t feel like a meal eaten with strangers. There were no awkward pauses, and no forced small talk. It was like, as if, somehow, we were all one big family. Like, even though we were from different parts of the continent, we shared a similar story. Like someone had conspired to bring us all here––not to engage in distraction and escape from our everyday lives, but to give us a few priceless moments to remind each other who we really are, and what we’re really doing.

I think most people on the ship will return to their everyday lives and wish they could go back.
I won’t. I choose not to dwell on the past. I choose to believe that in my everyday life, I am building towards a future that I can spend with interesting people, and go on adventures, and swim with dolphins. Not with a select few people who can afford it, but with everyone. With friends, and strangers, and the God who made me this way.

A future without despair, where I can be fully alive. It’s not so far off. But I have to create it, first. This is my purpose. This is why I create.

–

“You will have real obligations, and therefore real adventures, when you get to my Utopia. But the hardest obligation and the steepest adventure is to get there.” – Chesterton

–

Shout outs: To Scott, Rob, Kim, Chris and Idelette, you guys are wonderful conversation partners. I hope we never lose touch. To Michael Hyatt, I love how down to earth you are, and were willing to just hang out with me and my brother for an afternoon. That was cool. To Randy, you show me what it means to be a child of God. Thank you. To Ken Davis, you have inspired me, and taught me to be more humble. To Pete, I love your smile, and your hair. To everyone else that I met, I hope to see you all next year. We can get there, together.

For the people on the fence about next year, here’s something for ya: Re:Create cruise is kinda like…