By the third day of Creation East, the granddaddy of Christian rock festivals, Dave Lula could pick a winner among the merchandise he was selling. It was a $12 T-shirt of his own design that said "I Mosh for Jesus." The crowd was young, Mr. Lula figured, and this appealed to their sense of humor and independence.
Since the summer began, Mr. Lula has lived a nomadic existence, sleeping mainly in his van, part of a new mobile tribe of bootstrap entrepreneurs that has grown up along with the proliferation of Christian rock festivals, mixing creative capitalism with novel expressions of faith.
At booths all around his at the festival last month, 91 other vendors spread their wares, mostly Christian CD's, T-shirts and hats (the ones reading "I Love Christian Boys" seemed to be the most popular), in a sprawling bazaar that was part mall, part invitation to witness. The tents cleared only for twice-daily sermons.
"It's kind of a business-slash-ministry," said Mr. Lula, 36, who lives in Los Angeles when he is not on the road. In a summer, he said, he can sell 3,000 shirts.
"I travel to all the festivals, dozens of them, all summer long, then I do smaller events in California during winter," Mr. Lula said, standing over T-shirts that read, "Hardcore Christian," "Hetero-Boy" and "Religion Is Dead. Jesus Is Not." He said he was not simply selling concert souvenirs. "I feel I'm getting the word of God out," he said.
Before the rise of the live Christian rock circuit, such overtly Christian merchandise was largely limited to Christian bookstores, which in 2002 did $2.4 billion in business, according to the CBA, formerly the Christian Booksellers Association. But as festivals and tours have multiplied, drawing younger evangelicals who express their faith through alternative music, tattoos and skateboards, they have opened a market for products that do not fit easily into more decorous Christian bookstores.
Only items that "have really stood the test of time" sell in Christian stores, said Bill Anderson, president of the CBA. "Whereas at an event, it could tend towards the impulse side" - more flashy, less wary of giving offense, he said.
At this year's festival, which drew 50,000 people over four days, at $73 for a four-day ticket, families, youth ministries and church groups camped on the hilly grounds; skateboarders thrashed over ramps; teenagers offered hugs to anyone who passed by.
Amid the loud music and mohawks, there were occasional reminders that the rebellion being cultivated was specifically Christian and came with its own standards of comportment: when a teenager took off his wet shirt after being baptized in the pond, a staff member made him put it back on.
As the festivals have become their own world, and as young Christians have been attracted to more extreme expressions of their faith, the merchandise has followed suit.
T-shirts screamed or punned for attention. One shirt declared, "Body Piercing Saved My Life," and showed a hand with a nail through it. Other brisk-sellers said "Jesus Freak" or mimicked the Mountain Dew advertising logo, tweaking the slogan to read, "Do the Jew,'' meaning to emulate Jesus. Booths promoted Christian colleges, foreign missions and a DVD player that skips over racy material in movies.
Irreverent and trend-driven, the goods reflect what is happening in Protestant churches, where people are leaving formal, tradition-steeped denominations in favor of independent, informal but theologically conservative churches. As many young Christians are pursuing faith outside the church, in rock bands or free-floating ministries, they are also seeking wares outside established Christian markets.
"I was never comfortable with the shirts in Christian bookstores," said Jeremy Limpic, 28, who is selling his own line of punk-themed T-shirts and hats at about 10 Christian festivals this summer. Having come to Christianity from punk rock, he found the goods in Christian bookstores too tame or pious. So he started his own company, One Truth, and began selling his designs at concerts and over the Internet.
Mr. Limpic, whose main business is Web design, said he was sometimes uneasy about the intermingling of faith and commerce at the festivals. "You come in these places and it's a major Christian marketing scene," he said. "There's a quick buck to be made for Christ. But the way I see it, I'm going to make money in a secular way or expressing my faith."
For some shoppers, like Gary and Laura Scheffler of Glendora, N.J., who were carrying an armful of CD's, T-shirts, posters and Bibles, the tented mall was a part of the festival experience, just like the bands. "This is our biggest purchase for the year, so I knew exactly what I wanted to buy," said Mrs. Scheffler, 26, who runs a hair salon.
"I'd rather see this kind of thing supporting Christian messages than just a regular mall," she said. "You've got to buy clothes, why not have a message?"
At a crowded booth, Heather Farner, 32, a banker from Baltimore, tallied her purchases. She had a T-shirt that said "Abortion Stops Beating Hearts" for herself and an "Eternal Riders" T-shirt, from an extreme sports ministry in Hawaii.
"Where else are we going to find this kind of stuff?" she asked. "We can't buy it in a mall. And Christian bookstores won't carry band T-shirts."
Tim Landis, 48, who started the festival and still produces it, said he was sometimes dismayed by some of the T-shirts that offered cute puns on advertising logos. "On the other hand," he said, "some people find that meaningful. It's easy to be elitist and look down on the shirts as gaudy or tacky."
Mr. Landis and his staff approve all items sold in the booths. Vendors pay a variable fee for booth space, plus a percentage of their sales. "It's all needed" to keep the festival afloat, Mr. Landis said.
As evening settled over the bands, three teenagers sat around a campfire, taking a break. A speaker earlier in the day had called for donations to missions in the developing world. At the end of a long day, the boys had come to regret their purchases.
"I spent all my money on five CD's," said Scott Hanson, 13, in a tone of self-reproach. "If I'd waited, I'd be able to spend that money on someone other than myself."
His friend Luke Beckmeyer came away with a similar lesson. He had been reluctant to come because he didn't like music, he said. But the band Pillar had converted him. "I came here hoping to get a new video card for my computer, but after doing small groups and hearing the music, I realize it's not all about me," he said. "The speakers really get to you. Too bad I spent all my money on a Pillar T-shirt and CD's."