No one uses the term "brother" more than a biker and means it.
No one says, "I love you," more than a biker and means it.
No one loves their family (club, group, organization) more than a biker.
No one is committed to the rules of the club more than a biker.
No one is more reliable than a biker brother.
A biker never turns his back on a brother.
A biker values respect above all else.
A biker doesn't tolerate exhibitions of disrespect.
A biker celebrates the good fortune of his brothers.
A biker suffers the misfortune of his brothers.
A biker understands "community" and selflessness better than the rest of society.
I like to think of Jesus as an outlaw biker. I like to think of his beard as an 8 inch long braid and his long hair pulled back into a ponytail. The loud pipes are trumpets announcing his arrival and the pack that he leads makes everyone stop and stare.
His tats are the names of his family members. We are his family. We are no longer prospects. We are full-patch members. It's our job to protect the weak, value the good, and punish those that disrespect others.
In this outlaw society of ours, the posers are purged, the compassionate are valued, and the hardcore are exalted.
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I’ve seen some biker brothers fall leaving behind a family and club that mourn like no other group I’ve ever seen. About a year ago, a biker I knew was wiped out on his commute to work. The outpouring of support for the family was what I’d come to expect from this culture of people. I’ve become so accustomed to the magnanimous ways in which these people show love to one another that I tend to take certain things for granted.
I drove a family member of the fallen brother out to a party that the club had been planning for several months. It was the usual affair of gnarly bikes, scantily clad women, lots of food, and plenty of alcohol. As I walked across the street with the family member at my side, I whistled to one of my brothers standing outside having a smoke. He looked up and saw me bringing the family member, swiftly flicked his cig to the street, and turned abruptly to run back into the building. By the time we’d taken 15 more steps to reach the curb in front of the establishment a group of 40 or 50 had formed to greet us.
We didn’t make it into the party for 45 minutes. We didn’t make it 4 steps up onto the curb. We didn’t make it 3 steps up onto the curb. We made it 2 steps…
Every member of that club and their accompanying family members began to gather as if we were there to hand out cash. They surrounded us cutting off one lane of traffic. They were solemn. They were gracious. They were sincere.
Every single member of that club—every single spouse or significant other of a member of that club—Every “hang around”, prospect, friend-of-the-club patiently took their turn to give a hug, express their sincere regret, and offer ANYTHING they could do for this grieving family member.
For the first time as I stood watching strength and power grow through shared grief, I asked myself one question—“Why don’t Christians do this?” We think we do this, but we don’t…not like what I get to see among my biker brothers. I realized something fascinating that day. I realized what Jesus meant by “blessed are the ones that mourn, for they will be comforted.” He didn’t say they will be fixed. He said they will be comforted.
I love the MC world because they are always struggling with the balance between masculinity, responsibility, respect, and love. It’s not something you simply figure out or legislate. It has to be wrestled with and rediscovered on a consistent basis. Is it any wonder that the weekly meeting of every MC in the U.S. is called “church”? The difference is that when the biker goes to “church” it’s to handle business, resolve conflict, and enjoy brotherhood. When the Western Christian goes to “church” it tends to be about superficiality, worship of religion, and the pursuit of God’s favor.
Masculinity has to be plugged into reverence, respect, compassion, sincerity, and courage. If it’s not plugged into these things then it is called bullying. It’s the same as the connection between Christianity and love. Unplug the two and you wind up with a clanging gong that’s about as useful as a motorcycle with no chain.