Spiritual Awakening in the Desert

It was a long hard run into the arid region of far West Texas. We ran a consistent pace along the Rio Grande for hundreds of miles. Three rows of barbed wire separated us on both sides from scrubby mesquite and cacti as we thundered West on two cylinder steeds with rubber hooves.

“West” always makes me think of adventure and survival and Josey Wales. In my mind, “West” is where there is newness and hope of something better. It’s where the daring (and sometimes crazy) go to escape preformed existence. “New” lives out West. “Old” is wherever you’ve been long enough to exhaust all of your resources and have explored all of the contemporary modes of advancement.

As long as you’re travelling West you know what lies to the East. You know which towns to the East show promise of fuel and which are ghostly reminders of lives long since departed. You know where the “road dragons” are to the East (road dragons—long curled chunks of tire tread that mark spots in the road where someone has blown a tire). “Been there Done that” is to the East. You’ve already conquered the East. You’ve already absorbed the scenic pleasures it has to offer and have survived the hazards it has thrown at you. Even the sun loses interest in the East and is constantly trying to escape it to no avail.

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I’ve been writing, researching, and cajoling people to embrace the spiritual West for half a decade now. At first, I thought I was the only one spending my evenings with a glass of whiskey meticulously reviewing roughly-drawn prospector’s maps of the spiritual West. I kind of thought I was the only one foolish enough to point my horse in that direction. I remember at one point thinking I might have to turn around because all I was finding the further West I went was miles and miles of barbed wire and seemingly uninhabitable land.

But something has happened.

Something has changed.

Others have felt the call of the spiritual West and have been heading that direction. You run into them the further you go into the unknown West. The spiritual pioneers are out West seeking, exploring, finding, and sharing. You see them up ahead and you quicken your pace to catch up. You are invited to ride in formation with them because there is protection, power, and energy in numbers. You share each other’s resources. You learn from each other’s stories. You build confidence in knowing that your desire to discover the spiritual West hasn’t been about escaping the East—it’s been a call TO something instead of AWAY from the past.

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When we discover what lies West we discover a new level of potential. We discover a new perspective and we realize that although the old perspective works fine to the East, the new perspective of the West requires a different set of eyes to see and ears to hear. Not everyone is ready for it. Not everyone is capable of making the journey. Not everyone is bold enough to reject the cautionary tales of Easterners and quietly travel West. And to be honest, not EVERYONE is being called to travel West.

But if you hear the call of the spiritual West (and you know it if you do), you need to heed that call. You need to pack as little as you can into your saddlebags, backpacks, carts, or buggies and start following the Son.

We need you out here. We’ve begun to establish some communities out here. We’ve discovered water and food sources and we’re beginning to figure out how to use these new eyes and ears.

The stars are much brighter and not an inch of the sky isn’t owned by one. Those stars were always over your head, but you couldn’t see them. You needed a new perspective.

Resources are harder to find out here, but you appreciate them so much more than ever before. Succulent tiny quail hiding under the very same mesquite that you use to cook them with—powerful winds that bring the promise of rain—mountains to look up at and valleys to view from above.

Changes in perspective require movement.

New ideas, dreams, challenges, and hope require effort and time and loss and sincerity.

We don’t go to tame the spiritual West! We go to learn how to be a part of it!

That’s why we pack so little. It’s because with every bit of spiritual baggage we bring along, we risk missing out on the full scope of a REAL perspective change. If we bring our old eyes and ears with us then we cannot survive out here. It’s a place that requires adaptability, freedom, and most of all it is a place that requires faith.

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My recent 1,000 mile roundtrip out West recharged my faith in new sunsets, ghost towns, prickly pear, and that a new tire may be hard to find, but somebody’s out there with just what you need. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s okay. If you DO know what I’m talking about then you GET IT. Sometimes spiritual changes at our core occur because we’re standing somewhere we’ve never been before. We can be dramatically changed by our surroundings. We almost always are.

As I relived three days’ worth of riding to my wife it sparked a thought—we depart home with the excitement of visually experiencing a new environment, but we arrive back home telling all our stories about the people we met along the way.

I’m not exactly sure what that thought means just yet, but it’s definitely fermenting in my brain.

I couldn’t wait to clean all the dead bugs off my Harley. I couldn’t wait to check all my fluid levels, air pressures, and snug up all the loose bolts. I couldn’t wait to ready everything for the next opportunity to ride West. I couldn’t wait because once you begin to satisfy the yearning in your soul to travel West you become addicted.

Yes, it’s about riding the Hog. Yes, it’s about finding those long stretches of rode where you can run 115 mph before you crest the next hill. Yes, it’s about challenging your ability to adapt and problem-solve. But most significantly, it’s about the subtle change in vision and the noticing of embedded sounds you’d never noticed before.

It’s called living.

It’s called joy.

It’s called peace.

It’s called faith.

Christian PTSD and a bunch of other stuff

Warning: Stream of Consciousness Ahead—Slow down when approaching the curves.

·         There has to be a respectful way to argue that Christianity may be the greatest threat to the teachings of Jesus Christ.

·         There has to be a way to open up the discussion with spiritually honest folks about the burden of Christianity on the intent of Christ’s message to ALL of humanity.

·         There has to be a meaningful way to investigate the problems generated by Christianity without attacking individual Christians.

·         There has to be a way to criticize the belief system without tearing down the believers.

·         There has to be a way to look at Jesus, the red letters, and the Cross from a first person perspective instead of through the filters of Christianity.

·         There has to be a way to escape the zoo of Christianity and view Christ in the wild—no barriers—no separation—no vendors—no warnings—just people standing right in front of the Lion of The Tribe of Judah (Rev 5:5).

There has to be a way……...but I don’t know what it is.

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I’m never so “on point” and cautious as I am when I attend a Christian church service. Most would think that it’s because I’m damaged goods or that I’ve been wounded by church folk in the past and just haven’t healed yet. Well, that might be part of it, but I’m nobody’s punk. I don’t whine about injustices and angrily stomp around fuming over defeat. I have a pretty short memory when it comes to confrontation and even rejection. What I don’t forget easily is disrespect or contempt—both personally and when observed from a third-party perspective.

I don’t carry a chip on my shoulder, but you won’t ever sneak up on me easily more than once.

Let me explain what it’s like participating in a church service (traditional or contemporary—mainstream or off-the-grid—clean-cut preacher or guy with an 8” goatee) when you have all your senses in hyper-active mode at the ready for any type of a flanking maneuver. It’s exhausting!

It’s like playing soccer on a field where there MIGHT be a couple landmines. You’re not sure if they’re there, but they MIGHT be so you’ll need to diligently scan the ground as you “play” the game. All the while the other players on the field joyfully play the game without worries or hesitation. In contrast to them, you play the game like Rain Man trying to get on an airplane.

I like to think of it as Christian PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). Does that mean I consider myself a victim? Of course not! I was a volunteer. No one made me participate in the system dynamic which is Christianity.

Or did they?

No. What am I saying? No one forced Christianity on me; it was a choice I made on my own at the age of 9.

But………..… I don’t know. I mean what other alternatives did I have? At 9, the choice was quite clear—either accept the basis of Christianity as expressed through my particular church congregation or reject the message of Jesus Christ and what his life/death means to me for all eternity.

And THEN radically remodel those Christian ideologies at age 11 due to the different philosophies at our new church community. Then there was the refashioning of those beliefs at age 15 after my parents had given up religion all together and I had to start evaluating doctrine and theology on my own (which meant I would attend the church where most of my friends went).

That was a Christianity based on the sound ideology of: God wants our youth to have a full-functioning gymnasium and lounge areas with pool tables and old couches. That wasn’t a bad Christianity. It provided many of us a place to meet members of the opposite sex that appeared to be like-minded Christians and thereby “safe” for exploring the nuances of dating during our mid-teens. We really took advantage of that one!

Next month’s overnight lock-in—Hell, yeah, I’m gonna be there!

There were lots of other churches with just as many different flavors of Christianity. All of them had good points and bad points IMO. But there was always one thread of consistency that ran through all of them—Jesus. So it came to pass that when I finally got tired of readjusting my own sense of who Jesus WAS based on the plethora of versions I came into contact with (Jesus version 3.7 – Jesus version 20.8) I began to think about what all of the different flavors of Christianity must look like from Jesus’s perspective (confession: I usually type “Christ’s” instead of “Jesus’s” because I’m never quite comfortable with that spelling—too many ssssssses).

I still don’t have any idea what it all must look like from the Jesus perspective. I realized the dangers of that thought process early on. It required me to assume that I knew anything at all about how a creator evaluated his/her creation. However, I think that it was that time in my life that led me to pursue writing. I wanted to know what it was like creating something you were proud to present to others whether they appreciated it or not and then see what it would feel like witnessing what others would do with your creation. Sometimes they tear it apart. Sometimes they OVERLY embrace it. Sometimes they respectfully ponder it and give you a little chuck on the shoulder (those are probably the best).

But sometimes they ignore it. Sometimes they disrespect you and carefully shoo you out of the room so that the “real” grown-ups can talk. Sometimes they label you and your creation too artless or ordinary to be the work of anyone worthy of their time. Sometimes the flaws in what you create are evaluated contemptuously overshadowing any beauty, honesty, or truth you may stumble upon in the process of being creative. Sometimes you’re considered a piece of shit no matter what you have created because it’s not what the “real” grown-ups want to hear or are looking to decorate the walls with.

Dude…did I just hear an “amen” in the distance?

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There is a point to this weird post. Let me see if I can find it.

Oh, yes! What it feels like to attend any form of church service with Christian PTSD. It’s exhausting! I know I said that before, but I don’t know what more to say without coming off like some kind of raving lunatic hell-bent on throwing all Christian church-goers under the bus whether they have a “real” relationship with Jesus Christ or are just going through the motions in order to get an invite to the lock-in.

I don’t know where it starts or ends. Oh, wait! What about that Alpha and Omega thing? Isn’t Jesus the beginning and the end? Give me a second to Google that…

I knew it: Revelations!

You see, all those different forms, flavors, and versions of Christianity kept teaching me that Jesus was the “first and the last, the beginning and the end.” They kept telling me that, “Jesus is all you need, son.” They kept telling me that the spirit of Jesus lives inside me somehow as a guide or conscience or something like that. They all pretty much unilaterally agreed that I was safe as long as I was walking alongside Jesus following him to our next venue or just sitting atop a hillside watching a rain cloud come our way.

And then they turned the tables on me. They told me that I needed their approval. They told me that I was taking some of this Alpha-Omega talk a little too literally. They said that THEY were commissioned to be my shepherds and that I should get back to the flock. And do you want to know what I finally found in the midst of all of this conflict, chaos, and confusion that gave my soul a peace it had never felt before?

Jesus—Lion of the Tribe of Judah standing four foot in front of me on the savannah grasslands without a tree in sight—nowhere to run—nowhere to hide. I stared that Lion square-ball in the eye as long as I could anticipating some answers. I stared him square-ball in the eye—a bold man daring the Big Cat to attack. I grasped a knife in each hand and prepared to TAKE whatever answers I could get.

But in the end there were no answers. In the end, I dropped my knives, knelt reverently on my left knee, and began to weep.

I wept for all the people I had failed instead of all the folks that had failed me.

I wept for all the times I made others feel like shit because they didn’t know the right scripture or where a certain book was located in the Bible.

I wept for all the people I had forsaken because they were reluctant to buy into my version of Christianity.

I wept because I had planted some of those landmines on the soccer field hoping to expose those that didn’t believe the way that I did.

I wept for about 2 years.

And when the weeping was over I looked up to see the Jesus lion still standing there staring at me. He locked eyes with me for a moment as if to say, “you good now?” and then he turned around to leave. He walked a few steps away before turning to look at me over his shoulder. Then he said, “you coming?” (I know Lions can’t talk, but I swear on a stack of Bibles that this Lion said, “you coming?”)

I’ve been following Jesus ever since in a way that defies convention and tradition and ritual. It’s all so clear now. I didn’t need answers. I needed experiences. I needed time with Jesus. I needed to watch how Jesus loves.

Now I get to witness this same scenario playing itself out over and over between Jesus and other folks as I stand back about 50 feet and just watch the stare down until each individual, in their own time, bows to one knee and weeps however long that they need to. Then we all follow together as we move to the next venue or sit atop a hill watching rainclouds gather. It’s all very surreal and yet it seems so normal after a while.

This is all based on a totally real dream that I had once, BTW!

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I’m still traveling along watching and learning as the Big Cat (that’s what I call Jesus sometimes) gathers folks from all cultures, creeds, colors, and walks of life. I still don’t know where we’re all going or exactly what’s on the horizon, but these people I hang with are radically different than any of the folks I grew up going to church with. I’m not trying to say that they are better or worse—just different.

I’d much rather attend a 1%er function than a church service any day – any week – any month – any year. I feel safer at an outlaw mc gathering or bar than at any Christian function. What I mean is that there’s definitive protocol in the biker world. There are expectations and consequences that don’t shift or change depending upon the situation. You can always feel secure around a bunch of 1%ers as long as you know the rules—and the rules are always the same. Show respect and you get respect—act an asshole and you are sure to be treated like an asshole.

Church isn’t like that. Christians aren’t like that. The varying forms, expectations, and beliefs of different versions of Christianity can switch up on you so quick you have no idea what you’re supposed to do or who you might offend in the process. You might even be the BIGGEST asshole in the group and be honored because of it. It just doesn’t make any sense and it is NOT the least bit consistent.

Jesus makes sense. Jesus is consistent. He loves. He leads. He rescues. He bleeds. He roars. He finds YOU. He doesn’t care what you look like or what you THINK you know about anything. He wants you to watch HIM work. Pay close attention. He leads.

He leads because not only is he love, truth, honor, and majestic Lion but also because he is RESPECT.

He is respect to others. He is respect to our planet. He is respect to all of HIS creation. He places value in his creation whether we do or not and expects us to respect it (all of it) as well. This protocol does not waver. This protocol is a constant.

The lion demands you to respect yourself. If you cannot respect yourself due to the ongoing pressure of whatever group you belong to then you need a new group. You’re welcome to join me hanging with bikers, but you’re gonna need to know the rule of respect first.

I’ve found more personal discipleship at the hands of patch holders in the mc world than I ever did in 25 years of bible studies, retreats, or church services. What’s that supposed to mean to someone like me? I’m still trying to find out. I will tell you that learning the very specific means of conveying respect whether in the mc world, military, or any other organization which highly regulates and values honor, respect, and loyalty can elevate you spiritually to a place that looks down on Christianity. Yeah, I said it!

Give me the respectful cadence of a biker rally any day over a Christian function. At least with the bikers I know what’s expected of me. With Christians, you never know what they’re gonna spring on you. Hence, you have to always be on your guard with your speech, actions, and even body language.

That kind of hyper-active sense of uncertainty doesn’t bode well for the Christian PTSD victim and neither does participating in a game of “watch your ass” played on a minefield of expectations.

You get my drift……… 

The Dude abides...

Okay, this is gonna be a stretch, but I was really inspired by the book I read last night to my daughter at bedtime. She picked it out from the library. I bought her a copy for Christmas 15 minutes after I tucked her in and closed her door.

Storyline: The Princess loses 7 of her 8 prized ponies to a giant. Motorcycle Dude shows up with samurai sword and a Harley. Princess makes golden thread and uses it to pay Dude to protect her remaining pony. Dude fashions invisibility cloak out of golden thread. Princess pumps iron and becomes warrior princess. Both of them use the cloak to defeat the giant. They wind up getting married and having a kid. The end.

Storytellers: It’s a boy and a girl that have been teamed up as part of a class project to collaborate on developing a story together to present to the class.

The girl wants the story to be about the beautiful princess living in a castle with beautiful ponies and a staff of servants.

The boy wants the story to be about a cool mc dude wielding weapons and acting as a hired bodyguard. Also, the boy’s version of the giant was so grotesque that my daughter asked me to cover the giant on the page with my hand while reading from those few pages. You gotta love it!

There are so many ways I can go with this story that I had to write some of them down.

•  Two seemingly incompatible stories make a much more interesting and valuable collaborative tale.
• What is valuable to one person isn’t always valuable to another. The Princess valued the ponies. The Dude valued the gold.
•  The Princess’ giant was just a large man able to pick up a horse in his hand. The Dude’s giant was a hulking monster with rotten smelly teeth and green skin. The boy needs to emphasize how truly terrible the Dude’s giant is in order to fully enhance the Dude’s courage and physical prowess.
•  Oftentimes, the point of the story is NOT to rescue the ponies, but to build alliances with those that have different skill sets. The ultimate success of the story depends on more than any one player can bring to the situation.
• In the end, the success turns out to be something entirely unintentional…love.

I thought about me as the Dude and my wife as the Princess. I thought about the people I enjoy being around as the Dude and the people I associate with in Christian settings as the princess. I thought about the “world” as the Giant, the “Bride of Christ” as the Princess, and the victims of human depravity as the ponies. I thought about it all in light of my ongoing quest for the next frontier of Christian faith. But, at the end of the day, I decided that my over-analysis was stripping some of the importance from the story…the artwork.

I miss the art of life too often while dissecting the plot. I miss the value of the pictures. I miss the look on my daughter’s face as she listens to me read the words. I miss that this story is about love.

Anyway, it was a cool story. Especially for a dad that reads endless tales of fairies, princesses, unicorns, and mermaids to his daughter.

Maybe last night’s story could be about me as the Dude and my daughter as the Princess. And, in the end, we both win through the shared experience of a fun and exciting adventure. Yeah, I like that best. We defeated the giant and rescued the ponies! And we all lived happily ever after…or until tomorrow night’s story…

What kinds of things do you miss out on? Do you partner with others that may not share your goals? Which character do you want to be in the story? 

Jesus - outlaw biker

No one hugs more than a biker.
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.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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.

Religious Misfit

I am a spiritual rogue, scallywag, and rapscallion. I forage for revelation and enlightenment through the trash heaps of the fundamentalist evangelical religious practices that I've grown up with.

I am a Christian wanderer looking for a congregation inclusive of all humanity. I value religious practices for others and find no value in them for myself. My mantra is, "Truth, be my guide," but I'm unsure if I recognize Truth anymore.

I'm holding out hope that even if I don't understand anything about the Holy Spirit--that it's presence in me will still guide like a rudder.

My "church" is the road. My pew is my Harley. My pastor is the sun, wind, and sky.

I've been rejected by being ignored. I am a spiritual orphan. But that's okay.

My hope is in God...not religion. God hasn't let me down even if organized religion has.

My wayward shrine is the side of my daughter's bed where I pray for her to survive my failings. I pray for her soul while she sleeps and then I lightly rest next to my wife-angel (always in a heightened state of protection).

I will defend against anything that threatens this family...including religion.

Why Worship Jesus? (part 3)

by Bonar Crump

part 1--part 2

Visualize Satan, a demon, or any particular icon that sums up evil to you. What does it look like in terms of power? Does it have human characteristics? Is it reptilian? Is it a non-organic analog? Is it beautiful? Is it grotesque? How does it make you feel at the “knee jerk” level? Did you just piss your pants?

Visualize Jesus, an angel, or any particular icon that sums up good to you. What does that look like in terms of power? How does the power of the holy analog stand up to the power of the evil analog? Is it beautiful? Is it somehow grotesque? How does it make you feel at the “gut check” level? Does the feeling even reach the “gut check” level? During this visualization did you think of light? If so, what does light represent to you when you think of beer?

I like skulls. I like scary depictions of skulls with snakes crawling through the mouth and eye sockets. I like dragons and predatory animals depicted in ways that infer combat or the moment they are about to strike. These images don’t scare me, but they represent power and the use of such images via tattoos or fashions psychologically denote fearlessness. It’s kind of like in our collective subconscious we all believe that if you’ve got that scary of an image on your body or on your shirt then you must be one scary individual yourself.

Bikers love this stuff. Icons are everything in the biker world. Don’t go walking into a biker bar in West Texas wearing a red and white shirt with a skull and wings on it if there are Bandidos there. You are certain to be asked to take off the shirt whether you know what’s going on or not (Red/White + Skull/Wings = Hells Angels). Likewise, it’s disrespectful to flaunt any of the “other guy’s” colors or icons in any part of the country where that “other guy” is not welcome. We could delve into the specifics of body art, but that subject could fill an entire book.

Church-going (CG) Christians have their own icons and symbolic uses of colors. Don’t go walking into a church on Sunday morning in the Bible Belt wearing a black t-shirt with “If You Can Read This The Bitch Fell Off” across the back in big white letters. You are certain to be asked to take off the shirt whether you know what’s going on or not. Likewise, it’s disrespectful to flaunt any of the “evil colors” like black and many other derivatives of black…well, actually, it’s just mostly black. But CG Christians love their white, gold, silver, purple, and crimson red.

As you read the previous paragraphs the important thing to note is that you are engaging a part of your psyche that associates color with certain meanings the same way that you use words to denote certain meanings via language. Likewise, you associate specific icons with very specific meanings. Skull denotes death…cross denotes Jesus…black denotes darkness…white denotes light…red denotes blood…purple denotes royalty…and on an on.

Back to the Satan / Jesus perspective—on a very non-judgmental value neutral scale, which of the two seem more powerful? Stop!!! I’m talking about which one of the two prompt you to fear? Stop!!! I’m talking about which one seems more dynamic? Independent? Omnipresent? Exciting? Tempting? Forceful? Controlling? Motivated?

If you are stubbornly answering Jesus to each of these questions then I am accusing you of “intellectual dishonesty”. I get where you’re coming from if you’re uncomfortable with admitting (even to yourself) that on a base level you would consider Satan more exciting than Jesus. However, until you’re able to come at these kinds of issues without fear of stepping over some kind of theological “line in the sand” that might constitute an unpardonable sin then you need to stick with what you know and leave the real “intellectually honest” spiritual analysis to the rest of us.

For those of you still with me…one question…why have we accepted a persona of Jesus which is so docile, beatific, passive, weak, solitary, and feminine? I hate this persona. I don’t want a wimpy Christ. I don’t want a cerebral Christ. I don’t want a chaste, haloed, sing song Christ. Where is my Christ? Where is the Christ that “meets ME where I’m at”? I don’t want the demasculated Christ. I want to know where I can find the dynamic “he-man women hater” Christ.

We’ve allowed our worship of Jesus to become so one-dimensional that our collective psyche paints Christ as a pushover. In contrast, we’ve allowed our concepts of evil to provide us with images so robust, masculine, and sensory driven that CG Christians cannot allow them in the same room with their beatific icons lest Christ’s image be that of a pussy in comparison. That’s the real reason we disallow skulls, warlocks, snakes, and dragons within range of our Christian gatherings. Simply put, it’s because they all make our saintly images, color schemes, and analogs seem downright pathetic.

You can disagree with me on this, fine. This is only my opinion, but I stand firm on one central position related to this topic of discussion…when we worship Jesus (the person) instead of worshipping Jesus (the teachings) we are watering down a Christ that is far more powerful than all the Satans, demons, skulls, profanity-laden fashion, scary tattoos, and overly dark eyeshadow ever contrived.

It is my belief that when we fixate on the person of Christ instead of the role and teachings of Christ we cheapen the entire cause. That’s why Christ didn’t ask, tell, or infer that we should worship him. You will never be able to make Christ (the person) cool enough, masculine enough, or dynamic enough for me and my tribe. However, if you want to talk about respecting one’s brother, loyalty, love, courage, and protecting those that cannot protect themselves then you can have bikers of every color, creed, and location lining up behind that kind of cause.

My Jesus is a biker. Your Jesus can be a plumber. Her Jesus can be a lawyer. It’s a matter of understanding what Jesus stands for instead of what Jesus looked like. Jesus stands for love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These things don’t become feminine until you clothe them in a white robe, shine brilliant light on them, and surround them with a lilting homage of boys’ choir harmonies.

If you’re with me so far then you might as well be on the lookout for part 4 of this topic. It’s where I walk my way through Jesus (the teachings) as transcendent of all our perceived classifications and ideologies. It’s gonna get deep enough to scare you just a little…sticky too.

Series--> part 1--part 2--part 4--part 5

The Gospel according to Harley-Davidson

by Bonar Crump

Today, I embark on a new mission. Suited with my jet black specs, leather short-cuff gloves, and a back pack full of jerky I head out on the maiden voyage of my new steel steed. (I thought about smashing a beer bottle on the forks, but I just cleaned out the garage yesterday...)

My 6 year old daughter named the bike on Tuesday. First choice: "Sparkles" (not gonna happen). Second choice: "Fire" (bad luck all the way round - Gremlin Bell ain't gonna erase that one). Final selection: "Melody" (she definitely sings like an angel).

I'm envisioning a series of contemplative blog posts coming out of these experiences. As I discuss in my book, time alone with God looks very different on different people. My four hours on Melody today are going to be about pondering the direction and intensity of the wind for the most part. But I'm guessing that alot of what I've been researching and developing into a new book proposal will wedge their way into my thoughts at times.

Godspeed to you in your time alone this week...make sure you get one.