third pedal from the right

Years from now when we look back at all the things that have changed, and those that aren’t around anymore, how many of us will mourn the clutch?  You know, that third pedal to the left, the one that when released, the power hits the pavement, the wheels spin, and the rubber burns.  That one.  An anachronism even in today’s world, only 1% of new cars made have one, where Manual Shift used to rule the world, today Otto Matic reigns supreme.  Even shift levers have gone the way of the dinosaurs, as buttons, knobs, now are turned to select drive, all you do is point and steer.  Driving optional.  But maybe a closer look at the manual transmission, and all it has to offer, may have us show it more respect now.  Rather than wait until later....

When Christopher was in Spain a few years ago, and they took a trip to Paris in a rental car, he was the only one who could drive a clutch, so he got to drive.  The others were just passengers, he got the thrill of driving. Interested in making your car theft resistant, if any thief wants it, he will find a way, but a good deterent is a manual transmission.  One look inside, and he sees the shifter, he’ll move on.  Still not sure about the dangers of texting, give your teen a manual shift, hard to shift and text at the same time.  Of course, you could always deny him the i-stupid, but he learned it from you.  Maybe Mom and Dad need a manual trans, too......

How about turning your grandkids onto the Beach Boys?  How will you explain “409?”  “A four speed, dual quad, posi-traction, 409!”  No automatic here, you shifted yourself!  No mpg, those 8 venturis sucked the fuel in, the posi got the power to the ground,  and 409 stood for cubic inches, not cc’s!  No love songs about your Prius, is there?  Is my generation the last one to revere four on the floor, and remember three on the tree?  What did we do with our left leg back then?  We used it to push in the clutch, and release it when we wanted to go.  Many times cursing it in So Cal traffic, but still no better way to drive than to shift your self.  I know Ferrari only makes an automatic, but how much fun was it to dream of shifting through that chrome shift gate of yesteryear for all five speeds?  And with so many different shift patterns, we had to pay attention.  We had to drive...and today much of that joy is lost to the car and its computer making those decisions for you.  For your transmission is listening to when you drive, recording the information of how you drive, and then preselecting shift points.  And what about finding reverse....

Remember slapping the shifter against your thigh, then up and into reverse?  Or down into reverse?  Finding neutral by wiggling the shifter?  How many times did you look foolish not being able to get into reverse, you pulled up on the shifter, or on Chevy’s floor mounted shifter, you pulled up on the tangs by your fingers.  All without taking your eyes off the road!  Ford even pulled off a brilliant way to get your key from the ignition, put the car in reverse.  Zitch borrowed his brothers new Torino one day, and couldn’t get the key out, until I fiddled with it, by accident putting it in reverse, and the key was free.  My wife’s new Mustang doesn’t even need a key in the ignition to start it!  And still they get stolen!

Listening to Wayne Carini of Chasing Classic Cars, he was asked about the future of car collecting.  His answer surprised us.  Within the next generation, no one maybe around who can drive a clutch, either making them worthless, or worth more if you can Google how to drive one.  My father taught me to drive a clutch, as did his father, as did I teach both my sons to drive one.  As I hope they pass on to their kids, my wife can drive a clutch.  Can yours?  So I say, turn off the traction control, rev up the motor, dump the clutch and do a burnout.  Before we all become burnouts!  Burn rubber, not your soul as Peter says in Wheels of Grace magazine.  Four on the floor, three on the tree, just don’t put it in D and hope for the best. 

No more find ‘em and grind ‘em of the old non-synchro days either.  Some clutches are so smooth they beg to be driven.  Yes technology is a good thing, but maybe it has gone on for too long.  No more having to think, today your biggest decision may be “do I supersize my meal?”  Food too is prepackaged, no thinking involved.  And so has religion.  Let the church or denomination tell you what to think, how to raise your kids, how to worship, how to give, and what to sing.  Even what version of the Bible to read.  And you don’t have to ask, just put it in D and go.  Maybe.  But Jesus tells us different, and his confrontation with his disciples after his death is telling.  He appeared to them, and rebuked them for not believing he was resurrected.  His resurrection is to be believed, and to change our lives, yet they were persistent in their unbelief.  It was easier to not believe, even though they were with Jesus in life.  Jesus expected them to believe, but they failed.  Each feeling sorry for themselves, yet Thomas is referred to as the Doubter?  Maybe we have it all wrong, we never know what Thomas was up to that night when Jesus walked through the wall and interrupted their meal.  But from his character, maybe he was out looking for Jesus, while the others were scared and afraid, locked upstairs in a room.  He wanted proof, Jesus had warned of false Christs, anti-Christs, maybe Thomas wanted to make sure in who he believed.  He didn’t want to place his life automatically in his fellow disciples hands, he wanted proof.  He knew Jesus, and when Jesus appeared to him the next week, and repeated his request of touching his body and placing his hands in the wounds, Thomas knew by his voice, who Jesus was.  He never touched the wounds, he just fell to his knees in worship.  No put it in D and go, he wanted all the power he needed, and found it in the resurrected Jesus.  Where do we find our power?  How do we get it to the ground?

Jesus goes on to tell him that blessed are those that have not seen and believed.  Are you that blessed one that Jesus speaks of?  Or are you still waiting for proof?  The faith given you, the testimonies, the scriptures not enough?  Is you refusal to believe so strong you are spinning your tires, in drive?  You cannot find reverse, or your leg is hurting from having to push in the clutch?  Are you participating in this thing called Christianity, or are you just along for the ride?  Do you need to shift gears, do you know how?  Has life taken the decision making process from you, and sat you in front of a windshield, just pointing and steering?  Life is more than that, it is bumps, turns, curves, fast sections and slow sections.  Each section needing a different gear to access, and maybe a different one when you exit?  We enter as sinners, we don’t have to leave that way.  Would you rather be rebuked for unbelief, or rewarded for just a little faith?  Do you hope you are in D, or know you are starting in first? 

God lets us make the decision, an old saying reminds us there are two things you never criticize a man about, his love making and his driving, and not necessarily in that order.  We choose, for love demands a choice.  God chose us, are you still looking for where to put the key, when he is the key to life?  The disciples had the key, they just forgot where to put it.  Jesus reminded them, he reminds us also.  Ride your own ride, but don’t neglect him in doing it.  Meekness, power under control, is demonstrated by the left foot, and the right.  Let out the clutch, floor it!  And hang on for the ride of your life.  I rather do burnouts than be one, God’s posi-traction is his spirit.  And unlike the little old lady from Pasadena, you may have a go at her, but you will never lose her.  Don’t lose to Jesus.  Any bets she drove a stick?  And no, R doesn’t stand for racing gear. 

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blog.spot

one day in the parking lot after church

I had seen Andy in church before.  We both rode, he a KTM, me a Triumph, but both adventure bikes back when we called them dual sports.  We had never really talked much, but today he would share a story with me that changed my attitude towards ministry.  He had returned from a missions trip to Africa, and when the group went up on stage to be recognized, he remained seated.  When I asked him why, this is what he told me.  He really wasn’t part of the trip, even though he went over with them, he had been quietly ostracized from the group.  It seems he had gone off on his own, as follows....

A bus was taking them into a small village along a main highway.  Far enough to be outside suburbia, but large enough the buses would stop. When the bus stopped, he saw a group of men who had motorcycle shirts on, and he stopped to talk with them.  An instant bond was formed, we call it brotherhood among us who ride, and they wanted to show him their motorcycles.  But what he found was not what he expected.  Inside the building, were a dozen or so motorcycles, of which none ran.  It seems some missionaries had left them years before, but with no instructions on how to maintain them.  And when they quit running, were stored inside this shed.  In between the language barrier, he was able to find the missionaries had also left parts, but again no instructions.  And Andy had stumbled into an unexpected missions field, one not on the schedule.  Most of the bikes needed just simple repairs, basic tune ups, brakes, spark plugs, or cables.  And all the parts were there.  So he began to repair them, one by one, using the tool kits from the bikes, while showing the men how to do the repairs.  He found that they had a supply of gas, used for their generators, and when the first one fired up, they all cheered amongst the smoke, until the bike settled into a smooth idle.  And they took turns riding it, screaming with joy!  And for the next week, Andy missed most of the scheduled meetings, and was chastised by the group for not passing out Bibles, teaching, or feeding those who came to the church.  He was visibly absent, and the church was mad at him.  If only they knew....

For as he worked on the bikes, he was able to converse with the men, and got to know them.  Men who would not have gone into the church, they wanted to know “why was this American fixing their rides and not in church?” And he was able to share Jesus with them one on one, to share his testimony, and be the gospel in action rather than just words.  And one by one, the men wanted to know about this Jesus, and be like him.  They wanted to be saved, and Andy led them to the Lord, while changing plugs and adjusting clutches.  Soon the group got bigger, more riders who wanted to see these motorcycles that were being brought back to life, and his evangelism effort through repairs, soon turned to discipleship.  He had taught the first men, they were teaching others.  And sharing the testimony of Jesus Christ brought to them via this motorcyclist.  But when one man asked, “can this man fix the generators that are broken, they have motorcycle engines in them?” the blessings spread through homes.  Lights went on at night, radio and TV stations were reached, and all because this man stopped to visit with some fellow bikers.  The brotherhood having gone beyond church rhetoric, and now back in the states, that same church he had gone over representing had ostracized him.  He didn’t fit in....and for awhile was bummed, until a letter arrived just before church that week.

It was from the original group of riders he had met that first day on the street.  With pictures of them riding, sharing Jesus, and taking the gospel to others who had been unreachable, but now could be by bike.  This group of men, and now their families were sharing Jesus as they went, and telling of the man who started a revival by fixing their motorcycles.  You see, they had the tools, the parts, and the desire.  It wasn’t until Andy stopped to visit with them, and go to know them, and meeting their needs was able to share the love of Jesus with them.  How many chances do we miss while bench racing to reflect on Jesus in our lives?  To share our testimony?  How many Lazaruses have you stepped over today?  The church had a plan, Andy had the spirit.  And the pictures were a testimony of how Jesus Christ changed their lives.  And the many signatures on the letter proof of how simple ministry is, seeing a need and filling it.  And how the church strays when not in the spirit.  They had gone to do a good work, as Andy had.  But in his kindness, in his addressing a problem, he was the gospel in action.  It was the word of his testimony, and the blood of the lamb, under the holy spirit that gave his words life.  To many just a chance encounter, but from seeing men in motorcycle shirts, had repaired bikes, generators, and lives through Jesus Christ. 

Not all ministering goes on within the confines of the church.  Nor does all teaching.  Sometimes the best testimonies are found when we bring the gospel outside the four walls, and live it.  Share it by meeting a need, and earning the right to share Jesus.  That day, the gospel, the good news started with fixing bikes, and ended up repairing lives.  A group of men, the least of these, who would never have darkened a church building, now were taking the gospel to those along the road and roadside.  He had taught them to teach others to teach others.  And gave them back the ride of their lives. 

I look back at how the church folk were impressed with how many Bibles, how many teachings, and the attendance.  How many were saved, but not one word of who was left to follow up and disciple.  Who would fix their lives when they broke down?  Yet wanted nothing to do with the work the Lord had done through Andy.  No wonder the world looks at us differently, and avoids our invitations to church.  What good is a Bible if you don’t read it?  Or have someone to share it with?  Where is the incentive to share Jesus with others?  Maybe it is a simple as fixing a man’s ride, so he can ride more and share with others.  In Colorado we heated with wood, and had a saying.  He who cuts his own wood warms himself twice.  That’s the gospel, simple and effective.  So easy a biker can get it, with the only common language that of riding.  A story told after church in the parking lot, that needs to be repeated.  If only the church could understand the brotherhood of us bikers, like I always say, “if you need something done, call a biker.”  Wouldn’t it be nice if they said that about you and your church?  We are to be known as Christians by our love......aren’t we?

A rumor of hope, what do you leave church with?  Better yet, what do you bring to others?  An angel told them to “go tell Peter and the others” about the empty grave and missing body.  Peter had denied Christ a few days earlier, but God had plans for him.  It isn’t too late for you......to share God’s love.  Jesus is available to individuals not only to churches or groups.  Andy saw it in Africa, and I heard him repeat it in the parking lot.  A little faith will bring you to heaven, a larger faith will bring heaven to you. I think that calls for a ride....

love with compassion,
Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

EXTRA! EXTRA! RIDE ALL ABOUT IT!

A man I have known for years loves motorcycles.  He is a wealth of knowledge about them via all the articles he reads about them.  He can tell you why an R1 handles better than a GSXR 1000.  Why Ninjas seem to run hot, and the best kind of oil for your adventure bike.  He can recite why an Arai fits different than a Shoei, why Dunlops turn in faster than Michelins, and why Harley Davidson sells more bikes than anyone else over 750cc.  He knows by color what year bike is going by, what magazine got the best 1/4 mile times, and best 60-80.  He knows the way to The Dragon, and can even sit in on a bench racing session and listen.  What he cannot do, is comment, because has never participated.  He rides, but to work.  His longest ride is 200 miles of freeway.  He has been over 100, but petrified afterwards, has ridden with guys who go fast, but has never gone fast. He knows of curvy roads and scraping pegs from those of us who do it.  His bulk of his motorcycling experience has come from the pages of Cycle World or Rider, or viewed on the 3x5 screen of an i-pod.  And yet, he considers himself a biker....

When I talk of the mist rising over the valley when on Skyline Drive, he may have read an article about it.  When told about a ride in 30 degree weather following the snow plow, he has seen pictures.  He has never ridden a 1000 mile day except in his imagination, never fell asleep and woke up the next day in another time zone, miles away.  When road food is mentioned, his is all local, BBQ being from So Cal, which in no way can compete with Memphis, KC, or Birmingham.  He knows the shortest distance between two points, but not the best way to get there.  His bike may his name on the title, but his seat time is a far distant second place to what he has read about riding.  He may know more than me about riding, but I ride.  His testimony is from others, mine is from me.  He has yet to discover the freedom, the individuality in riding.  He thinks he has, but it is only an educational exercise.  Safe and secure lest any driver cut him off, the temp drop, or the rain ruin his day.  He reads rather than rides, and although he has leathers and a motorcycle, he still hasn’t got what it takes.  That something is available, but somehow out of bounds for him.  When I reflect on roads, he reflects on articles.  While I accumulate miles, he accumulates knowledge.  You cannot teach experience, at least he has a working knowledge of riding.  Or so he thinks...

When we read about Peter denying the Lord three times in the garden, and find him leaving, writhing in pain and sorrow, he literally fell to the ground in agony, his heart pounding and drenched in tears, we fix our gaze on him.  Think about it, a little teen age girl confronted big, old Peter and sent him running, denying Jesus.  Sadly just like we do.  You see Peter took a defensive position about the little girl, he felt she was endangering him.  But maybe we miss the point here, sure the guards were about to arrest Jesus, it was a scary night.  But assume for the minute, this little girl was scared.  She didn’t know what was going on, but kept hearing the name Jesus.  And how he helped those in need.  And when she approached Peter, she was seeking help, “you were with him, can you help me?”  “You sound like him, do you really know this man from Galilee?”  Maybe the holy spirit had drawn her to Peter, and she wanted to meet Jesus, to be saved.  The conditions and the situation didn’t matter, she wanted to meet Jesus.  So Peter fled, denying him, and turning his back on her.  Just like we do when we fell threatened, when people ask us about Jesus.  We get scared, but miss the opportunity to share the gospel. 

There is an undependability in the flesh, just like there is in only reading about riding but never doing it.  You can be safe and secure behind a magazine, but do you feel the same way behind the handlebars?  How many pastors hide behind a pulpit, safe and secure, telling us how to witness, yet have never been called to do it one on one to a hard core biker?  A hooker?  They may know the scripture, they can quote it, but can they live it?  How many times do the priests in your life confront you, pinning you down by their superior knowledge of the scriptures, only to fail miserably and visibly in practice?  At least Peter ran away and wept, the priests so hard of heart stayed behind.  I wonder if they had any concern for the little girl?  Was their hatred of Jesus so strong they missed the message of the book they quoted?  Peter repented, and his one endearing quality was after all his mistakes, he kept going on.  After repenting.  He didn’t look back, he moved forward.  Without the priests, or the little girl knowing he was experiencing what would be recorded in the New Testament that night. 

Nothing is ever known about the little girl, she is nameless like so many Jesus encountered.  Like the woman who gave two mites, she might have been able to provide shelter for Peter if he wasn’t afraid.  When someone asks you about Jesus how do you react?  Are you a Peter?  Is your testimony just words on a page?  Do you quote scripture or live it?  Do you read about it or ride about it?  At  least Peter had left the security of his own environment, he had followed Jesus.  He only didn’t realize, that he was the same Jesus who was with him in the boat.  So next time you hear a teaching on picking on Peter, at least he was there. He hadn’t stayed at home where it was safe.  He was out with Jesus, not just in a study or teaching.  Pray for those who only live for Jesus inside the four walls of a church.  Who never encounter little girls who have questions about salvation.  Who know it all but don’t know Jesus.  On our own we are destined to fail, Peter proves that.  But when the spirit guides us, we can feel secure that Jesus is with us.  By the way, where were the other disciples that night?  Hiding?  At least Peter was out there with Jesus.  Hide behind the Bible, and never know the thrill of victory.  Get out and live the Bible, and come close to defeat, knowing the victory we have in Jesus.  Peter walked in faith, he ran in fear.  Read about life or ride about it.  A picture may be worth a thousand words, but 1000 words will never replace 1000 miles.  Where would you have been that night?  How would you have answered?  Some read, some ride.  Some run from, so run to.  Some ask, some answer.  Some fear, some stand firm.  Iron butt or iron heart?  Some time you will be confronted.....and how will you respond?

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

the weekend is willing, the spirit is weak

After being escorted out of Florida by their State Police, it was back to Jersey, and find work.  Which landed me a job as Traffic Manager for London Records @$150/week, good money in 1974.  Where I would learn about life not taught in any class, and get to use my Spanish learned from Miss Ludi’s Spanish class.  Sort of.  She didn’t teach us to cuss or swear, but I picked that up easily the first week, and learned Castillian Spanish is different than that from Puerto Rico and Cuba, which is different from Spanglish in San Diego.  But I was young, and learned fast.  And suddenly this white boy from an upper middle class town was thrust into International intrigue.

My boss was a big Italian man, Amos Romeo, who drove a 1967 GTO, and always wanted to race against my R90S, just to see how fast I really was.  But my immediate bosses, Mario and Julio were both of Puerto Rican descent and great guys.  Julio was quiet and got things done, Mario outgoing and very helpful, translating for me when I needed it-constantly.  But his English had a heavy accent, and many time he had to write what he was saying so I, we could understand.  But he always had a smile, and provided me with a Columbian secretary named Alba Mary.  Very pretty with heavy red lipstick, her English consisted of “OK Mike,” and a smile.  She did the filing, fortunately the numbers are bilingual, and always had a smile.  Now my job was to route freight, and the gifts, incentives from trucking companies ran from tickets to ball games to your favorite bottle.  Always being reminded of a local guy from Brooklyn with his own truck, who stayed until closing.  He would take all not picked up, and many times Mario would tell me, “send more freight Al’s way, his kid needs braces,” or “he’s having a rough month.”

But within this huge warehouse, many sub-companies existed.  One consisted of two guys, Tony and Carlos, who both talked so fast you never could understand them, and when you said “what,” talked louder, until finally throwing their hand in their air, and commenting on your heritage.  Ironically these two worked in a cage, I think for our protection more than theirs.  The packers consisted mostly of Puerto Ricans, with one Maria, built like a refrigerator, would always pinch me when I walked by.  Her co-worker Benito, loved the Yankees, and most of our conversations were either “Yankees, si” pointing to his ever present Yankee cap, or telling Maria a dirty joke and making her pinch me.  But we all somehow got along....except for the Cubans.

We had to keep the Puerto Ricans and Cubans separate, some places with a floor to ceiling fence.  They hated each other.  The Cubans were refugees, and not Americans, the Puerto Ricans real Americans, and hated because they were.  Go figure.  But the head Cuban was a dignified man, who before his exile had been a high government official, very respected and classy, called Sargento.  Who ran his area like the military.  But his counterpart from Puerto Rico was El Tigre, who looked like an old Tony Montana.  A cigarette with ashes about to drop were always between his lips, and El Tigre enforced the law.  He was often seen during working hours holding court with his men, no one interfered.  I think he tolerated me, I always went to Julio for help with him.  Add in the fork lift driver from Haiti, St. Cyprian La Prince, the Jewish guys in the office who ran London Records, Freddy, the black chauffeur of the owner of the place, known as the “Old Man,” and we were truly a diverse, if not interesting work place.  But somehow we all got along, and I think Alba Mary would agree, “OK, Mike.”

We all might agree, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is for the weekend.  And for 40+ hours a week, I was willing, weekends not included.  I was not saved yet, and my two worlds were converging, work in a West Side Story atmosphere, and home life, party central.  And the two were taking a toll on each other.  Something had to give, and when BH offered me a junior executive job, I took it.  Seems the flesh is weak, the dollar stronger.  And when influenced by ego and pride, along with a title, “hasta luego London Records, hola Polychrome.”  But as Christians we fight the same battles, and I soon found the spirit was willing, at least in church on Sunday mornings, and the flesh week once I left.  Sometimes I felt the words of Jesus asking me like he did Peter, “could you not watch for me one more hour?”  I was physically awake, but spiritually asleep.  And not sleeping very well.  And I found in the diversity that I had left behind more secure than in the new world with Jesus I was in now.  Pressure from the church, well meaning brothers, and others who knew what was best for me.  Soon I found the human sense of independence growing, as the freedom I knew in Christ had turned to rules, regulations, and all the things I didn’t want to have to do with religion.  I would brag “I am a Christian,”  to other Christians, yet never have to explain who I was to my secular friends.  They accepted me pretty much as I was, and didn’t put restrictions on me.  The one place I thought I could find acceptance, the church wasn’t it.  I had confused a walk in Christ with the church.  And the two are not the same at all.  I soon knew how Peter felt, where was that extra hour when I needed it?

And it was found in prayer.  Seeking God, going beyond church doctrine and pleasing them.  Keeping up an appearance of happiness, while bummed inside.  It was when I started to trust the spirit, that my life changed.  I had the knowledge, knew the songs, carried a Bible.  But in my submission to Jesus, I found that extra hour Jesus spoke of, to do what he asked, and only what he asked.  I had been impressed by so-called strong Christians who were always doing things in the church, but found in my weakness, like Paul did, God’s strength was made perfect.  And soon the joy of the Lord became my strength.  My understanding limited at best, I learned to trust.  No negotiations, trust Jesus not for something, just worship him for who he is.  He is God incarnate, savior, and when he became Lord of my life, the I knew of the freedom he promised.  In the spirit, not of man, should I boast.  It was OK to be scared, but to find strength in Christ.  To be honest, and not a facade.  When a friend and I talked about death, we agreed it was scary, although we knew heaven waited.  We had never done death before....but Jesus has.  And in him, we will too be resurrected.  With no ethnic barriers, no fences between denominations, no arguing over King James vs. NIV.  It will be all about Jesus.  So what are you waiting for? 

When you are sure in your weakness, you will get strength from God.  If you are having problems today, go to Jesus, just as you are.  He knows, your friends probably do too, the church may ignore it.  Only Jesus loves you as you are, and doesn’t want you to stay that way.  He promises life abundantly, overflowing in joy.  The spirit is willing, deny the weekend flesh, even of church, and trust God.  To which even Alba Mary would agree, “Jesus, OK Mike.”  In any language, at any job, on any weekend, he is Lord.  Jesus is Lord.  Jesus Christo es el senor.  There, see how easy it is.  Bet you didn’t know the language of love was bi-lingual too.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com