Friday, October 13, 2017

in the land of Dixie


















Plainfield, New Jersey was still a hot bed racially after the riots in 1967, and when I got my license.  Wes invited us down to see him where he tended bar there, his day job was on a receiving platform with me at Sears.  He was cool, black, and never said much, like the time I asked “did you need hand?” and he replied “I’d look awful funny with three hands wouldn’t I?”  We, our group of co-workers, and many at the time didn’t care what color you were, for instance we had Italians, Polish, an Iranian, two guys of Irish descent, and we made fun of each other.  We were friends, so when Wes invited us down, Brennan and I went, he was our friend.  Now this was an old time black bar as they were referred to, in a bad neighborhood, but since Wes was cool we figured no problem.  Until we got to the door, and a huge bouncer, think of the right side of an NFL line, asked “what you boys doin’ here?”  We explained we were friends of Wes, and how he invited us down...”  Without batting an eye, he looked us both straight in the eye and said “this bar ain’t for caucasians.”  And we knew for our own safety what he meant.  Later when confronting Wes, he told us “that’s cool...” and life went on.  And it did...
I love travelling in the south, the Land of Dixie.  Where according to the song “old times there are not forgotten.”  So we had booked a night at the Shack Up Inn, once the old Hopson Plantation, now a place for blues fans to meet, complete with a juke joint.  Where music matters, color don’t, and it starts when the first guy star playing, and ends when the last guy stops.  Audience optional.  In fact they told us as we arrived at 6pm, they had played until after 8 that morning and may not be opening that night.  Just outside of Clarksdale, Mississippi, birthplace of the blues, and the crossroads Clapton sang of, where Highways 61 and 49 intersect.  Where Abe’s has been serving BBQ for over 90 years, home to the Riverside Hotel, where we met Rat, whose Mother used to own it, and before that a black hospital, where Bessie Smith died after a white hospital rejected her after a car accident based on her color.  Rat gave us a tour and showed us her room. But we made friends there, and plan to go back, look it up, way cool places.  Historical, without getting hysterical.  But when first hitting town, we saw a Wendy’s, and in 100 degree heat with humidity to match, it sounded good.  So we ordered two, and were sitting enjoying them when Theresa commented “we’re the only white people here.”  Never much thought about it, as I answered “do you think anyone noticed?”  And we laughed, as people are people, and mostly friends and welcoming until you make them something else.  A personal tour later from Rat confirmed southern hospitality, we were welcomed for who we were, not what we were.  40 years later, after Plainfield, I still wish I was in the Land of Dixie.....where your tea is sweet and you don’t have to ask.  Cool...
Before the threat of lightning had us change our trip last summer, we were going to spend the day checking out New Ulm, Minnesota.  It looked cool, had a rich history, and a population of 15,000, large for the area.  When reading about it though, one thing stood out, the number of churches.  Lutheran churches.  Five of them, each with a different synod and take on Christianity.  Which left me wondering, if they can’t get along, what does that say about spiritual unity?  Their relationship with God?  Their love for each other?  Let alone those not in their fellowship?  If the body of Christ cannot get along, what makes you think the world would want to be like you?  When first saved 40 years ago, I was given a book to read by Juan Carlos Ortiz.  Call to Discipleship, and it told of how one man, going around to the denominations in his own South American country.  He believed Jesus Christ to be the way, and was met at first with a great reserve, so many denominations were steeped in tradition, and had gotten away form Christ.  At first rejected, he kept on led by the spirit, and soon hearts began to change, lives changed, and a revival followed.  In the spirit he could do what years of separation had wrought, and bring people together in Christ.  It was when he discovered the Lordship of Jesus Christ, and followed him that things began to change, he found that God was closer than he thought, and not mired in religion grew in grace.  For in Christ there is no difference, as we are all one family.  Spiritual things go way beyond color, tradition, religion, and denominational boundaries.  When we are truly one in the spirit with Jesus,we are one with him.  And he who is for us cannot be against us.
But we cannot do it on our own, it takes the spirit.  The holy spirit, as without him we are open to being led astray.  Just as Wes invited us and we weren’t welcomed, too many are searching but the mainline churches don’t want them.  Nor the spirit.  The taste of freedom found in him threatens their power base, and let the lost go elsewhere.  Church size doesn’t matter, as one church once bragged about seeing hundred saved at their Easter service, when I asked them to “name 5, 2, how about 1?” they came up empty.  It was a service, impersonal, with no call to discipleship.  If in fact the numbers were real, why didn’t the body grow in numbers?  Or in grace?  Is it personal with you and Jesus?  Your church?  If I walked in with my leathers on and carrying my helmet, would I be welcomed?  Some places I haven’t...
I look back at that day at Wendy’s as a lesson from God, where my color didn’t matter.  Nor if I rode, or where I was staying.  Rat instantly told us he knew we were staying at the Hopson, because we were cool and he had no reservation for us.  He is booked a year ahead.  What do people know about Jesus when they meet you?  Would you listen to their message, would they listen to yours?  We are all born into sin and need a savior, and only Jesus saves.  Like the song says “red and yellow black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world.”  So I wish to go back to the Hopson, the Shack Up Inn and visit The Riverside Hotel, even though Rat passed on a few years ago.  To go back to a day and time where nobody noticed, and the music played on even with no audience.  At the crossroads, the road to the cross, where we will meet Jesus.
By the way, Call to Discipleship was published by Logos, in of all places, Plainfield, New Jersey.  Looking back, maybe that bouncer at the door did us a favor.  May have saved my life.  Fortunately I heard the call a few years later, when Jesus saved my life and my discipleship began.  And continues still today.....I’ll drink to that, I just know it will be sweet without having to ask.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com