Francis Albert Sinatra claims it as his home town. Which can be good or
bad. Sometimes you just have to heed the warning signs like we did, but went
anyway. On our 2006 Torches Across America ride, our last day was scheduled to
go past Ground Zero, then meet at the Hoboken Motorcycle Club’s clubhouse for
dinner and the evening. Inconveniently located at the last exit in New jersey
before going into the Holland Tunnel, miss the turn and end up in Manhattan,
they are an old school club before gangs and posers became the new motorcycle
clubs. With three or four generations of members, they go back a long way, and
to have survived in Hoboken says something about them. Our first impression of
Hoboken was one of decaying streets and bridges, and a place either dying or
near death. Stopping at a park by the river, signs warned not to swim, touch,
or eat anything that came out of the river. And the greeting at the motel
further reinforced our observations, no security will be provided, and their
lot, although walled in, is a prime area for car thefts and the police probably
won’t answer any calls, so provide your own security. Ain’t New Jersey a
wonderful place.......
So off to the clubhouse in daylight hours, and we would be escorted back to
our motel by some undercover cops for our own protection, such is life and death
on the streets of Hoboken, no wonder Frankie was such a tough guy. But once
arriving at the clubhouse, we were greeted by some of the friendliest people,
enjoyed a home cooked Italian dinner prepared in their own kitchen,and felt safe
and secure, far from all we had seen or been told. Now whenever I enter a
strange area, I look for someone to hide behind in case a fight breaks out.
This time it was a rather large woman, who commanded respect and dressed in
spandex and leather with studs, could tell she meant business. Being the tour
spokesman, I introduced us to the packed house, and began sharing about our
ride, and the stops in between. Although a secular ride, patriotism and Jesus
go hand in hand, and sharing the miracles along the way was easy. As I kept my
eye on my new girlfriend in leather. No emotion from her, and sometimes I felt
like she was an adversary. But after about 45 minutes and wrapping it up, after
shaking hands and meeting more members, she confronted me, her wet tears running
down her face, not brushed against mine as we hugged. “Tell us more, we love
the stories.” And so I was able to share about Father Al and the miracles of
the Flight 93 Memorial Chapel, and of the day there just two days before. I
shared the story of Jacob and how last year he was in a wheelchair, and this
year beside me on stage. I shared of the newswoman trying to bash Bush 43 and
trying to corner me on politics. I openly shared how Jesus was with us on the
ride, and how as a group we became united together, bonds that to this day still
exist. I had been asked, so I answered, and they loved it. No preaching, I
don’t remember quoting scripture, but just shared how God had made things real,
and how real he is. And how without Jesus this whole ride would not have been
as successful or fun as it had been, and still was. After another 30 minutes,
it was on the road under guard, and back to the motel, where security had been
set up, no one would enter dare to enter that yard that night. Only Jesus can
make a night like that happen, and wherever patriots are found, you will always
find God, and they love to hear the stories....
“As you go, “ Jesus said, “spread the gospel.” A perfect tense, meaning as
you go, always. Like today, right now. So often religion teaches us it is only
for pastors, and preaching evangelism is inviting people to church, although not
found in scripture. We are the ambassadors of him. Yet we see Jesus on the
road, traveling and as he goes, the ministry grows. If he had never traveled
and his disciples stayed home, the gospel never would have left Jerusalem. Paul
would have stayed home, so would Mark and the others, how different the New
Testament would read. Yet we fail at every chance to live a life in Christ,
bound by religion and tradition. Remember it was Jesus who hung with hookers,
tax collectors, bikers, and junkies, bringing them the good news and setting
them free. It wasn’t the Pharisees or the law, it was love. If only our heart
was as open to the spirit as the head is to learning. So much love and ministry
goes on in the shadow of the valley of death, and that night in a biker
clubhouse. Under the beer signs, naked posters of women, gambling machines and
the bar, the gospel went forth in love, planting seeds the holy spirit would
cultivate. I did my job that night, the next person coming along would do
theirs. And afterwards God reminded me of a trip the summer before to Ogden,
Utah to a CMA rally. Right in the midst of LDS, deeply entrenched in the cult.
A hot and cloudless day was most of the ride, and entering Ogden by freeway, it
started to rain, I mean pour, with no clouds in sight. With the traffic jammed,
we rode up the shoulder and got off, riding a good three miles in the rain,
soaked with the sun shining. And of course, losing my cool, I questioned God,
“why would you send a group of Christian bikers to the middle of a cult’s
land?” His answer I still carry with me today, “can you think of a better place
to build a hospital than where people are sick?” Jesus came to the sick and
dying, not the well. And as the weekend played out, I saw his spirit in action,
I guess I was sick too, and didn’t know it. Pride will do that to you.
We slept well in Hoboken that night, over 40 bikes and riders jammed into a
small yard. Blessed and rested, we went to check out, where a sign said “if for
any reason you didn’t like the room, it is free.” Mentioning it to the man
checking us out, some issues but no big deal, he cancelled our payment and the
night was free. Maybe Hoboken is all that Sinatra claimed it to be, just don’t
drink the water, or eat anything from the river. And make sure you travel with
Jesus....for the rain falls on the good and the bad. I know.....Frank might
have done it his way, I rather do it Jesus’ way.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com