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