safety fast

The salesman at the Harley store the other day asked me if my Bonneville “was an English Triumph?”  I answered “as far as I know,” while rolling m eyes, while a third man, stage left giggled at his question.  Of course Triumphs are English, just as Harleys are American, and Hondas are Japanese.  Then he thought for a minute, put his e-cig in his pocket, took out a generic brand cigarette, lit it and after a few drags, said “I meant an old one.”  Then tried to cover up by engaging me in enduring all the misquoted facts he knew about English bikes from 50 years ago.  He had lost me at the first dumb question, really lost me when lighting up, but the following me around now was bothering me.  All I go there for is to pick up the free newspapers, but I did see the new Street 500-blackest bike I ever saw.  No chrome anywhere, helps keep the price down.  Normally I would have asked questions, and for a ride, but I could see where it would have gone, and 15 minutes would have turned into 2 hours, which would have turned into, well you know.  But it got me thinking of the English, old English, to me meaning the 60’s and 70’s, when BSA was gasping for life, Matchless, Vincent, and other proud names were gone, and Triumph went on strike, the final nail in its coffin.  But never out of business, read the story of John Bloor and his resurrecting it, a true success story.  But I thought of Bristol Motors out on Route 22, which sold MG and Triumph cars, not the same company as the motorcycles, and my mind took me back 40 years. 

Set in lovely North Plainfield, it was among the many obnoxious businesses that lined both sides of the road.  Unlike today where we have auto parks, this one was stuck in among store fronts, and stuck out because of it.  Lines of shiny new MG’s, all with black convertible tops, as only a true sports car should be, lined up.  Bright blues, British racing green, and reds, an occasional yellow, and the color of my Midget-butterscotch.  Colors today not found on any car, never saw a grey sports car have you?  Small cars that you folded yourself into, and once inside had lots of leg room, lots of shoulder room, and lots of headroom.  And all without putting the top down, which literally opened up a whole new world of driving.  And sitting low, you saw the lower parts of cars you didn’t while in your dad’s Rambler.  Your line of sight was the belt line of any other car, and you could be missed in traffic.  They had to be small, gas was expensive in England, 77 cents a gallon, and MPG was important to them.  But more important was the fun of driving, going around corners, hearing the exhaust singing to you, and feeling the wind everywhere.  All while giving the sensation of going much faster than you really were.  Not a bad thing, but not a car to race against any GTO, SS396, or your father’s Oldsmobile.  But it had an intrinsic quality called fun, and you didn’t have to go fast to do it.  And just as long as they stayed together, the fun was to be had.

MG stands for Morris Garages, and their motto was “Safety Fast.”  The fast catching any young man’s attention, the safety maybe putting him to sleep.  Like the girl with a nice personality, she had to be fast or have good looks to if a second date was in order, and the MG had both.  Light weight meant better handling, better acceleration from a smaller motor, and better braking-not breaking.  And they went around corners faster, and gave the illusion of speed, even when doing the speed limits.  And many muscle cars learned that when being passed by one in the corners.  Straight line acceleration is fun, but it takes mucho horsepower to be fun.  Here was a small package, that all you needed was corners to have fun with.  And fun they were.  But the key word to driving one was fun.  Somehow you found yourself smiling when just sitting in one.  Once started, with its burbling exhaust, it sounded cool, like a bratty kid, you could corner him, but never catch him.  And even shifting through the gears felt good, looking through the short windshield at the three wipers it took to clear it, it was that short, but also that wide.  Fun could be had reading the owner’s manual, and guessing what the English meant when they spoke of dropping the head, checking under the bonnet, or placing the tyre among spares in the boot.  It all added up to a fun driving experience.  It was fun, funny, and like a good friend, you were willing to look over the warts on his nose, or his BO because he was your friend.  Such was the MG experience.  Gone after 1980.  RIP Morris Garages.

But back to fun.  I like to ask people “what good is fun if you don’t enjoy it?”  And they think I am crazy, and in any relationship, it helps if you are the crazy one.  But do you have fun like you used to? When is the last time you turned up the volume in a stereo store just to hear what it sounded like?  Or ran a test drive car through the gears?  Or went into a corner too fast, scaring the salesman?  All things we used to do, and some we still do.  They are fun, don’t hurt anyone, but to the PC attitude we are heathens to their culture.  When really they are to ours.  How many of their kids will remember the good time in mom’s minivan?  Or the time she did a burnout?  Or turned up the stereo so loud she couldn’t talk on her cell?  Rebels all, just no fun in it any more.  So I ask again,”what good is fun if you don’t enjoy it?”

And being a Christian, you should have more fun than anyone.  We are perpetual kids, we have a loving and forgiving Father, and we know how the story ends.  We win.  Shouldn’t that make you happy, isn’t winning fun?  Yet of late I encounter too many Christians who all seem to belong to “Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows,” and live like it.  They live like they are dead, and are overwhelmed by the economy, kids, job, their spouses, and anything that comes there way.  A good night is when the Padres don’t lose, so you can see their plight.  They have given their lives to Jesus, just haven’t given their life to Him.  They read their Bible, pray, go to church, but are miserable.  They aren’t letting Jesus into their lives, and wonder what is happening, I’m doing all the right things.  All except following Him, letting Him be Lord.  They are like Jesus says, “why do you call me Lord, but don’t do what I asked?”   They are missing the trust it takes to enter a corner too fast, hoping the car is better than their driving.  They live and drive with the cruise on, and live life like Goldilocks, not too fast, not too slow.  Not too soft, not too hard.  Don’t share Jesus, I wish I had.  They are their own gospel, feeling safe and secure, but never seeing all God has to offer.  When it comes time to share testimonies, they don’t have any.  For the best testimonies include when God saved  you from yourself, a situation, something you couldn’t do yourself.  They miss the miracles, but mostly they miss the fun.  And knowing Jesus is fun!  And it should be.  Joy unspeakable!

My friend Lance used to say “there is no thrill like driving an English sports car.”  Top down, wind in your face, hair blowing.  Hearing the engine, smelling the oil burning off the manifold.  Feeling the road.  Using all your senses, heightened to the point of exhileration.  Sounds like a life in Christ to me.  So start living in Him, maybe religion is for old people after all.  Get personal.  I see this orange 1980 MGB for sale, less than $10k, all reconditioned.  Oh for a test drive.

Don’t live your live wishing you had taken that last drive.  Enjoy life, have fun.  Jesus did and still does. Just think, why would anyone want to be like me, and ask yourself where Jesus is in your life?  What is your witness?  Do you even want to be like you?  Then after asking, trust and obey.  Watch as fun enters your relationship, and others want to hear about this Jesus in you.  He did all the suffering so you could have all the joy.  Come down off your cross, and share His victory, and enjoy it.  Have fun, some are just dying to have fun, He died so you can.  Safety fast. Maybe I will take a ride in that MG, just don’t tell my wife.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

before freeways

Growing up we had Route 22, the closest thing to an Interstate Highway, before we had the Interstate System.  A curious road, once known as the busiest road in the nation, who’s brilliant designer channeled it from 3 lanes to 2 just as you get closer to New York City, creating an even bigger traffic jam.  A road lined with red lights, jug handle exits, and many famous to those who travelled it land marks.  Unforgettable sights such as The Flagship, Leaning Tower of Pizza, Two Guys from Harrison, and forbidden places like the Greenbrook Motel.  But not all America is like Route 22, and even 22 as it goes into the Pennsylvania countryside may seem boring to those city folks or subdivision types who commute on it, but to me it is the open door to getting out of the city.  To places where no Walmart or Mickey D’s has polluted the economy.  Where stop signs still rule, and stop lights warn of intersections, with signs showing the mileage in each direction.  You thought you were nowhere, only to find you are only 22 miles to somewhere.  Or less.  Where towns have more cattle than people, pumps you cannot pay at, and menus written on erasable boards. Where fresh pies, baked on the premises happily ruin your diet, and sweet tea is offered as the drink of preference.  A far cry from an Interstate, the roads have names, not numbers, the people have names and not just faces.  It is a land uninhabited by Mapquest, not on any AAA map, yet so close you can miss it.  These are the roads and places we choose to travel.  Where we spend our time on the road.  Our escape routes from the city, and or trip back to an America before freeways.  A road not may will take, out of fear of the unknown.  And never know what they are missing.

Did you know you can ride from San Diego to Los Angeles without using any freeways?  And that many towns exist off of freeways, just not accessible by them?  On our recent 11 day, 2000 mile ride, we were never farther than 500 miles from home, and only rode on freeways when we had to, about 300 total miles.  We took some roads that we wondered where they went to, ate at places where the owner carries a spatula and sells his homegrown tomatoes at the counter.  We found home made burritos for $3.49 and left full.  In a country market.  Where we met a priest on a mission for cat food as he explained.  We ate pancakes that would embarrass IHOP, for half the price, and twice the size.  We learned that Mr. Kennedy eats there every day, and it must be 9:15 as he is going back to his farm.  That Joe from Brown’s Cycle eats there every Sunday morning.  And all served in sizes and flavor that no designer food restaurant could ever duplicate.  Where food covers the platter, no whites of the plate in evidence.  But of late, we see the city folk encroaching, and things are beginning to change.  We see the yuppie influence, where they know the price of everything, but don’t know the value of anything.  They envision life here as it is where they are from, and courtesy and respect are foreign terms.  Where their coffee cup is always full, and at a fraction of the price for their latte.  Their detailed BMW’s sticking out among the pick ups with mud on them and the smell of the ranch, the only time they open their windows are at the drive up.  They pay by credit card, don’t tip well, and can operate an i-pad, but cannot hold a conversation.  At least not without a cell phone to text on.  America is changing, and I miss America.  I have seen the future, and give me the back roads and all that goes with it.  Give me people with all our foibles anytime.  Give me variety, pancakes not from a box.  Pies from a recipe, not written down, and a smile and welcome where they really mean it.  Give me roads that lead to other roads, that go somewhere.  Past farms, small towns, general stores, and kids waving from front yards.  Where your change is counted out as it is handed back to you, and you are thanked with a smile.  You’re welcome, and you are.  Roads that predate even Route 22, a time and place that a young Dorothy Gale envisioned, “somewhere over the rainbow,” that she didn’t realize she had already found.  Roads built that are meant to be ridden on by motorcycles, with curves, elevation drops, and no white lines.  That start where they begin, and go onto other places.  Nowhere and everywhere, all at once.  My kind of ride....

Many a sojourner, a traveller of earth, has set out to find God, only to arrive at a dead end.  They took all the right roads, followed the directions given, but yet ended up nowhere.  They started lost, and ended up even more lost, and wondered why some get it, and others don’t.  What is the secret to a life with God?  What exit in life do I take?  Why don’t I know where I am or where I am going?  Sound familiar, it is, as we all at one time or another have tried to work out our own salvation.  We read books, tried astrology, maybe even went to church.  Some picked up a Bible, but when it made no sense, or offended their morals, put it down.  They were looking for something, not realizing it was really a someone who they needed.  They carefully planned their trip, did all he right things, graduated college, got married, had kids, but yet were unfulfilled.  They knew the price of what they had, just not the value of it.  Values were placed by what it cost, or could be invested and resold at.  They never just go for a ride, not realizing they were being taken for one.  They may even be religious, but not at peace.  They have a form of godliness, but don’t have the savior.  They have no peace, because there is no Jesus.  If only they had taken the time to put down the cell phone in traffic, and read the simple bumper sticker ahead of them, “know Jesus, know peace.”  A peace not found on any web site, and a destination of the heart, not of the mind.  Where God gets the glory, you don’t.  And when you come to the point where you find you can’t save yourself, that your values don’t add up, you find Jesus is right there with you.  A familiar face you have never seen, and welcomes you.  He takes you down peaceful paths, past still waters, and to a time and place you could only dream of.  And promises you a place that is beyond description.  A ride down roads just to see where they lead, led by Him.  And suddenly we are not strangers any longer, but friends, and we long for heaven, just to be with Him.  For before freeways, before highways, surface streets, lanes, or paths, there was Jesus.  The way.  Just waiting for you, arms open.  Offering you what you are looking for, at a price you can’t afford-free.  A price so expensive it took God to pay it.  And for only us to enjoy.

And He comes to you, just as you are.  City, country, subdivisions, and even behind bars.  He goes to you-free delivery from sins.  He is the portion of life you are missing, the ride you can only dream of, a meal that can be eaten over and over.  He is not an end, but a beginning, not an exit, but an entrance, with the road open for you to follow.  He is that road that many will pass over, afraid of what they might have to give up, not knowing what they have to gain.  What would you do?  Are you along for the trip, or still looking at maps to life?  Right now, wherever you are, He asks you to let Him into your heart.  To ride along, to show you where to ride, where to eat.  To give you value to your valuables.  To get out and into life, for He is life.  He is the fork in the road you need to take, are you coming along?  All roads lead to somewhere, only one leads to Christ.  He made it that simple.  Don’t make it difficult.  Let’s ride.  There’s this road I know, just not sure where it leads....aren’t you glad God does?  So close you can miss Him-don’t!  Long before freeways, He was and still is the free way!

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com 

the BMW in the bedroom

Looking back, my parents never liked motorcycles.  And one event in my life probably justified that belief more than others.  I had always worked, from age 12 with a paper route, through high school, and then in college, before I dropped out.  So I had saved money, I wanted to have something to show for all my work, which resulted in motorcycles.  And 3 of my first 4 were BMW’s, the first two both totaled, I was hit both times in Florida, and my next one was a 1974 R90S, all bought new.  I had delivered a lot of The Star ledger!  But when it came time to take a month off from work for my cross country trip from New Jersey to California, I had a little help from my friends putting my R90S in my bedroom...up a flight of stairs on the second floor!  Much harder than it sounds, and even harder to get down, their house was filled with the aroma of Sunoco 260 filling its tank, and of the one time I started it inside...I just had to hear how it sounded.  But for a period of two months in the summer of 1975 my parents could claim they had a BMW in the bedroom.  A claim I am sure they never told anyone, but that really happened.  Today we talk of barn finds, finding vehicles hidden away in barns or sheds, but  you never hear of finding them in a bedroom.  Or storing them in one.  But it set a precedent, for over the years I have been impressed when others brought their motorcycles into the house, Por Favor had a TM 250 in his living room, and an RD350 in the closet-they both ran, and Pete and Benjie used to keep their Harleys in their apartment, and Brett and I parked our bikes in our motel room one year at Laguna Seca, so maybe it isn’t as unique an event as I thought.  But I will never forget the steps getting it up, then wondering how I would get it down...with a lotta help from my friends.

My first three houses were ranch style, after being raised in two houses with second stories.  Even my grandparent’s houses had steps, so it was inevitable that my house would have them too.  And living in one with four levels, I have climbed more steps in my days, usually when I forget what I need when I get to the garage from our bedroom on the top floor.  21 steps, I know them all by heart, and will probably go up and own them a dozen times today.  So I have even gone to the point of having reading glasses on each floor, just in case, as each floor has a bathroom.  Think of them as a library on every floor....all motorcycles still live in the garage.  On the first floor, no steps to the street.  But it seems my life is filled with stairways, even visiting Dave in jail the other day, the waiting room on the second floor is up by elevator, but you must walk down stairs to get the elevator to inmate visiting.  I was so amazed at the woman visiting her husband in her wheel chair, I forgot to ask how she got there.  Did she have to use the stairs?

And so stairs are a part of everyday life.  Even sung about in song, by Led Zeppelin in Stairway to Heaven.  One of the all time greatest songs since 1971, it over the years has still not yet divulged its true meaning to us.  Even the writers, Jimmy Page and Robert Plant won’t tell....or can’t due to the influence of drugs, but stairways to heaven even proceed them.  And are not new to God, in fact over 5000 years ago He revealed the original stairway to heaven to Jacob.  In Genesis 28 we are told of Jacob’s ladder, where God showed Jacob angels going up and down from heaven to earth.  But the word in Hebrew is “sulam,” meaning stairway.  Not a ladder in the modern sense of the word, but a stairway, the original stairway to heaven.  So wide, think if all the 6 billion plus of us have a guardian angel sent from God, then returning back to report, that is one busy stairway.  A heavenly escalator beyond description.  And in use now for over 6000 years, it has served billions, and McDonalds thinks it has served billions!  And it exists today, and will into the future, as it is mentioned in both the Old Testament, and the New.  In the past, and in the future!  Bringing not only angels, but Jesus Christ, the original barn find, returning to earth for His church.  We are told how Jesus tells His disciples how “He saw heaven open, and the angels of God descending upon the Son of Man.”  Reinforcing God’s promise to Jacob in Genesis about His ever presence, His protection, His promise of taking him home, and of never leaving us.  Sounds like Jesus to me, I will never leave you nor forsake you....truly God is in control. 

But He still leaves the choice up to us.  An open invitation to climb Jacob’s staircase to heaven, or follow the footsteps to hell.  We are all on the path, and only Jesus offers the way and the direction.  He is the ladder, the way to heaven that God showed to Jacob, as the word it, used to describe it, in Hebrew can also mean He.  He as in God, as in Jesus, as in the Holy Spirit.  Even before that night in Bethlehem, one night thousands of years earlier in the same town God was affirming His promise of a way to heaven.  Of a way out of this world.  Today many will refer to the man upstairs, when referring to God.  But God is not only what He is, but who He is.  And we get to call Him by His first name, Jesus.  Make it personal with Him today, get to know Him.  He knows your name, do you know His?

Many have heard of the car found in the barn, and even if it is an urban legend will believe.  I really had a BMW in my bedroom, but found out it really belonged out on the street.  Which was better for me than sleeping in the garage in its room.  Up the stairs was hard, down again was harder.  Today many are falling down those stairs into hell, when it can be easier to climb them to heaven.  And unlike the Led Zep version, you cannot buy it.  It is paid for, a free offer, and a free ride.  You couldn’t afford it, for all that glitters is not gold.  So as some try to buy a stairway to heaven, God sent a person to show us the way, to be the way.  And like Huey Lewis and the News sung in Jacob’s Ladder, “step by step, one by one...” take that walk with God up Jacob’s ladder today.  A staircase of grand dimensions, with stairs wider than can be imagined.  At the end of a straight and narrow path.  But it takes faith, and God has given each of us enough of it to choose Him.  But it is still our choice.  God has prepared a mansion with many rooms for us, Jesus tells us it is so.  I wonder what will be at the top of the stairs in heaven for me?  All I know is that the trip will be easier than pushing 450 pounds of motor cycle up them.  And the reward will be greater.  And if there happens to be a BMW when I get there, there will also be room to ride it.  Now that’s a bedroom I can learn to live in. 

My dream home for now is like Steve McQueen’s Santa Paula Airport hangar.  Cars, bikes, beds, and living all in one cool room.  A big room for all our bikes, and friends to gather.  But today we will have to be content with our garages, and the steps to them.  Make your next step Jesus, and insure a heavenly room with room to ride in.  You’ve heard the songs, read the book, bought the album, and seen the posters.  Get ready for the trip of your life.  A highway to hell or a stairway to heaven?  There’s still time to change the road you’re on.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

branded

A man after commenting on my Bonneville the other day, asked me if I was a Triumph man?  I was at first taken aback, as although I own four, I also own two Suzukis, and ride new Triumphs for them, I never thought of myself as a Triumph man.  So after a few seconds, to ponder his question, I answered “yes,” seeing he was trying to direct me to the Bar and Shield that he rode.  He was a Harley man, and thought everyone should be.  He was proud of his brand, and thought it to be the best, and couldn’t see why anyone else would ride anything different.  Some may call him narrow minded, but he saw himself as loyal to the brand.  A Harley rider first and foremost, then maybe a motorcyclist.  Not the other way around.  I tend to have a common disease that many who ride have, it is called motorcycles.  We love them, ride them, and even have friends outside of our chosen brand, but first and foremost we ride.  And the let those that ride decide starts with the brand you ride.

I know many Harley owners who can tell you all you want to know, or don’t want to know about Harleys, but don’t know a thing about any other brand.  They live and breath, and bleed black and orange, and many have bought into the lifestyle, or the perception of what riding a Harley means.  They ride, but are they really motorcyclists?  Being involved with various motorcycle ministries over the years, many ride Harleys and tolerate the rest of us who ride too fast, whose bike handles better, who have great brakes, and doesn’t cost a paycheck to get serviced.  And that can use any oil, not just the HD brand.  After tiring of hearing about what great riders they were, and how they loved motorcycles, I asked them a question.  Sounded simple enough, but the answer surprised me.  The question was “if only two stroke 250cc motorcycles are available tomorrow, would you still ride?”  Almost without thinking, most of them said they would quit riding.  How would you have answered?  Maybe there was more to their answer than they wanted us to know, or admit to themselves. 

Years ago my friend Rick Johnson, the moto-x legend, and I did business on his race truck.  When he found out I rode, he asked me to ride with him and his dad some Sunday on their Harleys.  Wait a minute, he was factory Honda.  I figured he would own the fastest and bestest Honda, but no, he loved motorcycling, and of course loves to ride.  The moto-x bike was just his work bike, and he had others to ride when needed.  So was he a Honda man, a Harley man, or a motorcyclist?  Talking with Sonny Barger over the years, he is quoted in his first book how they are stuck we Harleys, because they were the only American made bike available.  He knew all about my Triumphs, was interested in the Japanese bikes, and even knew hey were more reliable and offered more performance.  Yet when we talked last year at Hollister, he was riding a Victory, and loved it, he muttered to me, “I never liked them,” meaning Harleys, but now had a choice, and switched.  This year when we talked, he was on a new Indian, that he was doing some work to, needs more performance, and is very happy with his new choice.  Now is he an Indian man, a Victory rider, a Harley man, or a motorcyclist?  He knows all about the others, he chooses American made, not the brand, but the origin of the beast.  And he understands why I ride Triumphs, he told me about the new performance of them, but they “aren’t American.”  Finally Spud, who sells Harleys, is always interested when I come by on a press bike.  On a Daytona R, about as far as you can get from a cruiser, he showed particular interest.  He had read about them, and someday would like to ride one, but his job wouldn’t allow it.  He was like a kid at Christmas, asking but not receiving, for he too has the disease we call motorcycles.  So if asked, to me it is more important that you ride, rather than what you ride.  And many of us will agree, those who are short sighted may not fully understand the brotherhood of motorcyclists, and are missing out on the fullness it has to offer.  But we welcome you any way, and rest assured, I am glad you ride, no matter what brand, size, or origin.  Two wheels truly fill the soul....

When people find out I am in ministry, they are often taken aback, “you are a minister?”  thinking I man a pulpit.  It further confuses them when asked what church, I tell them “I minister with many churches, and outside of the church.”  They are looking to identify me with a religion, a denomination so they can figure me out.  Baptist-do I have rules running my life?  Lutheran-am I big on teaching?  Catholic-the only true church to many?  Episcopal-or Catholic light as my firned Bruce calls it, all the rules, just not all the ceremony.  But when I tell them I am a Christian, and worship at Maranatha, a Calvary Chapel, they get confused.  What religion is that? I am a Christian, who loves the teaching, and the basis on being guided by the holy spirit.  I have attended Baptist, Catholic, Four Square, Assemblies of God, and various fundamental churches over the years, but God has me at Maranatha.  And I am a Christian, a follower of Jesus Christ first and foremost, no matter where I worship.  I am not brand specific, and yet I have denominational enslaved friends who think I am breaking a law, and not religious enough.  Like Fr. Al once told me, his Catholic friends tell him he is not Catholic enough.  Speaking five languages, and knowing all the catechisms, and masses in Latin isn’t enough.  His born again friends tell him he isn’t born again enough, since he read the Psalms, which he loved.  Needs to be in the New Testament more.  And was even in trouble with his superiors for giving communion to non-Catholics.  He preferred Christ over any denominational restrictions, he loved Jesus most of all.  And I use him as an example of a blessed man in ministry, both within and without the church and its blessings. 

If asked, what are you, how would you answer?  I love Jesus first and foremost, and all people.  Even those who are religious, I pray for their release from religion, and for freedom in the spirit.  And I pray for all who ride, you ride so you already get it.  But don’t limit yourself to one brand, one type.  Don’t be branded religiously or by what you ride.  Be known as a Christian, keeping Jesus in the forefront, and ride whenever and whatever you can.  Choose Jesus, and all the other decisions will be easier after that.  You will know true freedom, and walk in truth, not legalism.  And after all isn’t that why we ride, for the freedom we have in it?  I may not be able to describe it, but you would still have to understand it anyway.  So try Jesus today, spend time with Him and in His word.  Get to know Him better, breaking down all the rules.  He lets you make the choice, choose Jesus, then all things will be added unto you.  And as for why I ride Triumphs, I tell people “you are what you ride.”  My life is a Triumph in Jesus.  Says so right in the Bible...”Shout unto the Lord with a voice of Triumph!”  Psalm 47:1.  To you Fr. Al, and all those who have found true freedom in the Lord.  Maybe loud pipes do make a difference after all...but still only Jesus saves.

love with compassion,

Mike

matthew25biker.blogspot.com

a serious draught of nobility

Reruns of Starsky and Hutch are on now, and fill a void to remind us of what it was like in the seventies.  The show somehow manages to incorporate police work with the love lives of these two trendy disco era males.  Hutch played by David Soul (Solberg) plays the in touch with his inner being, sprout eating, yoga, socially aware detective. Living in his earth tone decorated apartment.  Remember when men didn’t have plants everywhere, until our girlfriends brought out our more sensitive side?  And Starsky plays the cool, hot rodder, his Torino with the white stripe Hutch described as a tomato, racing through the streets of Bay City, breaking every traffic law once the command of “zebra 3” is heard.  Perfect hair, it never moved, remember all the time we spent styling before we put our helmets on, only to have bad hair? When really helmet head was the badge of honor?   His driving to me is funny, as in one scene he smacks a curb coming to a stop, the right front wheel obviously bent in, hard hit, but due to 5 Starsky cars available, they are off again in the next scene, catching crooks, beating them up, or swilling brew at Huggy Bear’s.  But one common theme throughout the series is their girlfriends.  They all die, move back to Russia, like Hutch’s ballerina love, turn out to be hookers, which is better than junkies, can’t decide which of the two they really love more, or go into a witness protection program.  A serious draught of lasting relationships, we find them the next week chasing skirt, eating fondue, or on a sofa after a date at Huggy’s listening to smooth jazz.  Candles burning just enough to illuminate the plants, bean bag furniture and lava lamps included.  But what they suffer from is a serious draught of nobility, they have an open mind, but not a cautious heart.  At least the music is good, Lalo Schifrin and Tom Scott....

Spending last week in Central California, we have a serious draught.  I’ve seen it, it is scary.  Even the freeway signs are warning us now.  How bad is it?  Lakes are now puddles, some gone altogether.  Some have become fields, golf courses springing up on them.  Fields where once crops blossomed are now dust bowls with weeds.  Signs abound warning of how Pelosi and Boxer shut off water to preserve some mud sucking fish.  Putting many out of work, causing both social and economical draughts.  Arroyos are not free flowing, fields lie dormant, but yet one crop continues to flourish-grapes.  For wineries.  And I see another serious draught of nobility, as not only is wine the trendy crop now fro California, but no food is grown where it once was.  Adding to a food shortage, driving up prices.  When combined with fewer crops, no water, and more people to feed, we see the evidence of being trendy and its results.  Just like Jesus warned.  When we are hungry, should we all drink wine?  Somehow the vintners have water....curious.  Could it be all the taxes on wine that help them get water?  But we see a man made, and God aided draught of nobility in full focus.  But this time it is a closed mind, based on what we want, as opposed to what we need-food.  And water.  With the heart also being neglected, and we thought we were selfish in the seventies?  No wonder earth colors are coming back in style-brown is the new green as signs proclaimed in farming towns, and water is only served on request-at least for awhile.  Where are Starsky and Hutch when we need them?  Where is our nobility, and where has it gone?  How do we get it back?

“Let them eat cake,” Marie Antoinette once told the peasants when she heard they were out of bread.  Ignorant to the fact they were poor and had no cake either, she lost her head.  Literally and figuratively.  Today many Christians have lost their heads, and some hearts, and a serious draught of nobility has set in.  With so many teachers available, I hear people quote those heard on KWVE-I only listen to such and such.  Many are devoted to their pastors, whatever they say is the truth-he would never lie.  Many are addicted to TV evangelists, whom the Bible warns about.  Yet many don’t quote Jesus.  They follow teachers of the word, instead of following the word.  Now there are many great teachers out there, and they will tell you to be in the word, don’t quote them.  Question God, and He will guide you.  Have a relationship with the God of the Bible, not the gods of the media.  Check it out with God in His word so you won’t be led astray.  And even worse are those who go on a crusade of opinions, until they find one who agrees with their sin, usually going against scripture and its sound advice.  Sin will always be sin....but yet they look for the loophole.  Eating cake instead of the daily bread Jesus provides.  Yet among the draughts within many lives and churches, some flourish.  They are like the tree planted by streams of water in Psalm 1, and flourish in their season.  They have learned to trust God, and let the teaching encourage them to go deeper.  To take a Berean approach, filling the heart and the head, being renewed daily by the word.  They quote Jesus, and stand on strong scriptural ground, rather than denominational opinion or polls.  And instead of  asking “what would Jesus do?”  they remember what Jesus did, and don’t have to ask.  The word is written on their hearts and not just bracelets and t-shirts, or bumper stickers.  They don’t need to tell you they are a Christian, their life is a witness of Jesus.  And they quote Him in words, actions, and attitudes. They are well rounded, and don’t place the pearls of God before swine where they can be misinterpreted or misquoted and used against them.  They are the church that Jesus wants us to be, and is coming back for.  But there is still time to get back to basics....

Starsky and Hutch was just a show with actors.  Life shouldn’t be.  The scripts for life are found in 66 books called the Bible, all inspired by God for use by us to grow and become closer to Him.  And the principals even work in the secular world, a way to show Jesus without preaching.  Try telling the truth, having integrity, listening before speaking, and showing compassion.  How about honesty?  Things that are noticed by their absence today.  Where the serious draught of nobility exists, fill it with manna (what is it) from heaven.  And when asked, share your testimony, and let God do the rest.  And find rest among the turmoil.  It is called joy, not the absence of suffering, but the presence of God.

Come out of your witnessing protection program and grow in Christ.  Be all you can be in Him, and watch as others are affected.  How your life changes, and you can see through the lies of the world and politicians.  You will have the truth, and it will set you free, and keep you free.  Quote scripture, never say “Mike says,” go to the source and if I’m wrong, gently correct me.  It is called grace, and where it abounds we find freedom.  Quote the original teacher, the only one quote worthy, the great teacher, rabbi, and wonderful counselor.  Get it first hand from he word....don’t be like some whose spiritual life is only like a song on the radio.  Find in the word what the spirit has told you, and watch as the draught of nobility turns into steams of joy.  Overflowing, filled up.  Or there is always Capt. Dobey’s advice-“shut up and get out my office and back to work.” 

Things are different with Jesus...be in the word, and then let the word be in you.  And you won’t have to ask “what did Jesus do?”  Your life will be the answer to what He is doing.  Rather noble if you think about it.  After all He is the King of Kings.  And while kings and kingdoms fade away, there will always be something special about that name.

love with compassion,

Mike

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