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Posts Tagged ‘biker church’

I returned to Hope Fellowship today for another dose of biker friendly worship.

This time I got there in time to fill my cup with some piping hot coffee before the service. That was good, since I didn’t bother to bundle up much knowing the ride home would be considerably warmer. Not the smartest of moves, since Doctor LeCroy had diagnosed me with pneumonia just Friday.

But I warmed up fast. Pastor King flagged me down at the door and we had a short chat. I apologized for missing the last two weeks, and explained that I had been sick one Sunday and the following I had a crisis at work. It’s funny how we always feel we need to explain to the pastor why we missed church. I didn’t tell him I’d missed a couple of years prior to that because I was too lazy and rotten to continue my search for a new church home all that time. Pastor King chuckled and said, “You know, when I have a crisis at work I have no choice but to come to church.”

I was also greeted by several folks who somehow remembered my name from a couple of weeks back when I first visited. I’m always slightly embarrassed when folks remember my name and I can’t remember theirs. Back when I was a cop I could keep names and faces matched up in my head with no problem. When it came time for testimony I always knew which guy to point at when the prosecutor asked, “Is the person you arrested that night almost two years ago in this courtroom?” These days I can barely remember my own name. Maybe I just had more incentive to remember a face back when I was dealing with folks who’d just as soon run, fight, or kill me as talk to me on the street.

But I digress. No worries like that at Hope Fellowship. Some of the crowd looks a bit rough round the edges (like yours truly), but the instant you start conversing with them you realize these are some of the friendliest and down-to-earth folks in God’s Kingdom. They’ve got warm smiles and firm handshakes. Most of them remind me of my brother, Mike… rough, tough, and friendly as a Labrador.

It’s amazing that for the past several years I’ve been searching for a church home and all it took was getting back on two wheels and a few motorcycle articles for God to lead me to the perfect place (for me). I think Hope Fellowship is a family that I can grow with and contribute to. The best churches are the ones that need you just as much as you need them, in my humble opinion.

Today the worship service started with an admonishment from the worship leader (talented gal who has a great voice) to get our running around and restroom breaks done before the pastor got up to deliver his message. Something like that could be delivered in a patronizing way, but this reminder was well received. It’s one of those things that just has to be done once in awhile to remind us that we are in God’s house, even if it is a converted saloon. Folks tend to get a little forgetful of where they are in causal worship environments, I think.

I remember one church I attended for a while that was worse than a movie theater with folks moving in and out of the sanctuary all during the sermon. I always wondered if there was a concession stand set up outside just after the sermon started and removed just before it ended. I mean, how many times does a person need to go pee during one sermon?

Part of the reason the admonishment was so inoffensive was the delivery, done with just the right touch of humor; but primarily it was well received because the folks sitting in that room were a big family, and family doesn’t mind telling each other how to behave when necessary. It was good to know there are limits to the casual worship atmosphere, and that the lines of sanctity and respect shouldn’t be crossed. It’s also good to know nobody was going to frown at me for taking a sip of that awesome hot coffee halfway through the first song to soothe my sore throat. I feel kinda like Goldilocks…this place is just right. The great thing is some hunter shot the three bears so I get to keep coming back any time I want.

Pastor King preached from Matthew 14, specifically on the parable of the sower. He expounded upon the story Jesus told of how seeds, scattered about by the sower, grew or withered depending upon the area in which they fell. I found myself convicted of being “rocky ground” as I reflected on my Christian walk and how often I have allowed the word of God to wither away after a brief time of growth.

Another hearty spiritual meal at Hope Fellowship.

It’s not always about just feeling good and soaking up the joy. Sometimes it’s about accepting the painful truth about yourself and determining to do better. That’s the broccoli of a ministry that delivers well balanced spiritual meals.

At Hope Fellowship you don’t get cookies and milk unless you eat your vegetables, too.

I walked out of that building into paradise. No gold paved streets, but the parking area out front was chock-full of motorcycles. Okay, that may not be everyone’s version of heaven, but if you don’t ride, you don’t know. There was a Honda Gold Wing, several Harleys, a Suzuki, several more Harleys, a beautiful Triumph Rocket III Classic (oops, there went my humility again!)…some more Harleys.

A few months ago I posted a rant here about Harley Davidson riders and how I felt that a lot of them were too hung up on their special brand of motorcycle. Hope Fellowship is one place I’ve found (aside from my days with the Blue Nights) where the Harley riders don’t lord it over metric bikers. I love Harley Davidsons and would like to see that classic American marque always succeed. The Fellowship Riders which happen to ride Harleys are doing a great service to The Motor Company by displaying a friendliness and welcoming attitude to any and all, regardless of the bike, car, or sandals you blow in on.

Hope Fellowship is an amazing story of how God brings His children together. It’s a living example that Christ’s kingdom is open to all who are willing to receive the free gift of salvation, not just the clean-shaven “proper” people of the world (and kudos to the clean shaven “proper” people of the world…you’re just as good as anyone else!). Whether you’re a white collar type of guy or a wrench-twister, a doctor or a carpenter, and whether you drive a Buick or ride a Kawasaki, everyone is welcome at Hope Fellowship.

They’ve welcomed me with open arms…and I don’t have a single tattoo (I swear it’s the truth, Mom).

The air was crisp and cold, 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and the sky was overcast in a layer of light grey cloud. The ride from Grapevine to Irving was chilly, but not painfully cold thanks to a warm jacket and heavy winter gloves. Traffic was lite and I was running late, so the ride might have been a bit warmer if I hadn’t been trying to run a hole in the wind.

It’s doubtful many people who saw the big Triumph cruising along highway 183 would guess that the rider, clad in solid black with feet on highway pegs, was en route to church, but tucked into one of the saddlebags was a MacArthur study bible, reading glasses, and a notepad.

From other directions even more unlikely churchgoers converged on downtown Irving, Texas, these riding a mixture of old and new Harley Davidsons, from Sportsters to VRods.

I arrived and dropped my kickstand next to a VRod. It’s owner had just dismounted and immediately struck up a conversation with me.

“Hey, nice bike. That thing might even keep up with mine,” he said, gesturing at the Rocket III.

“Yeah,” I chuckled back, “She’ll pass just about anything…except a gas station.”

We were late. Hope Fellowship’s web site said the early service starts at 0845 hours on Sunday morning. I glanced at my watch and realized it was 0855. I followed my new acquaintance into the building.

Entry through the front doors of the PigeonHole points you straight at a bar where soft drinks, coffee, and donuts (solid Texas protestant fare) are served. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee was tempting, but I could see through an open door that folks were seated and someone was making announcements inside the next room. I skipped the coffee and made my way into a moderate seating area filled with square cafe tables and steel framed chairs, a few with torn upholstery, but more comfortable than the average wooden church pew.

I located an empty table near the center of the room, shed my jacket, and plopped down; bible, reading glasses, pen and notebook arranged in front of me.

The speaker was a big guy with a shaved head and unshaven face. He was making announcements about an upcoming prison visit. “Funny thing,” he said, “I spent a lot of years fighting to stay out of prison, now I’m fighting to get in.”

The crowd guffawed and chuckled, then Gary went on with his announcements. He is the Hope Fellowship prison ministry pastor. Gary concluded a short question and answer session with a prayer, and turned the mic over to the worship leader. As lyrics appeared on the screen at the front of the room, the worship team kicked off a loud and long series of contemporary praise songs. The band, featuring acoustic and electric guitars, a keyboard, and the inevitable drummer, played well, and I found myself able to sing robustly, the volume of the instruments and amplified voices of those on the stage sufficient to drown out the discord of my tone-deaf contribution.

As the worship continued, I soaked up the details of those around me. Tattoos were visible, but not abundant. Most of the congregation wore jeans, t-shirts, and many wore leather or denim vests and jackets. Some wore “do-rags” and there were a number of pony tails…including the pastor’s. I felt slightly overdressed in my black jeans and polo shirt.

Everyone had risen to their feet as the first musical notes were struck, and that is how we stayed until the songs came to an end. Some raised their hands as they sang, a couple of the ladies swayed back and forth and clapped like they were at a rock concert. Most, like me, just stood and sang and just let the music and words wash over them.

It was a far cry from what you’d see at the average Baptist church, but nowhere near the spastic dancing and convulsions you might experience in a pentecostal service.

As the music wound down the pastor began his announcements. Today, he informed us, was “Scout Sunday”. That explained the large number of adults and kids in the crowd wearing scout uniforms. A large group of children and teenagers filed to the front and the congregation clapped and cheered for them.

After that, the pastor launched into a solid, biblically sound sermon on John 16:32. It turns out the man has been preaching from a series he started with chapter 14 of the book of John in August. To me, that’s a great sign. If you can preach that many sermons on two chapters you’re probably doing one of two things: studying hard and getting every bit of nutrition you can from God’s word, or just making stuff up. This guy wasn’t making stuff up.

Near the end of the sermon a man in the congregation raised his hand. When the pastor acknowledged him, the man punctuated a scripture that had just been read (1 John 5:3) with a short comment about how he had found living as a Christian to be less of a burden than his old life, in which he had constant trouble. Amongst the affirmative “Amen’s” from the rest of the group the pastor closed out the sermon with a poignant and thought provoking video projected on the screen (“Inconvenient Jesus” embedded below) followed by an alter call.

At the very end, he told the crowd that they do not pass an offering plate at Hope Fellowship. Instead, there is a donation box at the front. “Give if you feel compelled by God, but by no means give if you do not feel compelled by God. Do it only because God tells you to, not me.” said the pastor. That was the full extent of the church’s request for financial support.

The closing prayer was said, and we all filed out. I dropped a few bucks in the plastic coffee can on my way out, and decided I would definitely be back next Sunday.

Exiting the building was a strategic event, as members arriving for the second service were entering at the same time and filling up the front of the building as they conversed over coffee, donuts, and soft drinks. I squeezed past and made my way into the parking lot, intent on taking a few photos to post with this article.

Reaching my bike, I was distracted from retrieving my camera by one of those Harley Davidson riders and his wife, who struck up a friendly conversation with me about my motorcycle. I found myself telling them how I had come across Hope Fellowship’s web site while researching for one of my motorcycle articles. I also ended up telling them about my recent crash and being Care-Flighted to a trauma center. There was no pity or comment about how I was crazy to be back on a bike after all that. There was congratulations on my survival and I think I even detected a tiny bit of envy over getting a helicopter ride.

I concluded my conversation and suited up, then mounted my ride and headed back to Grapevine. Halfway home I realized I’d gotten so caught up in fellowship I’d forgotten to take any pictures other than one covertly snapped image with my Droid during the worship service.

Friendly folks. Everyone I made eye contact with smiled, and I wasn’t “swarmed” with designated greeters. There was no awkwardness, and no one asked any prying questions of the stranger who had turned up in their midst today.

So far, it seems more like a church full of sincere Christians, many of whom happen to be bikers, than a church full of bikers.

I like that. And I like the fact that the name of Jesus Christ was mentioned more than the name of the pastor. As a matter of fact, I didn’t hear the name “Dennis King” mentioned the whole time I was there. I think that says a lot for the humility and true motives of the man who shepherds this modest flock.

A pastor gets a tattoo while members of his congregation watch. I don’t know of any specific prohibition against tattoos in the Bible, but…REALLY??? Okay, so I’m one of those old fogies who keeps repeating the adage, “I never met anyone who regretted NOT getting a tattoo.” I don’t know what this guy’s tattoo is or says, but I may find out.

Guys dismount from Harley Davidsons and assorted other V-Twins in leather vests to climb the steps of an old banquet hall to worship.

Old, young, rags to riches, hundreds mingle in a borrowed “sanctuary” to hear a Bible lesson and sing praises. Roughly half of the attendees are wearing jeans and sporting tattoos on bare arms.

Cowboy Churches, Nascar Churches, and now: Biker Churches. An agnostic in my family (who I love dearly) responded to my initial description of this church and my intent to check it out with the words: “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

He may be right, it may be ridiculous, but if it turns out to be legit and genuine, who knows where it might lead me?

Is this inclusiveness, or exclusiveness? Is it a gimmick to attract a typically un-churched, and therefore relatively financially untapped segment of society?

Or is this truly what Jesus Christ is leading some of his apostles to do: reach out to the outlaw and outcast, gather in his flock of those rejected by American society and show them the path to His everlasting love?

I’ve been a critic of mega churches, especially Fellowship Church of Grapevine, Texas, for a while now. I’ve no beef with having fun while you worship, but the extravagant stage shows and “creative” (i.e. gimmick hook) sermons I witnessed at Fellowship Church in Grapevine left me with a sense of unease, not one of having participated in communal worship of the Creator of the Universe.

For some time now I’ve bumbled around, visiting churches now and then, seeking a true church home. I’ve found some very sound churches that preached firm foundational messages. I’ve found one church whose pastor I admire for his in depth sermons that made me think, challenged my intellect, and always fell in line with God’s Word. But in my heart I’ve always left with the feeling that it just wasn’t home.

Fellowship is what has been missing most of all. The few places where the fellowship seemed genuine have also been a bit outside the pale of orthodoxy.

Lately I’ve been reading up on Hope Fellowship in Irving, Texas. It didn’t start as a “biker” church, but not long after its founding a massive crew of bikers attended one Sunday and became regulars. Their influence brought in others, and it simply became a biker dominated crowd. Looking at others of this ilk, I am intrigued.

I will likely attend the Hope Fellowship service this Sunday, as a seeker for a new church home and as a journalist. If they’re anywhere as genuine as the folks at Freedom Biker Church seem to be in the video below, I may just find a pastor and group of Christian siblings that I can settle down with.

Then again, it may be a big fad, or worse, an exploitation of society’s outlaws who simply want to start anew.

We’ll see. It’ll really all depend on the money trail…that’s always the best indicator between truth and deception.