Chapter 2 This Church of the Open Road

And so, with a colorful splash of sun expanding the sky and warming the skin, that distant thunder is indeed intensifying and it’s increasingly at odds with this hopeful horizon. This is a pressing and uneasy feeling, for it intuitively speaks of a gathering; a swelling assembly of some type that has the audacity to fill a quiet and secure and altogether sacred moment with uncertainty and longing.

And danger.

Dishes and mugs on their trees start to rattle as birds of a feather flock nervously on a nearby perch. Certainly, this can’t be a storm of typical proportion; in fact, now it’s beginning to feel like an earthquake of some significance.

Running outside, it must be experienced, whatever it is, because oddly enough, the air on the inside is what's stifling and heavy and overbearing now.

So, with heart racing and breath halted, the corners of shadowing walls are rounded and heavy restrictive doors are thrown open. Bushes and scaling vines that blind and confuse are cleared, and up and over the crest of that hill, the vibrato of the rumbling reaches a fever pitch.

And then, suddenly, just like that -- there they are! -- a congregation of Harley riding radicals and rebels. The ground is undeniably shaking and their low wave is flying in unison as they pass. All of the colors of that brilliant sunrise are reflecting off of metal and mufflers and shiny parts.

Their number is simply too large to count.

It is an amazing picture of unity and array. They have organized, seemingly with a communal destination in mind. They ride together, side by side as apparent followers by no other name. Could it be that they’ve chosen to heed the call of the One -- just as he beckoned them to, but obviously devoid of typical borders, by-laws and banality? Could they possibly make up a new kind of church without walls, doors, ceilings or pews?

Perhaps this is indeed an emerging church, if only one of a different sort, like the sunrise that precedes them; an explosion really, out into the open air -- a parade of the ransomed where the participants collectively straddle their legs over leather and liberation.

And with each passing rider, imagination careens toward full tilt and vision is veering near the crystal clear. Despite the thunder of the moment, it matters not if a literal Harley is beneath them, for their clarion cause is justice; their mandate, dignity. Their eye is more attentive to the downtrodden and the underdog and they find themselves drawn to anonymous service and unfettered love. They're not just admirers or spiritual spectators from safe distances anymore because the beat of the Rider has begun to throb in their heart and his rhythm is slowly finding its syncopation. They long to be a part of something that is altogether gritty, entirely hazardous, and unconditionally true.

They realize that this is the adventure they’ve been waiting for.

Perhaps, those who are beckoned to become a part of this church don’t even realize it yet, but for the fact that they strain their neck every so often when they hear a familiar rumble down the back streets and alleyways of their town; out of curiosity they tilt their head just so, for this contemporary cornucopia of a man (who is somehow contained in a body) can now be visualized; his mere personhood erupting into new meaning and multiplying and mushrooming out into the masses -- for this is a man at home on the street. Into dark corners and shadowy places he brings light, for he embodies action; yes, a mission, a calling, a purpose.

All the same, his is an easy and graceful manner. He approaches with a calming smile, some grime from the road and a tattoo that says I am love; and it is this love that forms the foundation of a revolution that must begin, here and now -- a reclamation and a regaining of lost ground for the very lives that have been caught in the struggle. The red sky of this new chapter does heed a battle warning of a different sort, for now is the time to reap the sown study of Sundays gone by; now is the time for the courageous and the resolute.

So come and join the sanctuary of the ones who have been saved from the depths of the too far gone, where founding members congregate not as conquering heroes on white horses of privilege but as unassuming brothers and sisters who ride low to the ground. Come and know enough of the true Rider to be forever at odds with the ones who are more prepared than they are willing. Leave behind pews of indifference and altars of apathy. Bid farewell to men and women with agendas who revel with clean hands and distant hearts behind closed doors.

Instead, come and lean with humility against dusty street corners and join in worship as the alleys echo with rapping evangelists of song. Come watch as all cultures, color and creed rise up and multiply while their pulpits are filled by merely the rescued and the redeemed.

Come and join this Church of the open road.

~~~

And so it is, that this day is certainly disturbed; this storm is not for another part of town or an outlying area. The stillness and comfort of previous days must forever be shaken, for now is the time that we live the rhythm -- the grace filled, unshockable rhythm that is embodied in the One we’ve given our lives to follow after.

We are a new kind of Church, an Antioch for a new generation of lovers.

What you’ll get is the Holy Spirit. And when the Holy Spirit comes on you, you will be able to be my witnesses in Jerusalem, all over Judea and Samaria, even to the ends of the world. (Acts 1:8 The Message)